What I Hope to Forget, and What I Pray I'll Remember

 

I may not have carried Buddy or Bug in my tummy for nine months (or ten? who knows how that whole thing really works anyway...), but I already love them as if I had.  Fiercely.  I find myself standing and watching, taking mental pictures and willing myself to never forget certain occurences.  But I know that no matter how God-given my heart for them is, no matter how devine that may be, my memory is still flawed to the core. 

 

A characteristic of my mommy-hood that I don't share with many other moms I know, is that there are also certain occurrences that I hope to one day forget.  I pray that God will supernaturally erase them from the boys' brains/psyches and should He not wish to grant this prayer, I beg for their healing to begin now- for restoration only our God can offer. 

 

I pray that God will allow me to forget the way Buddy sobs for "home" or his mommy or daddy-that these things will be given to him in a permanent way.  I pray that I'll never again be reminded of the way Bug used to tremble in fear when he'd hear the bath water running- and shriek and shake the whole way through as we rushedly got him clean and assured him.  I pray that Buddy won't always associate the sound of sirens with fear, bad guys, and his dad (who he also referred to as a "bad guy").

 

But oh, gracious.  The events that've happened in one week that I pray will never, ever leave me.  Like during bathtime one night, when Buddy (who loves the water) was feeling stubborn and didn't want the water poured over his head, was being coaxed into doing so by Grant- and Grant said, "It's okay, Buddy.  I pour water on my hair all of the time."  Buddy stopped, dropped his hands to his side and gave Grant his most dilligent, that's-the-dumbest-thing-I've-ever-heard stare as he looked from the top of Grant's (buzzed super short) head to his eyes and back to the top of his head again.  As one of the funniest parenting moments to date, it would be shameful to forget.

 

And I never want to forget how sweet Bug's snuggles are because some day he'll either be in another home or too tough to let me hold him like he does before bed right now.  With still slightly damp hair, a warm body in a soft onsie, deep sighs and tiny fists gripping my shoulders- I can't take the sweetness of those moments. 

 

And a few nights ago, when we put up our Christmas tree, the plastic thing stood there with no lights or ornaments, but little Buddy who is still learning about all things Christmas ran in circles shouting, "Hoo-way everyone!!!  It's Cwiss-muss! Say hoo-way!  It's Cwiss-muss!"  His joy over our goofy tree was infectious and precious.  I hope I never forget that.

 

Or the other night when I sat in the bathroom painting my fingernails, I got to listen to my husband discipline Buddy-and it was absolutely a "got to" moment.  He radiated Jesus in his voice, spoke in love and guidance and remained firm in all that he said until it was clear that Buddy understood exactly what he ought to be doing.  At the conclusion of their pow-wow he hugged Grant's neck and skipped out of the room inviting Grant to resume playing with him.  I beamed with pride- oh how Grant has grown as a daddy- and as His son, understanding discipline today better than he has before.  I never thought being such a God-fearing, disciplinarian of children could be so foxy- let me assure that my husband had never looked so hot.  I don't want to forget any part of that.

 

And just last night, as I was rushing off in the middle of dinner time to meet a friend for Bible study, I orbitted the table kissing my boys, telling them I loved them.  The boys- who'd been having a particularly manic night had been allowed to watch a movie as they ate- were zoned out and I didn't expect a response from either as I kissed their soft, rosy cheeks.  But Bug, who doesn't speak but four or five (understandable, English) words, heard me say, "I love you," turned his head from his movie and looked at my eyes and said, "love!"  Grant had to mop me up off of the floor because I melted right then and there.  I will never forget that one.

 

 

And this past weekend, Buddy and I attended a friend's church together for their child's baby dedication.  We sang traditional Christmas hymns.  Buddy was a bit overwhelmed by it all and asked to be held by me (a first).  I held him in my arms and sang songs to my Lord, praising Him for letting his baby boy out of his arms and placing him here on earth.  I wondered then if it was harder for our Father to know his Son would endure thirty-two years here, persecuted, tried, and in the discomfort of world than it was for him to permit the punishment that ended his human life.  How often we forget or diminish what a sacrifice our God made as he gifted this earth with Jesus.  I sang songs of adoration with a precious boy in my arms and cried joyfully.  I explained to him that I was so happy to know Jesus and so happy that God let him live here.  He nodded okay and went on listening and absorbing. I pray I never forget that either.

 

I can't stop praising God for his goodness.  And He gives it over and over again.  Through His son being given here, on the cross, His Spirit- over and over again.  He is so, so good- and I pray I never forget.