On May 4th, we watched Luke blow out candles. 4 is sweeter than chocolate cake. I love this age.
And this weekend we celebrated you. Days before, we plan what we’ll do and where we’ll go. Over the years we’ve wised up a little. We’ve traded in blow-ups in the backyard, a magician in the den to simpler traditions. If not, birthdays sometimes become a blur.
We decide to watch old videos from when you were a baby – it’s been years since we’ve seen them. They’re still on VHS (I need to transfer those to dvd’s!). But I manage to track down a VCR at a local thrift store. You dad brings it into the den and fiddles with cords and buttons. Minutes later, the audio begins to play, but the picture is static at best. But if you tilt your head just right, squint your eyes; you can see a picture.
I sigh, frustrated. But the day rolls on, and it’s a good one.
Our breakfast, our conversations, 12 years old still shiny and new – I secretly wish it could be bookmarked. I could come back to this same spot again and again. But these breezy days aren’t meant to be captured.
But I find if I tilt my head just right, squint my eyes, you’re not 12 at all. You’re the little boy who crawled in on my side of the bed before the sun came up. The little boy who planned his breakfast after his evening prayers. The little boy who brought me bouquets of beautiful weeds.
There was a time in life my heart ached seeing you grow up. Pictures hurt. Glimpses into the past broke me. But slowly it began changing. God started becoming real in your life and watching that has become one of the sweetest parts of being your mother.
Seeing you in His word.
Seeing you use your gifts.
Seeing your kindness.
We celebrated 12.
And what a gift you are to those who know you best.