promises and prayers

Sometimes, just when I'm fighting to regain control of myself - when the tears threaten to overflow, He makes me laugh and reminds me it's okay.  It's not what I had planned.  It's not the conversations I anticipated with my child.  It's certainly not what I envisioned discussing over bowls of cheerios and yogurt this morning.  But, somehow, it is better.  Because He says it will be -He promises He has great and unsearchable things I do not know (Jer 33:3) and so that is where I can trust in the hard talks.  He always keeps His promises.  This I know.  I don't know the whys and the hows - but I know it is better than I would have planned.  I have four years nearly to prove that to me.

Sitting at our breakfast table in our hot, dark kitchen this morning.  (Our a/c broke yesterday - it's merely a blazing 106 degrees here.  Thankfully, the ac that controls our bedrooms is just fine, but working extra hard.)  As we sat and ate and I fielded calls from the a/c people, out of nowhere he makes me catch my breath.  Again.

It seems I'm never prepared.

Can one ever be fully prepared?  I'm not so sure anymore.

He says, Mommy, I don't have hands like anyone else.  No one is like me.  I don't like my hands anymore.

I quickly gather him and his beloved, blue gigi into my lap.  I love how the Father makes sure that our children always fit in our laps - no matter how big he gets, he can still curl so perfectly into my arms.

I kiss him and stroke his hair and grab his hand and kiss it.  I tell him I adore his hands.  I remind him that he can do cool things with his hands that no one else can do.  I tell him God made him fearfully and wonderfully and God doesn't mess up.  God made him perfectly - just the way He wanted him.

He asks why.

I tell him I don't know exactly why.  But I do think that maybe God wants to show miracles through him.  I tell him that God likes it that people are amazed when they see him use his hands - when they see all he can do.  

And I review Psalm 139 with him & I make up hand motions for it.  I want it in his brain and in his heart.

And my heart nearly stops.  

He suddenly begins to pray.  Dear God, please will you give my mommy hands like me?

He pauses for a minute and suddenly he turns to me.  

Mommy, did you hear Him?  Did He answer?

No, sweet Will, I haven't heard Him on that.  But, oh, how I wish He would.  How I wish I could relate better to his feelings and his frustrations and his fears.

Is he really only 3 years old?

The tears threaten to overflow.  I promise myself I can escape to my room shortly.

I keep hugging and kissing and telling him how cool his hands are.

And he turns to me and says I have stinky breath.

And I laugh.

And then I escape to my room to brush my teeth through the tears.