January 16, 2013 by CassieCravings
I prayed for my son Elijah for years. I poured over 1 Samuel. I grasped at Hannah’s promise for a son. My hands would tremble as I touched every word and clung to the hope that I would one day have a child of my own.
I cannot count how many times I cried with my palms pressed upwards, whispering, “God, I give it to you. I pray for Your will and not mine.” I cannot count how many times I cried with fists clenched, screaming, “Have you forgotten me?” Through my wavering faith, however, God continued to gently tell me, “Just wait.”
And I waited.
Now I sit silently, without moving, barely breathing to watch my son. He will be 3 this spring. He is silly and gentle. He is loving and energetic. He is adventurous and cautious. His innocence and sense of freedom is magical. He is telling me a fantastic tale of a dragon and a pirate. His face lights up and his voice quickens as he his adventure unwinds. He dances and paces. He giggles and drops into my lap. He sighs contently. I do the same.
Suddenly it hits me that this is the exact spot on our bed that I said so many prayers for him, that I cried so many tears for my son.
I turn him so that our noses nearly touch. His curls are disheveled. His face is flushed. His eyes are glistening.
I take his hands as I try not to cry, “Little Bear, Out of all of the little boys in this whole world, I am so thankful that God gave me you.”
He rests his head on my chest, “I happy you’s my mama too.”
I’m glad he can’t see my face. I quickly wipe away the tears.
I silently thank God for turning my tears to joy.