Prayer is my battlefield

I watched him walk down the steps, taking two steps at a time, and head straight for the refrigerator. It was as if I was watching his childhood fade with each step he took. I wanted to run and tackle him and squeeze out that sweet little 5-year-old boy that delighted in giving me big hugs and laughed uncontrollably when he planted sloppy zerberts on my cheek.  My goodness, his laugh was priceless. 

There were so many precious moments running through my brain.

• When he first saw an Armadillo and he shouted, “Oh, that’s what roly-poly bugs look like when they grow up!”

• When he had a bad cold and he described his symptoms as his nose feeling constipated. (He was 7 years old.)

• When he asked me if there were cell phones in Heaven because he wanted to make sure he could find me when he got there. (He was 5 years old.)

• When Larry and I yawned at the exact same moment and he said, “It’s obvious you two have a spiritual connection!” (He was only 8 years old.)

• When he first witnessed a homeless man during one of our Bay Area Summers. (We wanted the kids to experience urban living, so we spent two summers in Oakland and he walked to the grocery store every other day.) Pierce was so affected by this one man who lived on the street near our place, that he insisted that we buy grocery for him. When we placed the food at the edge of the man’s sleeping bag, Pierce said in the kindest voice,” This is for you. Be safe, God Loves You!”

• And my favorite came one day early in my Mom’s dementia diagnosis. After a bad episode, I tried to explain to his 6-year-old self what was happening to his beloved Granny.  He interrupted me and placed his little finger on the side of his head and said, “There is a cold spot in Granny’s brain, and I am asking God to warm that spot!” He lowered his little hand, and he got up from the LEGO table and walked away like a robot (He “robot walked “everywhere for about 6 months that year. It was his thing). 

I sat on the couch and watched those images fade in real time and a teenager emerge.

This evening, there is something different about his stride—he has a confidence a sort of swag that was not there before, certainly not there yesterday. Pierce does not have an arrogance about him, but he carries himself in a manner that lets everyone know that he knows exactly who he is. At this moment I am witnessing a change, a metamorphosis and I feel funny about it. 

He is my son, my only son, my middle child, and he is turning 13. He is entering his teenage years and my love for him is indescribable. But beyond my love for him, I am intrigued by him. He is interesting, he is funny, he is brilliant, he is kind, he is faith-filled—and with all those wonderful attributes he is still a teenage boy that procrastinates, does not like to take showers, or comb his hair, or tie his shoes. He is both predictable and unpredictable, and I find it all fascinating and frightening. 

I do not have to explain the fear that arises for a parent of a teenage African American boy. My instinct to protect and shield is so strong that this moment is especially hard. All of my senses are intensely heightened. The reality is settling in that I will not always be present as he faces the many challenges ahead.  I watch him enter his teenage years knowing that I can not fight his battles for him.

“…our kitchen was filled with a loving, powerful chorus of voices speaking…”

Last night, we gathered as a family around our kitchen island and prayed for him.  We all joined hands and asked God for specific blessings for Pierce. Each person spoke from their heart and our kitchen was filled with a loving, powerful chorus of voices speaking—Abundance, Protection, Love, Happiness, Joy, Wisdom, Peace, Maturity, Discernment, Health, Prosperity, Faith, Guidance, Discretion, and Integrity. These things we asked God to grant Pierce today and throughout his life. 

Loved Ones, my son is now a teenager.  I will stand with him, behind him, beside him, in front of him, and most importantly, without hesitation, I will fall to my knees and pray for him. Prayer is my battlefield!   

Happy 13th Birthday, my Dear Son.