I painted over my son’s boyhood. With a dip and a roll, I watched with detached sorrow – as if I wasn’t the one doing it – and covered his childish fantasy with a fresh coat of paint. We stood in that exact spot, his father and I, only eight years ago with paint in hand and created a beautiful mural. A cowboy riding into the sunset.
Now it’s gone.
I stood back and took stock of what I’d done. Tears threatened. He was two then and loved cowboys. We decked his room with bandanas and horses. His bed was crafted into an old wagon, complete with red wheels. That, too, was now gone.
My child walked in, his ten-year-old frame almost as tall as me, and smiled. “Almost there,” he grinned. “Not quite,” I told him looking more at him than the wall.
My heart swelled and ached. Mothers have been raising children for thousands of years and survived. But not this mother. And not my child. I took my first-born’s face and pulled his nose to mine.
“Mama,” he squirmed. “Do you know how much I love you?” I insisted. He just smiled in return nodding between my cupped hands. I knew as he did it, that one day he’d give that smile away. Some sweet little girl would be the recipient of my son’s heart.
It’s the way of things. The ebb and flow, the giving and receiving – it’s the way God intended. Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh. Gen. 2:24 ESV
“Hey, check it out! My old spurs!” I watched as my son clipped silver spurs to his high tops and ran out the door to find his sister.
Yes. A man shall leave his father and mother – just not today.
Lord, thank you for allowing me the privilege of raising my three children. As they grow, help me to accept the changes that take place. Prepare my heart for the day you have chosen for them to become one with another. Give me wisdom to always point them to You. Amen.