For My Son

My son turned 25 today...

and I thought of all the lessons I wanted him to learn as he grew to manhood - some lessons taught, some still being shared...

I thought of all the lessons I learned being his mom - some joyous and fun, some painful and hard...the hardest moments I have ever had...

I see the seeds I planted, I watch some take root and others are dormant...for now, to sprout when they are needed? Or did they simply fall on barren ground?

There is so much I want to share with him, so much I want to spare him, but wisdom comes with experience - not with an earful of lessons and warnings...

Twenty five years is a goodly time to grow a young man and to set him upon his path...but perhaps not enough time to grow a mom who wants to wave goodbye.

Old Roads by KC Lewis

Give me a choice and I'll take old roads
Roads that buckle and bump, take unexpected turns, meander
Roads that take their time, and take me through time, to a time
When men walked around the hill, and didn't blast through it

Give me a choice and I'll take old roads
Roads forgotten and gone, overgrown paths, abandoned
Roads that remember their time, I remember my time, in time
When I strode as a giant, nothing was impossible

Give me a choice and I'll take old roads

A Fairy Tale, by G.K. Chesterton

All things grew upwards, foul and fair:
The great trees fought and beat the air
With monstrous wings that would have flown;
But the old earth clung to her own,
Holding them back from heavenly wars,
Though every flower sprang at the stars.

But he broke free: while all things ceased,
Some hour increasing, he increased.
The town beneath him seemed a map,
Above the church he cocked his cap,
Above the cross his feather flew
Above the birds and still he grew.

The trees turned grass; the clouds were riven;
His feet were mountains lost in heaven;
Through strange new skies he rose alone,
The earth fell from him like a stone,
And his own limbs beneath him far
Seemed tapering down to touch a star.

He reared his head, shaggy and grim,
Staring among the cherubim;
The seven celestial floors he rent,
One crystal dome still o'er him bent:
Above his head, more clear than hope,
All heaven was a microscope.