Monday was Eli’s 8th birthday, and Wife’s . . . significantly more than 8th birthday. She’s always been gracious about sharing her day. And her life. And whatever’s on her plate, when some hungry little boy asks to sit in her lap at dinner time.
Tonight at bedtime I gave Eli his birthday blessing. I put my hand on his head as he lay on his pillow and prayed that he would be strong and safe and that he would know God. His face grew peaceful and sweet as I prayed. Tomorrow he will be a little sad that there are now 364 days between him and another birthday, so I’ll sweep him up into my arms and cover his face with kisses, because he’s still light enough and young enough, and I’m still strong enough.
Soon we will turn out the lights, and then I will put my hand on Wife’s sweet head and pray for her as well, that time does indeed heal all wounds just as it wounds all heels, that faith endures even when our flesh feels as if it cannot, that all things and any thing can be made new, and not just in the life that awaits, but in this life where we wait and endure and wonder sometimes if God has forgotten we are down here.
They are good to me. They are good for me. I forget it too often, but not this day. And, God willing, not in all the days left.
