“Who will take me?” he’d wondered aloud, sitting beside me in a darkened auditorium. “Shall I walk?”
I’d laughed. “Oh, no. Daddy or I can take you. We’ll make sure you get to Grandma’s house.” He’d relaxed, then, larking his way through the remaining school days ’til vacation.
The day before he was scheduled to go, he’d asked me over and over, “Should we start getting ready?” No, I assured him, we’d have “plenty of time tomorrow.” And then tomorrow came, and he set his heart to the packing.
His father, when he heard about the sleepover, had grimaced. To say he was attached to his smallest son was wholly inadequate, having fully embraced the unexpected gift that’d come to us later in life, forever changing our family unit.
Then there he went, suitcase packed with a monkey pillow pet, toothbrush, pajamas, and his best-best, well-loved blanket.
It was his face the next day that spoke. There he came, Mother eager, waiting to see her boy, anxious to hear his stories. Up the steps, one, two, three, and ’round the corner. “I’m so happy to see you!” I said, smile cracking wide, arms open to gather him in.
And there it was. The innocence of childhood, joy at the welcome, a glad and happy heart that knows it belongs—is seen; is wanted; is loved. All of these shone upon his countenance.
Then the whisper. ”That’s how I feel about you.” Looking at my boy, I heard Him speak. “When you come to Me, that’s how I feel.”
Today, may I include you in that whisper? “That’s how He feels about you.” Whenever you come, weary, discouraged, stepping toward Him, He beams. Every time you turn in your busyness and distraction, raising your gaze, He feels just like that.
Can you feel it, such happiness and joy, knowing you belong? That you’re seen? That you’re wanted? That you, dear one, are loved? Just as I waited for Little, so He waits for you, for me, eager to see us, to hear our stories, to listen, to be.
With love this day,
P.S. Little Schrock, the happy overnighter, reported a wonderful time at Grandma’s house. He loved playing with her cats, watched cartoons, and ate like a trencherman when she took him to Pizza Hut (his choice), wolfing down two large slices, per her report. He did, however, say that, “There was a problem. The cat was wiggling (under the bed) and ‘m’owing,’ and I couldn’t get to sleep.” He is quite eager to do it again, though it’s not certain if Snuggles and Linus feel the same.
About the Author
Rhonda Schrock is the smallish mother of 4 sons, ages 6 to 22. She married her blue-eyed soulmate 25 years ago this summer and calls him “all kinds of brave” for sticking it out through years of diapering, disciplining and daily debriefings with an (occasionally) hysterical female. Read more about Rhonda and her writings on her website.