I drive down the darkened street, allowing the thick, moist gulf breeze to fill my car. I glance up to see the image of my first born in my rear view mirror. His smile reflects his soul–satisfied, replete, loved. His continuous flow of words depleted, and his heart overflows with gratitude, filling his emptied mind.
“Thank you, Mommy,” he says more than once. “Thank you for spending time with me tonight.”
I brought him grocery shopping with me. His history project suggested he explore the cereal aisle, examining the names of men who decided to reinvent breakfast with a creative spin on grain. I followed his endless string of words, while he maneuvered the mini-cart through the grocery store. I filled myself with his eager contemplations, and he greedily drank from my presence.
I had to surrender my worries to God; they fight to engulf the hollowed space in my soul carved out for my son’s infinite words.
I’m an imperfect substitute, role-modeling a relationship with our perfect Creator. One day I will be replaced, and my son’s questions will veer from my ears to the Holy of Holies. I’m cognizant that my position as my son’s adoration is finite. I will sap my strength to push his abilities beyond mine, so God will have a loyal prince in the service of the Most High.
But everything begins with a sacrificial love: A love of a mother laying down her life for just one. That kind of love is immovable, and unleashes the power of every kind of good: trust, faithfulness, loyalty, grace, confidence, boldness, security, power and purpose. All these traits are required to change the world for Christ, and I don’t want to him struggling with them as an adult, like his mother.
Every seed of greatness is buried in the fertile soil of tedium. So I will walk down the aisles of life and gather every syllable of my son’s inquisitions. In heaven, I will count each one like precious jewels and regret the ones I allowed to slip from my eternal reward.
I wish my car could linger in this moment. My son whispers the same sentiment from the backseat. I stick my arm into the black layers of night, and the dense wind pulls at my hand, pleading for me to open my eyes. My car speakers fill the saturated air with songs of praise, glorifying a Living God. I finally notice the palm trees bowing to His majesty and the wind dancing in exultation throughout creation. And I’m left with an undeniable Truth: Even the Kings of this world will bow to the Son of Man.
“Yea, all kings shall fall down before him: all nations shall serve him” (Psalm 72.11 KJV).