I can’t write the above phrase (the title) without hearing the Acapella song, “Listen to Him” play in my head.
Whew! That takes me back, and definitely limits my audience. We’ll see whom among you remember that song, but you can google the lyrics. Reading the lyrics without their singing style and rhythm, though, just isn’t the same. And admittedly, the younger among us may not quite be able to appreciate their non-instrumental music, but when I first entered the journey, they were a staple on the music scene, and therefore my own path has been linked to music such as theirs. But I digress…
I hadn’t posted in a couple of weeks, and Melodia uploaded some new pics last night. That always makes for good posting fodder. As she always does, she uploaded some quickly to her Facebook account. This morning, I awoke to see that Tio Izzy had commented on this picture; Melodia had, too, when she posted it.
For whatever reason, that solicited a comment from me; and it set me to thinking.
After the rather traumatic birth of our third child, Melodia and I decided that we would not pursue a 4-kid-family, as we had originally intended. That meant our family was solidified as two daughters and one son.
During the pregnancy, before we knew whether Izzabelly would be a boy or a girl, I really longed for her to be a girl. As I thought about having 3 kids, my heart really just started desiring a girl, so that Melodia would have two little girls with which to do all the wonderful things that little girls do.
Both of us had been the product of two-child, one-boy-one-girl families. So neither of us had ever experienced a same-sex sibling in the family. We longed for that opportunity for us and our kids, not because we felt we missed something, but just for the new experience of it, I guess.
For our family, I knew that one boy would suffice for me, and Wil is the oldest child. So the thought of two little girls for Mami to chase, just set right with me. And I could handle investing my “manly time” into just one boy, you know, the outdoors, the (toy) guns, the fishing, the dirt and mud, the bugs and snakes, and all of that. Not that Melodia couldn’t have done the same with just one girl to direct her “womanly time,” but that my heart just longed for her to enjoy the wonder of multiple girls. (Now, we’ll see how much “wonder” we’re really enjoying when these girls are both teenagers, but that’s not this story!).
And so it is that I have one son, the oldest of our kids, Wil. I love this little bugger. I’m learning new things all the time as my son teaches me to live again. It’s amazing all the things we forget when the world cuts-in on us; when the distractions take over, and we start living for some future hope, paycheck-to-paycheck, and just forget to take in the wonder and awe of each new day… each new day as a gift of grace and mercy, not as something due to us.
Whether we’re shooting Nerf guns at each other in the yard, planning to go fishing in the spring and summer, or dreaming of any other adventures, I often find myself just staring at him, thinking, “I love this little guy.”
My son is a gift of wonder to me, and it amazes me how much I love him. In some ways, I could argue, I did not know what love was (or the fullness and richness thereof), until my son came into our life. Make no mistake, I love Melodia, but there are different types of loves. And my son brought with his birth, the experience of yet another love.
Of the many things I have learned with him, perhaps the most significant to me personally is this one singular thought: this is how my dad loved me.
I can’t escape it. For 30 years, I might argue, that I never really knew – thought of – imagined – conceptualized – my own dad’s love. I mean, I knew the phrase, I knew my dad loved me, and I’ve heard him say it many times. All of which I am thankful for.
But the nights I’ve carried my son in my arms to his bed after he’s fallen asleep somewhere, or the days I’ve sat there staring at him as he plays, or the times he’s busted out with some new funny or sometimes insightful saying as he develops his language and observations of the world, after all of those times, I continue to return to this notion… as much as I love my son, loved the moment that just occured, I was once a little boy such as this, and my dad was loving me, too. This stuns me.
Two thoughts, much deeper than I want to delve into here, emerge. 1) How great is the Father’s love for us! And 2) my own son will likely not fully realize my love for him, until he holds in his arms, until he experiences all these moments, with his own child. It’s amazing to ponder.
So this morning I awoke thinking about my son, whom I love. And I thought I’d share it with you all. This is my son, whom I love.
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