The same kid who can do third grade math will only give detailed descriptions of 3 specific things at school. 1. Recess, 2. Lunch, 3. Gym.
His concept of grace is better than most adults I know ("egraced" is how he says erased), but when asked if I could pray for him this morning, his response was gratitude that "tomorrow is Saturday and we don't have Bible stories EVERY morning."
The child who gleefully (and ignorantly) steps off the bus waving his middle finger at me also told a vulnerable kid who had been intentionally hurt that he knew his mom could take care of everything.
The calculator on an iphone absolutely entrances this guy, but he would trade all his money in his piggy bank for one day that was completely fair.
And this dear boy who slammed two doors at me this afternoon burst into tears at a video of himself as an infant.
We were all gathered around the TV watching the movie I had put together of Stephen when he was not yet 6 months old. The girls were cooing and giggling; Brian and I were misty eyed. Suddenly Stephen got up and left the room - crying.
"What is it buddy? Don't you like it?" I asked.
"No. Mom - I just like it too much," he sobbed.
"Oh. You feel special?"
Whoa. I mean - whoa.
And suddenly I wondered if that's why there will be some tears in heaven (Rev. 21:4). That we'll like it too much. That the way God loves us overwhelmingly, intentionally, undeservedly will feel SO good. That the place He went to prepare for us will be so sweet and perfect. When the skin of this earth is peeled back and we see all that He is.
Yeah. I think I'll like it too much.