Little One,

I won’t ask for much.

But maybe, one day, you’ll see what I saw.
Maybe you’ll see the purity that always glowed in your eyes, whether open wide in an awestruck wonder, or brimming with tears at some injustice.
The way everything ‘round you blurred out of focus and into a colorful tunnel of wisterias every time I saw you coming to me.
You will always be my sole focus in the world’s vast array of colors.
The love that emanated so powerfully you could almost hear it the very first time your tiny hand clasped my finger -- and how, your whole life long, that love only grew.

The set jaw on your determined young face as you reached for unknown things -- the hated vegetable on your plate, the handlebars of a bike without training wheels.


The all-encompassing joy that wraps around a mother’s heart and squeezes tight when her little one chooses right.
The burning, unconditional love that somehow always manages to glow right through her anger when he chooses wrong.

Maybe one day you’ll see the angels.

Not everyone could see them as they sang around you in glorious throngs.

Oh, how they sang!....when you saw the Light.
When you rejected the bondage of Sin.
When you accepted the freedom of Christ.
Not everyone saw the angels.
But everyone saw the new you.

And you -- new or faded, rich or tainted, kind or cruel, wise man or fool....

You will always be mine, perfect and complete -- my precious child.
And maybe one day, you’ll see the miracle I saw.

The Miracle of you.

All my love,
Momma

Hope in the Slough of Despond -- Reflections on Pilgrim’s Progress

-- Anger.
  Such a truly queer emotion.
  So powerful.
  So deadly.
  So tyrannical over the sinner’s strivings to be Godly.
  They say actions speak louder than words -- but who knew one insult could hurt more than the heaviest punch thrown by the assailant?
  Grace.
  Such a magnificently profound aspect of our Creator.
  So powerful.
  So beautiful.
  So inexplicably humbling and mysterious all at the same time.
  They say you can’t move on until you forgive yourself -- but who knew that a greater Forgiveness could bring this peace that passes understanding?
  
  A mind will wonder, when afflicted, why anger should still exist after you’ve passed the checkpoint of Calvary and your great burden rolled into the tomb. The life-long journey to Zion’s Mountain is such a lighter affair now.
Or is it?
Yet out of nowhere, this tyrannical hand grasps your hopeful mindset and slowly, steadily pulls it down into the Slough of Despond.
Again.
Oh, where is Help?
But the King sent Understanding towards your plight, and like a beautiful morning, she dawns on your filthy, up-turned face amidst the struggle in the mire, showing a narrow, yet straight path that surely, surely leads up to solid ground.
Understanding’s gentle, scolding voice echoes around your head.
So simple.
So pure.
And then there’s that all invading Peace again, that Peace which Grace instilled in you that very first time you accepted His sacrifice.
And as you shake off the mud with which Despondency almost claimed you, you catch a glimmer from just over the far-off horizon of something so beautiful your tired eyes can’t help but strain to see better.
Zion’s Mountain.
And from in front of you, down the straight, narrow path came Hope, beautifully solemn and glowing like a strange creature not of this world.
And he took your hand. 

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me;Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.” -- Psalm 23:4