Quiet

Sunday morning. Boy sleeping nearby. He was awake to turn over a few minutes ago, but quite undecided about his plans for arising.

It is even harder for me to remember how I did fourteen, since I got a late start with this, my one child. So I err on the side of liberty. We really do not have anything we have to do today other than carry him back to his mom. If he sleeps, we miss minutes available for historic dad/dude conversations that are earth shaking and earth shaping. But they are not all like that anyway.

I guess the issue this morning is boy poverty. Since my access time with him is limited...
Well, dog. My access time with him is not limited by familial circumstances alone. I am really still fussing about perfect parenting.

Ok, Father. One more time. I trust you with my son. Here he is. My best has been good, but what you want to do with, in and through him is beyond me. I dare say it is beyond my comprehension. And I am convinced that I am well able to get in your way.
Father, I really want you to be glorified, and that my life would not hinder that in any way or amount. I stand in awe of your mercy. I want to be still, quiet enough to be able to watch what you do with my boy. In the meantime, I need your help to know when I am willfully in the way.

I guess if I would just get back to my place on your lap and rest, I would be properly positioned for this to work out best.