I linger long on the edge of his bed and invite angels to hover near. In whispers, I ask his Maker to shape his budding soul. Confess my own lack of wisdom. Admit my selfish desires to make this child who I dream him to be rather than to surrender him on the altar of God’s perfect will.
“Prayer is not a little habit pinned on to us while we were tied to our mother’s apron strings; neither is it a little decent quarter of a minute’s grace said over an hour’s dinner; but it is a most serious work of our most serious years.” -E.M. Bounds
I catch my breath at the thought of it all--- this little boy an intricate part of God's Kingdom plan.
Moonlight dances across his eyelids, lashes flutter in sleep and dreams. I wish I could pluck time from its spin like the fuzzy caterpillar we lifted from the dirt on Saturday and placed in a pickle jar on the counter. I glance at the top bunk where little one’s brother will soon sleep and I picture my firstborn’s legs sprawled from one end of the bed to the other. Toes squashed against footboard. Arms dangling over the narrow bed’s side. When did those hands that once held mine stretch into wings? Thirteen years has been but a flutter.
I turn my gaze back to the little one, cuddle closer and let his hot breath warm my cheek. My hands move to his heart and I pray once more. I do not ask to slow the minutes, but to savor the moments. And I surrender the shaping of wings to the One who designed us to soar.
The Overflow: He's Creator of all you can see or imagine. He doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch his breath. And he knows everything, inside and out. He energizes those who get tired, gives fresh strength to dropouts. For even young people tire and drop out, young folk in their prime stumble and fall. But those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles. -Isaiah 40:27