Thoughts of my son pulling me from a deep sleep, I had quietly slipped downstairs and dropped to my knees on the living room floor. Body bent over with prayer.
In the car the night before he talked about what the speaker had said. How it’s not enough to say you believe but that belief has to get all the way to your heart.
Talked about the 5-year-old, Native-American girl named Debra and the special-framed picture his youth leader gave him as a gift. A picture of him reading Dr. Seuss to her. A memory of leaving a little bit of himself on the reservation.
This glimpse of God setting up camp in my son’s heart aroused a familiar longing in my soul.
In the rocking chair I sat with my hand on the womb. Feeling the kick of tiny feet within and begging God with every rock back and every rock forward, Please Lord, please give me a child who will love You.
Fear washing over me. Not afraid of birth defects or still born. Afraid of giving birth to a child who is all well on the outside and growing up strong but dark of heart and despising God on the inside.
So at 1:30 a.m. I prayed fiercely again for this boy now pushing six feet tall.
Thanking God for this child who chose to give his life to Christ at the dinner table when he was five.
Thanking God for working in my son’s heart these last two weeks.
But still afraid.
Please Lord, I want more. I want him to have more than just a youth trip summer experience with you. Please give me a child who will love You with all his heart and soul and mind and strength –every day of his life.
Here is our greatest work as parents. Praying for the souls of our children.