A senior moment

Categorized as Rhonda's Posts

Just this week, he came home with a CD in his pocket, loaded with (swallowing hard) his senior pictures.  Eager, Mother flashed upstairs the next morning, tearing through them, smiling at some (yup, that’s so him), frowning at others (not so much).

Like this one (it’s him): FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBlogger

And this one.  It is, too: FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBlogger

And DEFinitely this one: FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBlogger

While our TIBJ (Tornado in Blue Jeans), dancer, and performer extraordinaire is a very deep thinker, you won’t see him sitting around like this too often (although he could be thinking up a new prank to pull on his brother.  Or his mother.  There is that): FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBlogger

Just this morning, I took him for breakfast at the coffee shop to celebrate the grade in that one hard class that exempted him out of finals.  “Oh, goodness.”  I texted his father afterward.  “Your kid is a talk talk talkety talker.  Not like ur first kid.  Or ur third one.”  This, after I could scarcely get him to head for school. (“Oh, and two more things I forgot to tell you, Mom…”)

A happy-go-lucky fellow, he is a born evangelist, this one, quick-witted as all get out, and in his leading role in last weekend’s drama, brought down the house.  His parents shake their heads, knowing that they never had his ease up on the stage. FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBlogger

In spite of his comfort with a stage, a spotlight, and a microphone, he is comfortable, too, behind the scenes, going where many kids don’t go – to the underdogs.  To the Goths sitting alone in the lunch room.  To the kid on the bus who quietly tells her secrets (“I cut myself” and “my stepfather abuses me”).  To the agnostic in the halls and in the parking lot, he talks about Jesus and sees God’s hand at work in everyday circumstances.

Of all my boys, he’s probably worn me out the most with his high energy, strong will, and his thorn-in-the-flesh (ADD), which any mother of such a kid knows, becomes hers, too.  For such mamas, God is kind, knowing when to give glimpses of fruit, the payoff for all their hard work, that keeps them going, keeps them working, keeps them trying.

Looking at each other in dismay over the head of our strong-willed toddler, I’d murmur to his father, “When this one grows up, something’s gonna move and shake.  Just what, I don’t know.  But something will.”  His dad would nod, and we’d sigh.  Then we’d smile, and sigh again. FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBlogger

And then it happened.  All at once, he was grown.  In every way, maturing, finally; blossoming, finding his niche and using his gifts. In spite of us.

It’s worth it – it is! – all the pruning and weeding, the watering and feeding, the trimming and transplanting and plain hard work that “gardeners (aka parents)” do in the training of their charges.  That we do to prepare our birdies for flight.

God sees.  He hears, He knows, and He helps.

Fly strong, son.  Fly well. FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBlogger 

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