He’s turning 17.
That farm boy.
No longer here.
The two so similar.
Yet so different.
My heart aches.
The farm boy is full of ideas.
Full of energy and youth.
He loves deeply.
Yet is haunted by the joy thief.
He rises to fight.
He digs deep to keep two feet planted.
He’s growing corn; trading vehicles.
Making payments on a tractor.
Building his future.
Yet these things he holds lightly in view of eternity.
Because that’s his desire.
A life lived in surrender.
No matter the struggle.
While he works to create his path,
he rests in the One who is making that path.
I watch as the farm boy heads out the door.
I think about the day he was born.
Labor beginning just as the alarm sounds to head to the barn at 3 a.m..
His arrival at 4:19 a.m.
Born just as milking begins.
He’s grown about 5 inches this year.
No longer a young boy.
He’s a man.
And it’s hard on the mama.
I want to fight his battles.
I want the world to be nice to him.
I want to shield him from the death of his brother and everything else.
He’s my boy.
But he is God’s boy first.
And long ago on a Sunday morning I handed over the
authority to the One who called us to life.
I surrendered this beautiful child to the King of all Kings.
I remember that vow.
I hold tightly to knowing God is fighting for him; more than me.
God is rejoicing over him.
The Lord your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing.