Josh, when you were a small boy, you sometimes put yourself in time-out by sitting on the stairs when you felt it was deserved. When I would discover you sitting there and beckon you to get up, you would respond politely, “Thank you,” and tumble off to play.
And Ryan, when you turned five, I observed, “Ryan, you have been so good lately.” You responded, “Well, Mom, the day I turned five, I thought, ‘I can either be bad or good’, and I have decided to be good.”
I gaze at my glass of water and am grateful for yesterday. Yesterday, Mother’s Day, when my youngest son was baptized.
Just like my hands slip as I hold the dewy outside of my perspiring drink, I cannot fully grasp the meaning of his baptism. I am aware of the mystery of it all, of God choosing my son to be adopted into Christ, and of Luke obeying that call.
What I cannot grasp is how, and why, and what is to come. It feels fragile to me and yet more sure than anything. We are weak, and He is strong.
I see the drops on my glass dissipate, evaporating in the afternoon sunshine. And I wonder what is next for Luke in this journey of faith, this washed-clean start in a dirty world.
I think back to what else I learned yesterday about water. About the Israelites quarreling with Moses, accusing him and God both for bringing them into the wilderness to die of thirst.