“My A . . .” is what you called yourself as a baby. You’ve always known who you were. Big brother "J" would go left, you would go right. "J" would go right; you would go left, because you knew you were "A . . ."!
In the middle of adventures you were the shepherd-brother-hero. You kept an eye on little sister and held her when she cried, you showed little brother how to stick Lego’s together, and you gave "J" some great game ideas – all at the same time.
I’m fishing around in my head tonight to find words, and because I’ve been scrutinizing words most of the day – new ones aren’t coming to me easily. (I’m in the middle of a proofing project.)
What I would really like is to look into your eyes, again; and try to decide what color they are, again. I’d like to wrap my arm around your neck, and tell you “happy birthday”. I would love to watch you play with your son and adore your wife. Instead I am sitting here late at night trying to pull up some words.
When I get myself in a stew, or become anxious and confused about my life, I often hear God asking me, “What do you want?” Usually it’s when I’m swimming around in a meaningless prayer, but trying (again) to find the right words. When I decide to listen, I can hear Him: “Kathy, what do you want?”
A silent pause.
“Lord, I want you.” It just all boils down to “Lord, I want you.”
My list is long, otherwise. (It would be great to see your family, for one; and money in the bank would be nice.) There are a lot of “wants”, but this is the sum of them all. In Him there is perfect rest, and in “I want you” there is perfect worship!
I love you, my wonderful son. As long as I am able to speak, you’ll hear me say that. God didn’t make a man more outstanding than you. There’s no such thing! I keep trying to express it, but words are never really enough . . .
Have an awesome week celebrating the years that He has given you.