A baby's born.
His name is chosen and put on a bracelet, then on a birth certificate.
That name means the hope of the parents, and the last name is the one that makes that unknown little person theirs. Thank God for parents like mine who gave tons of sleepless nights, prayers, cares, and hopes to that little one.
It takes a while, like boiling an egg, but then the baby becomes a toddler and a personality starts to take shape. By the time the egg takes shape he has an identity and we call him a kid.
That kid breaks bones, talks back, and learns he doesn't have to give a damn about anything that doesn't matter to him, and grabs on to things that matter the most to him. The kid starts to make the ones who care proud and breaks their hearts all at the same time. He just doesn't realize what he's doing yet. He just keeps jumping his bike off ramps, playing ball, and going to school.
Pretty soon, he's a teenager before you can imagine that he could get that many years on him. The teenager starts to jump bigger ramps, breaking more bones and hearts caring more and less about those and that which matters, yet he still doesn't get the grip on what and why but at least thank God he's still around scars and all. The hope is that he'll know enough about what he's seen and heard to stay true to what makes the difference. That's a parent's hope still printed on that birth certificate.
Before anyone notices the teenager turns into a hard-boiled egg, hell bent on being his own person with no way to stop him. You can't unboil an egg. He makes decisions that can't be unmade, says words that can't be unsaid, and does stuff. Some are proud moments like graduations, Military pinning ceremonies, weddings, reconciliations, you name it. But still there are ramps to be jumped, scars to be made, and ball to be played. It doesn't matter that the one who was named in a nursery isn't owned by the arms that once held him, the arms still welcome him. Good or bad.
Then that thing turns into a full-blown adult. Whatever, "adult," means. Grown up is a term so relative you can't quantify it by any means no matter how hard you try. But there's still hope your grown up will grow up. There's still hope for that little baby grown to be a bigger baby in the eyes of the one who first saw him.
I looked at my birth certificate for a long time yesterday wondering what my Mom and Dad thought and hoped when they chose that name of mine and attached their name to it. I can't imagine. I just know they loved me through scars, jumps, and missed shots. I wish every little one born could have my experiences, as much as I hope my own little ones don't have many of the experiences I chose in my life. Yet still, they'll jump their own ramps, receive their own scars, and choose their own ways. They'll learn, relearn, and relearn. I guess that's called life. Hopefully, I've given them at least a third of the lessons I got, because you can't unboil the water.
When they're grown-up, whatever that means, I hope they'll be able to say what I can say today. Whatever they've done, and wherever they've been. Whatever road they've chosen and whenever dead ends derailed them.
Thanks Mom and Dad, I sure do love you.
I don't write sermons anymore, but this would've been one I should've.
No comments:
Post a Comment