“So you see, Fourpaws,” I said, busily swiping at the spot on the kitchen floor with the wipe in my hand, “my son is coming to this house and I’m going to have it ready for him.” Fourpaws batted his head against me and dropped a slobbery toy by my foot. I trailed off, acutely aware that some might think my sudden urge to explain my rationale for floor-polishing to a marginally curious but otherwise unconcerned husky a bit strange. My mind, however, continued to wend its way through a similar train of thought.
Perhaps because of this week’s close proximity to my ever-beckoning due-date, I find myself increasingly aware that the person waiting at the end of my pregnancy process is a son. I am the mother of a son; not just a baby. He will be my firstborn son. God has created him as a male with a man’s calling and a man’s destiny already spoken over his little life. And for the next eighteen or so years, I will be THE woman in his life.
What an awesome, terrifying thought.
I have already begun praying for my little love’s wife, that–should our beloved Bridegroom delay His coming and it be His will for my son to marry–the Lord would bless her with the gift of prophecy and she would love Him with heart, mind, soul and strength. However, with that prayer comes the realization that I will be the model my son uses to find his spouse, whether it be to find characteristics like me or to deliberately choose traits different from me. He will learn how to honor women by the way I interact with his father. It is our responsibility to teach him the value of guarding his purity through my choices in clothing, makeup, and media allowed into my home. Under my guidance, he will learn the basics of keeping up a house–either because one day he will have to use these tools to take care of himself or he will learn to appreciate any woman who honors him enough to do them for him. His father will teach him what it means to be a man. I will teach him what it means to respect women. He will know “her” by what he sees in me.
All of this, and he hasn’t even drawn his first breath.
I find myself remembering Phillip’s request to Jesus in John 14:8–“Lord, show us the Father.” Up until tonight, I have always thought that was a legitimate request; but now I understand a little better Jesus’ disbelief at what He heard. I can only model character traits I hope my son will learn to value in women. Jesus was so much more than a model–He is one with the Father, Himself. To see Jesus is to see the Father. To fall in love with Jesus is to fall in love with the Father. Our Father, who so longs to capture our hearts with all-consuming love, is everything that was personified to us through the life of Christ. Every promise that Jesus made came straight from the Father.
I often fall into confusion on the subject of the Trinity, and I believe that is somewhat a God-orchestrated gift; after all, part of the greatness of God is that He is so much higher than our ability to understand Him. To me, Jesus is so much more approachable than the mystery of the Father. It is hard to reconcile the Old-Testament God with the love-saturated Jesus; and yet, the purpose of Christ’s life was to point us to the Father. This must mean that every beautiful facet of Jesus’ life is in the Father. Christ’s humility, His kindness, His compassion, His mercy, His zeal, His love….they are all bound up in our Father, modeled to us through the life of Jesus.
As I meditate on God, I find myself so thankful for the tangible representation of Jesus. He is my anchor when I grapple with the difficult decisions of the Old Testament God; and I want to say what Phillip could not say–that I have seen the Father because I know His Son.
Grace over you.