Being a mother of two boys is well...
always interesting.
I say this with a huge smile on my face and...
heartburn.
It is always a balancing act--how to have fun letting boys be boys without it getting too out of hand (because boys simply can. not. keep. their. hands. off. of. one. another.),
teaching compassion
and manners (seriously, this is close to the very top of my list of "I Will Die A Happy Mother," right after loving Jesus).
As I was playing soccer with Owen yesterday, followed by a quick round of indoor hockey
(did I mention again how happy I am that we are renting this house?),
it struck me again how active boys are.
I mean really.
Wow.
Arts and crafts, please?
Not a chance--well maybe for a few moments until they turn their paper into a sword, bow and arrow or gun.
What is it with boys and firearms, by the way? (That is another post all to itself!)
I digress...what struck me so soundly the other afternoon was the passion.
The gusto.
The life.
And this is good.
Very good.
It is so wonderful to see strong, active, boys being passionate about life,
about their desires,
and about one another.
It makes me think about how lukewarm I often am.
About life,
about decisions,
about God.
What makes one person head-over-heals passionate, and another ho-hum at best?
Personality?
Life experience?
Perhaps...but maybe it is also perspective.
Intuitively, my guys grasp each moment for the gift that it is--new, undiscovered, full of possibility and potential.
They are just kids, you say. Of course they are like this. The entire world is new to them.
So where did I lose it?
Where did the luster of living go? Where did the pure excitement of getting up each day, bounding out of bed, simply because it is a new day of life?
Bills?
Responsibility?
Cynicism?
As the sunlight barely breaks forth on the horizon in the wee hours of the morning, which also seems to through some cosmic timer cause my littlest one to pop his eyes open, the pitter-patter of his feet race to my bed,
(Running, always running!)
he gently places his sweet lips close to my ears and whispers,
"Mom, mom...I did it! I woke up!"
And even though my first reaction wants to be, "Well, la-de-da! Now I am too, much before I really wanted to be,"
(Am I sounding like a completely horrid mother?)
I say, "Yes you did, love! I am so glad!"
Because Connor has it.
What a gift--he woke up.
We woke up.
What's not to be passionate about this?
From this perspective, we have been given another day of life.
To learn.
To grow.
To be together.
Breathing is miracle.
When I think of life in these terms, I can't help but be passionate.
I can't help but be deeply grateful.
I can't help but run.
For all of these things...
are miracles.
Ordinary miracles.
But miracles nevertheless.
I cannot say enough at how much my boys have changed me,
are changing me.
Each day is an annunciation--an encounter with God, proclaiming new life that has been given.
So let's live.
Owen and Connor, not only do you make me a better mom,
you are making me a better person.
The depth of my love for you both can never be described fully.
I only pray that each day you will know and feel it.
Thank you.
Thank you.
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