At the end of the year, there is so much to be completed and so much to review. And there is so much that comes home crammed in a book bag bursting at the seams. In it are all manner of unclaimed project and memento. There is an art smock, and half-used pencils, and a notebook with only a few blank pages left. There are crumpled assignments, too, and sometimes, writings of particular depth. Sometimes, there is given a tiny peek into the world inside the book bag, and into the owner’s unique and lovely mind.
Noah is so adept a user of words, with such giftedness in his writing. His use of language is – and always has been – excellent, but he’s even better at writing than he is at speaking. Probably because the one permits more time to craft it, than does the other. Noah can put the sequence together correctly with his writing, he can select the best words, and in the safety of a blank page, he can fully be himself, with no fear of embarrassment or of being “wrong.”
Noah’s poetry journal was a thing of wonder. He was fairly proud of it, too, sliding it over my dinner plate last night, his hands fluttering at his sides as they do when he is excited.
“Mom! Look at my poetry book. Read the table of contents. Make sure you look at all of them.”
“Oh honey,” I laughed. “I can’t wait to read it!” And inside was his autobiographical ballad that read:
I was grateful for the window into his soul, and the parts of him he carries but of which he doesn’t speak.
“I worry if I get lazy.”
Please, Lord, let me balance the encouragement toward industry with a commitment to accepting that he’s done his best.
“I cry when one of my family members die.”
Please, Lord, let him come to me when he is grieving so that I may encourage him, the one who grieves in silence and doesn’t let us see. And Lord, comfort me, as I am still grieving, too.
“I say I believe in God.”
Thank you, Lord, that my son yet stands strong in his faith when so many around him insist on proving him wrong.
“I try to work out seven times a day.”
Thank you, Lord, for a son with a healthy self-image and a tendency toward imaginative license, because this statistic is definitely wrong.
“I am fast and powerful…I feel energized.”
Thank you Lord for my Noah, who is always going, and full of energy. Thank you for my son, who is a boy of fascinating contradictions, unimagined depth, and who is indeed, fast and powerful.
Thank you, Lord, for the world inside.