He is ten now. The little boy born into water; still in his sack. The peace-bringer. The strong man.
He is double digits now. The empowering leader. The quiet confident one. The laugher. The climber.
He is one decade old. A sensitive, compassionate young man. Curly-haired. My baby, always.
He is 1-0. A genius, an inventor, a problem-solver, a thinker, a questioner, an innovator.
We asked ten significant people to speak into his life on his birthday . . . . . they blessed him with their words, with their hearts, with a view of him that reflects a little more of God’s view of him. I saw him take those words into his heart. I saw him get full. He just nodded in response, quiet confident nods. And I saw his heart bursting.
I don’t know how the world will contain this Quinn-boy of mine. He is a gladiator – a man among men. A leader so proficient that no one follows him, they just flock around him. He has such incredible charisma, such a pure charm. Everywhere we go he is loved and welcomed. He is our evangelist. He shouts justice and compassion and he fights for Good.
I wanted his childhood to be perfect. It hasn’t been. Someone so strong is often targeted. But what could have made him bitter has made him kind. The places he has been, the people he has seen, all that he has lost and the greatness he has found – he has allowed all of it to shape him. I am so proud of him. So very, very proud.
An ancient Book says that we hold this treasure in clay pots . . . the treasure of our beautiful spirits, the very breath of the Creator, wrapped in the fragility of our humanity. And it is I that feels like the clay pot, holding such an incredible treasure in this boy-man I have somehow been trusted to raise. When his rough boy-hands find mine in the parking lot; when he runs to me and breaths me in, still comforted by my smell these ten years later; when he asks for bedtime cuddles, when he whispers whether he can still live with me when he is all grown up . . . . .these are the moments that take my breath away.
I have given up on perfection. Now I just live in constant, constant awe of the redemption God works out in everyday life. So blessed to have eyes to see beauty in my son each day. So intent on walking with him through whatever life brings. So thankful for the chance to change the world, with him. My ceiling will be his floor. It already is. But this son I am raising; he values that. When I have to look up to see into his eyes; I know what I will find in them . . . . tender grace, strong compassion, and a conviction that creates new reality.