If you see my son, please love him
It’s Monday morning. Feeling restless, I say to The Mister, “Since my appointment’s been canceled, I feel like getting out of the house anyway. How ’bout if I come up to the coffee shop?”
“Great!” he says. His office is a few doors down, and he knows I’ll pop in for a hug and a kiss. He’s always up for the lovin’. So am I.
At the bustling shop, the aroma of coffee, it ribbons and twirls, and the atmosphere here; well, it’s cozy. I look over. And there she is.
A beautiful Amish girl. Face made up, cosmetics nicely applied. From my small, high, round table, I glance at her again. She really is lovely, and I feel a nudge from the Spirit.
I turn back to my journal, cheetah print, black ink. God’s Word is open before me. I’m writing.
“Tell her.” I know that Voice. Know the whisper.
The object of His love, wearing earbuds, Amish covering. And I in my black boots, I’m listening.
Journaling finished, I carry mug, glass of water to the tub and deposit. Then I pass by her table, and I stop.
Her phone’s out. She’s scrolling and listening. At her left hand, she, too, has a journal. She looks up. And stops, plucking earbuds.
“I was watching you,” I say. She smiles, face questioning. “And I just want to tell you two things.” She nods. Smiling.
“God wants me to tell you that you are beautiful. And He wants me to tell you that He has a plan for you, and it’s good.”Does she know this? If she doesn’t, she’s hearing it now.
The sun, it breaks across her features. Her smile is bright, eyes shining. “Thank you!” she says. This girl’s happy. Heart’s warming.
“How can I pray for you?”
“Just–pray for me,” she says, Lovely Girl. And I say, “I will pray as He brings you to mind.”
This morning, I’m seeing a girl, plain dress, makeup, Amish covering. It’s Keturah.
And this morning, I’m seeing two others, one in a doo-rag, Marcellus, and one dressed in style. That’s Hector. Those two, and then, yet, these four more…
My own sons who have a praying mother and father. Even then, they have had their separate struggles. Growing up is hard stuff, but the Lord, He’s been faithful. He’s sent mentors and teachers and counselors. So thankful.
Names and faces, they scroll through my mind just now. Youth pastors. Small group leaders. Accountability partners. Men who have poured into our sons. We’re so grateful!
I remember this, too, as I’m thinking today on these three who have wormed into my heart, paths crossing: Marcellus. Hector. Keturah.
They have mothers. Have fathers. I don’t know their stories. Perhaps they are praying. But maybe not…
And if not, then this is my prayer, “God help me. Lord, give me the chance to love sons and daughters of other mothers. Who may not be praying, or loving. Lord, let me!
“Let me do it. And then, Lord, this one thing more I would ask. Send others to keep lovin’ on mine as they’re needin’. No matter where or when or what, send Your people.”
Now, you. You have a privilege, a high and holy calling no matter if you’ve got kids or you’ve not. It is this…
To love other people’s children when you find your paths crossin’. In the store. At the church. On the street.
If they’re wearin’ tattoos, wearin’ studs, no matter. If they’re sportin’ male earrings, look past that. Please do, for one of mine had ’em.
Love them anyway. Love them freely. Love “in spite of.” Love wildly.
For someday, your own may need love. From another.