My son, my son. 25 years.
You have grown up. What about me?
You are now instructing people. Am I?
You share with them what you have been taught and what you have lived.
Are they learning?
What are they learning?
My son, my son. You are a teacher.
I so enjoy being around you because I still learn there!
How many parents can hardly wait to be with their children?
How many parents look forward to conversing with their children?
Some people cry over their kids, but what kind of tears?
Too many of those with whom I converse only thank God that it is over, and they are "enjoying their freedom now from the kids."
I thank God...but in a far different context than most.
Too many of them are "...savoring their rewards by escaping as far from them as they can."
I pray for them, my son.
I also pray with them, as they bring their prayer requests to me, requests for what their children have gotten into. Many of them have gotten into everything but a relationship with their parents.
I discuss with parents the same things that children discuss with you: a lack of a communicative relationship. That hurts.
Yes, it hurts. It hurts that I cannot be with you guys.
Me...me...me... I want...I want...I want...
Oh, but that which I want is far more than what most relationships have...and we have it!
Thank you for that.
Thank God for that! For He has been in all the days of your life, and I look back on the fruits of those days, and the proof of it now!
I am so proud of you!
Happy Birthday, my son!