My Mommy Prayer

Some evenings the Meatball has had enough of the carseat for one day, and I can’t really blame him. We’re on the go a lot, and some days get busy – between the office and errands that are never close to home and summer construction sites.

Some nights he doesn’t want to fall asleep in the carseat again, so some nights he doesn’t gently sing himself to sleep. Some nights he fusses and cries and begs to be unbuckled.

So Husband drives and I crawl into the bucket seat beside his. And I turn on the dim light over his mirror and I hold his hand and we sing some of our favorite songs and I stroke his hair until he can’t fight it anymore.

His grip on my finger starts to loosen and his tired eyes reluctantly drop closed.

But only for a moment. With a slight startle, his eye lids pop half-way open – just enough to look at me – and then slowly fall again. Pop! Drift. Open! Shut.

That night, his eyes shot open and he looked for me in the dim light, so I leaned in close and rubbed his head and whispered, “Mommy’s still here, baby. I will always be here when you look for me.”

His eyes closed again, for the last time that night, and I held his tiny fingers and prayed that I would live up to that promise. 

Because of course I won’t always be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. I probably won’t be the first thing he sees the next time he opens his eyes. But I hope I will always be easy to find. I hope he will never – ever – have to look far for me.

No matter where life takes him, or what he ends up doing with it, or how it treats him, I pray I will always be easily found.

Whether I’m his #1 until his wedding day, or he runs away after high school. Whether he serves the Lord all his life, or comes to it later. College or no. CEO or missionary. Artist or accountant or gas station clerk.

When he gets picked on or picked first. When he falls and when he soars. When he only person he wants is his mommy, and when the last person in the world he wants is his mother.

When he exceeds my expectations and when he doesn’t. When I approve of his decisions, and when we argue.

I have hopes and dreams and prayers for his future, but I watched him sleep while I traced the plump outline of his cheek that night and prayed, first, that I would have the courage and the humility to always be there as soon as he turns his eyes to find me.