Thursday, June 21, 2012

Eleven...

My dear David,

Today you are eleven.  There's something about eleven.  Maybe it's that I don't have enough fingers to demonstrate your age.  Maybe it's that you are inching ever too closely to the teen years.  Maybe it's that I have been a mother for that long and am looking back over the big eleven we've experienced together, the way we have grown virtually side by side, you physically and me emotionally and spiritually.  I don't know.  Maybe it's that this eleventh marks the first without your Gammie.  Whatever it is, I am feeling ever so emotional today.

Eleven.  I hope that in these eleven years I have taught you some pretty basic principles that you can carry through your life and will make you a good man.  Because that's my wish for you... that you will be a good man.  When I look toward your future, I can't imagine what you will be.  I have no expectations for your career path or how much your retirement account should hold by the time you are forty.  I don't care where you go to college or if you choose to go at all.  I pray that you will be a man of character, make wise choices, and be a good husband and father one day.  I pray that you will be a young man of integrity, be honest, and be willing to change your views and decisions when you see they are not in line with God's will for you.  Most of all, I pray that one day you will hear the gentle whisper and feel the tug on your heart to open God's Word and get to know Him in a truly intimate way.

I know you think I am mean sometimes, and that's totally okay with me.  See, me being mean now equals my protection over your soul.  I have to remind myself sometimes that there are people out there with not-so-good intentions, forces waging against your little soul even at eleven.  There are things you don't need to see and hear and have access to.  And one day you will understand that my meanness wasn't mean at all... it was love for you, a love so deep that it doesn't care if you are mad at me for a few minutes out of the day, one that knows I have to be your filter right now of the weird world around us.

Sweet David, there are times when you seem so much like your daddy.  The way you move and the simplest little mannerisms make you look like a little Scott.  You share the need to go, go, go (and go FAST) with your daddy, and that's something you were definitely born with.  But there are some things you got from me.  You have a quiet strength, the way you can just dig through a tough situation without really calling any attention to yourself.  You simply persist through it, and I think that is something that you got from me, and that I got from your Gammie.  Like I told you when your Gammie went to be with Jesus, I hope one day you will look back at all she went through and realize what a lovely strength she had.  Strength and character don't have to be aggressive or loud or the boldest in the bunch.  True strength comes from God, and it bubbles up quietly from inside.

In eleven years, you will be a man.  You will look back at eleven with a smile and fond memories.  And I hope that I will look at you in amazement and pride at the person you have become.  The gift of being a mother is so magnificent... to experience you from the very beginning, from the little foot inside my ribs to the crying infant I could not please to the bubbling laughter of a little boy to who you will become one day.  There's nothing like being a mother, and I am so grateful to be yours!

I love you without limits!
Your Crazy Mama

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