The car was our breaking point this morning. Your Sunday morning wake-up call was too early. Your excitement about getting out of bed was too nonexistent. My patience was too low. There are burdens from work and casualties that come from being a son to a minister and a doctor. The casualty this morning was our beginning. It was not sweet and it was not pretty. It was ragged and rough. It was what was necessary to get Mommy to work on time. It was not how either of us wanted to start our day.
“When we get to church, I want you to drive back home and start agin,” you said.
Twelve hours later, the car was our break-through point. After dinner out, you and I split away from Daddy and Brother and we got our own special time. Bananas called us to the grocery. Somewhere in the process, we re-wrote the day.
We marveled at the pumpkins and picked out our own. “We’re getting a pumpkin,” you shouted to a passerby. Jumping up and down, you watched as I lifted it and put it in the shopping cart. We browsed the aisles and you tasted the free samples. You jumped and you smiled. You put your small hand in mine. I promised myself to never take for granted the feel of your small fingers holding my hand tight.
Once in the car, the sunset pierced my eyes as we drove home. Windows down and cool air filling the car, we sang hymns as I drove.
…streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise…
…strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow…
In the cool air and in the midst of an ending of this day, I paused and gave thanks for grace the abounds when one human raising another human is messy and rough. I gave thanks for the hope that remains, even after a difficult beginning.
For the days whose endings are sweeter than their beginnings, we give thanks for the strength that allows us to endure and keep moving forward.
For this twenty-first night of September, we will remember that love remained, chasing the clouds away.