I am holding my new baby, reveling in his little fingers, his perfect ears, his fuzzy downy head. He sleeps, he eats, and does little else, and still I am awed by him. I am especially awed when he so quickly stops crying when he is transferred to my arms. What a responsibility I have! And still I wonder, "Where did this masterpiece come from? Certainly not from inside me!" I know this child is mine, and yet I have this feeling that he is not really mine at all. He is a gift sent from above (his middle name 'Matthew' means 'gift from God'), placed ever so gently in my arms for safe keeping. Aren't babies such a wonderful introduction to parenthood?
Contrast him with my oldest boy, who was once a seven-pound sack of potatoes himself and is now as tall as me. He longs to be with his dad and his friends more than he longs to be with me. He faces the temptation to be on the computer all day, or to be lazy and self-centered. And he will soon (sooner than I like!) start thinking about leaving home. I almost can't believe that thirteen years ago this Saturday, I became a mother for the first time. Never could I have imagined then the man that my baby would become. I only saw an adorable, kissable, helpless (but sometimes very loud!) little person. I didn't know (not exactly anyway) what my role in his life was besides feeding, cleaning, and protecting him. I didn't understand then what it meant to guide this little person to manhood.
Contrast him with my oldest boy, who was once a seven-pound sack of potatoes himself and is now as tall as me. He longs to be with his dad and his friends more than he longs to be with me. He faces the temptation to be on the computer all day, or to be lazy and self-centered. And he will soon (sooner than I like!) start thinking about leaving home. I almost can't believe that thirteen years ago this Saturday, I became a mother for the first time. Never could I have imagined then the man that my baby would become. I only saw an adorable, kissable, helpless (but sometimes very loud!) little person. I didn't know (not exactly anyway) what my role in his life was besides feeding, cleaning, and protecting him. I didn't understand then what it meant to guide this little person to manhood.
This is one of the benefits now of being a 'veteran' mom. When I see my newest bundle of joy, I am able to see beyond the chubby cheeks, flailing arms, and the cries for attention. I see past my days of breastfeeding and my nights of interrupted sleep. This little person will someday need guidance in making wise decisions, will someday need lessons in self-control, truthfulness, and diligence, will someday actually seek out independence– step by step he will start walking his own path until the day he sets out by himself.
And this is my task as mom. Each of my children has his journey to discover. Whether the child is nine days or thirteen years old, I am helping him on that journey, which, with much prayer, will lead him to the throne of the One who made him.
And this is my task as mom. Each of my children has his journey to discover. Whether the child is nine days or thirteen years old, I am helping him on that journey, which, with much prayer, will lead him to the throne of the One who made him.
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