My Oldest Son

Today is my oldest son's birthday.  He is my middle child, the one I almost didn't have.  Or maybe I should restate that.  He's the one my doctor told me I might not ever have.  When my daughter was 2 years old we started thinking about adding to our little family.  We tried for months to get pregnant with absolutely no luck.  I was sent to a specialist who confirmed my worst fear.  It seemed that because of a female problem (the details aren't germane to the story) I most likely would not be able to have another baby.  His words to me were--you should be thankful that you ever got pregnant in the first place.  He was surprised that we already had a daughter.

I went home that day feeling extremely sad.  I had wanted several children, not just one.  I had wanted a houseful.  A big 2 story houseful.  I didn't tell anyone, I just kept the sadness to myself.  I didn't really even discuss it with my husband, I think we were both a little stunned at the bad news.  And most of all I didn't want to hear the words--well, you could always adopt.  I knew that.  But, I didn't want to hear it.  Instead, I prayed, but as each day passed I began to feel more and more desperate.  I read my Bible and I prayed and prayed and prayed.  And I believed.  Somehow I was going to get through to God and He was going to heal me and I was going to get pregnant.  I just knew it.  I even got so desperate that I decided that I was going to show God just how serious I really was.

There is a verse in the Bible in Matthew that says--But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.  So, I did that.  Also, I thought a lot about the way Hannah in the Bible begged God for a baby, and He gave her Samuel.  So, I decided that I would show God that I was as serious as Hannah.  I made a little space inside my bedroom right by my side of the bed and I prayed during my daughter's nap times--she slept for 3 or 4 hours at a time.  I was that serious.  I prayed that much every day and asked God to allow me to get pregnant again.  I asked Him to heal my body.  And He did.  Sometimes I think that maybe He just got so sick and tired of me praying, begging, crying out to Him--that He gave in to me, just to shut me up.  I don't know, but within a few months, I was pregnant.

When my daughter was 3 1/2 years old I gave birth one fall morning to a son.  All 10 pounds, 4 ounces of him.  He was huge.  My doctor was--to say the least--surprised that I was able to get pregnant, to begin with, but he was also surprised when I told him how God had healed me.  I had to tell him.  I just had to.  Wouldn't you?

Our next week in the hospital was a pretty bad one, I had complications due to his birth and was in intensive care, and then my son had to stay in for a week due to other issues, but we were soon released, and home with big sister and daddy.  Life was good, and I was thankful.  Very thankful.

My son turned out to be quite a lot like me in temperament and personality.  He didn't need a lot of sleep, and he was always happy.  He loved his big sister and with his little eyes, he followed her all over the room.  He didn't go through the terrible two's or any of the other horrible stages that most kids go through.  He was an easy one to raise.  Always the peacemaker and the loyal friend.  Being that he was such a big guy it was comforting for me to know that he was the kid in school who would stick up for the underdog and that he was not the bullying type.

Our rough time with him didn't start until he was 16 or 17 years of age.  Independence reared its ugly head, and once again I prayed like there was no tomorrow.  I didn't want to lose my son--I wanted him to remember that He was being raised to serve and love God.  However, he had other things in mind for a bit.  It was a hard time for me--those next few years.  But his behavior just encouraged me to pray even harder.

And then one day I met her.  His future.  His wife.  I knew from the minute I laid eyes on her that one day she would become my daughter-in-law.  And I believe with all my heart that God used her to draw my son back to Him.  She was just what he needed to bring him back.  Not that he had strayed far, I don't want to give that impression, but he had grown a little cold towards God, and that more than anything bothered me.

My son has been married for several years now and has 2 children of his own.  He is walking in the footsteps of his father--he is kind, loving, caring and most of all he serves the God we serve.  I am so proud of him and not a day goes by that I do not thank God for my children and grandchildren.

My son, the one I prayed for, is an awesome man of God.  He is a wonderful father and husband.  How could I ask for anything more?  He is my middle child, the one I had to work with so that he didn't get lost in the shuffle.  I had to make sure that even though he wasn't the oldest, he was still heard.  And even though he wasn't the baby, we still thought he was just as cute and funny.  We had to coax things out of him--we'd say--tell us what you think or how you really feel.  And even though his big sister was standing right there itching to talk for him, and even though his baby brother was right there trying to steal all the attention--we'd wait patiently for this gentle child to speak up.

So, happy birthday to my son!  You were a truly a gift from God all those years ago.  A real miracle.  May God continue to richly bless you and your family.  I will remain eternally grateful to be your mom.  You are and always will be my special gift from God.

my oldest son and his daughter