It’s late, and Caleb should be asleep, but instead he’s awake and in our bed, curled up in my arms. We talk about his day, and about the difference between a beard and a moustache, and about pizza. He’s so little in my arms, and getting so much bigger each day.
Sometimes I see him as he will become, and I’m excited about the life he’ll live, and sad that one day he’ll leave us. I feel in those moments the fiercest love, so strong that sometimes it makes me cry, like now. I wipe my eyes, because he wouldn’t understand how tears can come from happiness and sadness all mixed together in a good way, in a way that makes you understand in your heart, maybe for only a few seconds, how only a few things in life are important at all, and how vastly important those few things are.
“I’ve got to go to the doctor,” he says, “so he can see if I have Jesus in my heart.”
“I believe Jesus is there.”
“Yeah.” A smile. A hug around my neck. “Sometimes my heart is broken.”
“It is?”
“Yes, but then Jesus makes it all better again.”
Mine too, little man.
