Piano music softly playing in the background, creating an atmosphere of peace and tranquility. A candle burning on the table, filling our space with the scents of fall. My son, my middle child, sitting at the table, ready to learn. We are homeschooling him for his last year of preschool. Our oldest is away at kindergarten today. Our youngest is asleep, peacefully slumbering in the other room. I have a rare one-on-one time with him….my boy.
As he works on the letter F, I stroke his fair hair and pray for his future wife. Lord, please give him a mate that will fulfill his need for physical touch. A mate that will encourage him and lift him up. A mate that will support him in his endeavors. A mate that will love him as much as we do.
I praise him for his efforts this morning. He is such a smart boy… He replies “Mom, this is all for you.” His way of saying “I love you”. His way of saying “thank you for investing in me”.
We continue working through his sheets, counting, tracing, coloring. Again, I stroke his hair. Again, I praise his efforts. Again, he expresses his gratitude. “You’re the best mom ever.” “Thank you son. I love you.”
My mind rolls over this moment, tears brimming in my eyes. These moments are so precious. Time is fleeting. Lord, please help me never to miss moments like these. Help me to soak up each and every day with my children…my gifts.
I am conscious of the cyclical fashion of our communication. I praise him, love him. He loves me back. So much like our heavenly Father. We thank Him, love Him. He pours His love right back. I say to the Lord, “This is all for you. Thank you for investing in me. Thank you for blessing me even though I’ve done nothing to deserve it.” My son did not earn my love. He just has it because he is. Because he breaths. Because he exists. We are loved because God created us. Because we breath. Because we exist. We have done nothing to earn it.
We move to the couch to read. He snuggles in close, tucked under my arm. We point to words, laugh at our mistakes, and make our way through the tiny book. He crawls up in my lap and wraps his 4 year old arms around my neck. He is hardly ever this still. He squeezes me, pats my shoulder, and says “Mom, I love you.” “I love you too, baby.” Then, in all the mischief of a little boy, he asks, “What if I colored all your boogers blue?” and cackles with laughter. My, I do love these moments. Precious, priceless, imperfect.