It’s Friday, friends, and around here that means a little relaxing, a little writing, and a bit of freedom. I’m joining with Lisa-Jo and my other writer-friends to write for just 5 minutes. There’s just a couple of rules:
Write for just five minutes,
share the love with others who play.
Simple enough, yes?
The prompt this week is Stay.
I watch him stand at the edge of a field. He’s always on the edge of something, this one. He’s invincible most days, leaping and bounding through the house, down the driveway, across the yard or parking lot, or any open space for that matter. I’m always reigning him back in, always using the word “stay” when talking to him.
With motherhood it’s often said that the days are long but the years so short–and I’m finding this to be true. Days exist in certain seasons, when the clock creeps slowly from sunrise to sunset but the week has long disappeared by the time I turn my neck to look. I don’t even know how that’s possible, and yet. But this boy, the middle one of my brood, second son, second to none, he goes and goes and goes.
I wonder about him, where he’ll go when the time comes. He’ll be the one who surprises me, I think. I’ve learned from watching enough people in my short life, not to make too many assumptions about which direction the roads of life will take them, despite where all the signs seem to point. God interrupts and we’re no more fit for predicting the future than a crazy-eight ball from the junk store.
He’ll go where the Lord urges Him–at least, that is my prayer. I spend my days mapping out his heart not his future career.
I’m constantly charting my way through new boy territory, a wild, rambunctious place where Mothers are queens and witches all at once, where roaring and stomping are common and sensitivities get buried under Transformer costumes, behind Storm Trooper masks.
I don’t know where he’ll go, I don’t know when or for what reason, or for how long or how far away. I only know he won’t stay. Not for long anyway.