{he's 19}

Nineteen.
Nineteen years ago tonight,
I caressed his downy newborn cheek
as he lay nestled in my arms.

It all came flooding back this morning as I went into his room to wake him for church.
Much to my delight, our firstborn---our college student---had returned home for his birthday weekend.
And as he still lay in his groggy stupor,
I sat on the edge of his bed and
noted the whiskers that now cover that once baby-soft skin
(the result of no-shave November).

Such a contrast.
This man before me.
No longer a child.
Drew is a man who, in the past 2 1/2 months, has grown and matured more than I'd ever dreamed;
a man who uses a debit card and applied for (and got) a job in the big city;
a man who's grown proficient at using public transit.
He's a man who serves weekly at the nursing home,
engaging and listening to the stories of old.
He's a man who wisely surrounds himself with solid friends who are spurring him on to love Jesus;
who regularly texts and consults his dad about theology.
He's a man who has shown himself able and capable,
yet remains grounded.
In the midst of newfound independence and geographic distance, he still takes eager delight in connecting with his family via Facetime each Sunday night.

Grateful.
There's really no other way to describe it.
For as he's flown from our nest,
I'm seeing firsthand that God is faithfully,
beautifully, and consistently continuing the work He began in him.
So many times, I had it wrong.
I tried to give him more "mom,"
when what he really needs is Jesus.
I'm watching our son embrace and apply Truth to life.
And I'm beginning to discover new joys in one's relationship with an adult child.
I still tear up when he leaves (like in the parking lot of Texas Roadhouse today),
but I am grateful that the little boy I had the pleasure of training and shepherding and discipling to know Jesus is now choosing Him for his own.
There's no greater joy.

Happy 19th Birthday, Drew!
We love you like crazy.