Feeling God

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Having just finished cleaning off the back porch, I sat in the afternoon sun and listened to my gospel music. My youngest came out to join me. After a kiss and a hug, he sat on my lap as I sang along to the melody. I told him he should raise his little arms up like he was giving God a hug too. And so he scrambled down off of my lap and stood in front of me.

His precious hands and face to God, he swayed back and forth to the praise music. It was such a lovely sight to behold. Suddenly, he dropped his hands and opened his eyes. He look at me with a shocked expression on his face, as he exclaimed – “I can feel God…I can’t see Him, but I can FEEL Him!”

A week later, our three-year-old is still telling people that he felt God. Amazing.

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McDonalds King

Little boy on balance beam

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“Mama, why do they call it Burger King?”

“Well, because they think their burgers are the best, like the king of all burgers.”

“But that’s not true…McDonalds has really good chicken nuggets and fries too, even though they’re not healthy – they have apples that are. And their burgers are the very best! So it shouldn’t be called Burger King…it should be called MCDONALD KING!”

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Telemarketers Beware

little boy on summer day

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He’s five, and he loves to answer the home phone when it rings. Let me preface this by clarifying that we only have a home phone for the emergency purpose of calling out. Anyone calling in is either a friend or family member who is unable to reach us via our cell phones or, more likely, a sales or marketing call. Annoying. So, I let them (the three and five-year-old) answer the phone because they race for it when it rings. I sometimes feel sorry for the telemarketers…psych! I don’t really.

The influences of his family and household were clearly affecting the way this morning’s incoming call went:

Ring! Ring!

Little feet racing toward telephone (D’Lo won)

“Bonjour.” (influence of French-loving sister)

“Bonjour!” he repeated (sounds more like bon-joy coming out of his mouth, probably confused the guy)

“What do you want?” (influence of Daddy who hates telemarketing calls)

“I’m sorry, George, can you repeat that?” (influence of Mommy, who has some level of phone etiquette)

“I can’t hear you, George, so you need to repeat that…or shut up.” (influence of the sum of the teenagers he lives with)

“OK, goodbye.” (influence of the scowl on my face as I rushed toward him to grab that phone)

Click. Poor George, heehee.

 

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Forever My Baby

Baby Boy Radio Flyer

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I loved him and I miss him. So much. His laughter was infectious, his smile enormous – seemed like endless rows of baby teeth. He was such a little man-man…all boy. Rough and tumble, obnoxious, mischievous, sneaky, active – but still such a little lover. He was a true mama’s boy.

I watched a home movie some time ago, and I heard him crying. I had forgotten what that sounded like – his particular cry. The way he would call for me, needing me, knowing that I would make it better. My heart dropped…hearing that distress, listening to him calling me. I felt this panic. I needed to get to him. Every cell within me was desperate to be with him…but I couldn’t. He is no longer here.

I do mourn his absence sometimes, I can’t deny that. And as difficult as it is at those times to see the remnants of him in the man who stands where he used to – I can still find him there. I see him in those big brown eyes and dimples. I smell him in that same spot on the crown of his head that I have always loved to smell and kiss at the same time. I hear him when he’s not looking for Mom, but calling instead for Mama. I feel him, although I can’t get as much of my arms around him now, when I close my eyes and give a sweet embrace. There he is…still here.

He has been replaced by some six-foot tall, deep-voiced, muscular, high school senior. He is still obnoxious and his laugh is still contagious so not everything has changed. Tonight though, on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, I wish I could hold my first-born baby just one more time. To rock him to a toddler dreamland, to walk him into his kindergarten class, to wake up and find him cuddled up next to me, to be able to take away all his hurts with a single mama kiss…just one more time. Hmmmm.

I know this has been the plight of mothers for centuries – watching their sons become men. I just didn’t know that while I merely blinked, a little boy would morph into someone his daddy’s size. I will be okay though…how could I not be when what I have now is equally as phenomenal as what I had then?

Happy eighteenth birthday, my precious first-born child. No matter what size you are…I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living – my baby you’ll be.

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Going to Paradise

Little boy and heaven

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He’s been very inquisitive (what’s new?) about life and death lately – especially as they pertain to God and Heaven. During this last installment of The Bible, even though he seemed busily distracted with play in the other room, he managed to pick up some very key concepts. He does that you know – he absorbs details you didn’t even know he was paying attention to. He particularly picked up on Heaven being paradise, and paradise being Heaven. And so, paradise is his new word.

He was playing with his cousins the other day, as cousins do. You know that “pretend I’m the mom and you’re my kid and…” type of play? I heard them all agree that they wanted to play something else – to which I heard D’Lo respond:

“Ok! Ok! Pretend I’m a man and I’m going to paradise, but I’m going to be gone a very long time soooo….I need to go pack!”

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