to Aidan at seven

 

At some undefinable point this year you grew up.  That statement may sound unreasonable, but I swear it's truth.  Though I didn't notice until it was time for birthday presents.  Your wishlist included a reading light, alarm clock and books.  I tucked you in tonight, surveyed the fat stack sidled up to the bedside lamp, and felt a pang.  After all, I've been here all along.  I'm just not quite sure when YOU - this new you - arrived.

As a first time mother, I was overwhelmed.  How could I - ridden with weakness, failings, flaws - bear the responsibility of teaching all you needed to learn.  Basic physical milestones seemed so impossible when I watched you newborn in your cradle.  I can't teach a child to walk.  Or speak.  Or read.

Yet, with time it became apparent that the weight all those milestones was not on me.  The seeds of each accomplishment were born inside of you.  Your strong body was made to crawl, then stumble, stand and walk.  With so little prodding.  Your tireless mind and tongue were made to think, then formulate, form and speak.  With so little help.  Reading, writing, riding a bike - all have come with similar ease.  The seeds pre-planted within.

So as we've left the little Aidan behind, my worries have shifted.  

How can I  - weak, failing and flawed - bear the responsibility of teaching all you need to learn.  The spiritual milestones loom as I realize that in one short year you'll be baptized, making important covenants with Heavenly Father.  

But a few weeks ago my mind was put at ease.  As I witnessed the powerful seeds of testimony pre-planted in your being.  It was a Sunday and you picked up a Book of Mormon from the shelf, asking if it could be yours to keep.  Yes, yes, I quickly answered and moved on in the let's-get-to-church rush.  In Sacrament meeting you read 1 Nephi, chapter 1.  Which made me grin, of course.  But I gave it no more thought until you came in my room the next night.  Explaining that something had you scared, so you decided to pray.  "And then I just wanted to be righteous, so I asked Heavenly Father to help me."  Your voice was trembly.  I became teary.  Gave you a hug, and said I'd love to help, too.  

The next night you were on chapter 3.  And kept talking about Nephi.  So we made a bookmark out of verse 7, discussing as we designed.  

Two nights later you came downstairs, face stamped with serious concern.  "I just discovered I'm like Laban."  A woeful discovery, indeed.  I was decorating cake, which typically pardons no interruptions from boys who should be in bed, but somehow I knew that had to be put aside.  

"How are you like Laban?"  

The question threw you into instant explanation.  About how Laban took all of Nephi's family's treasures without giving them what they wanted.  About how you took Sunshine Bear and Charlie away from Davyn, so he was left with no sleep companions.  And then, with no prodding, you went into solving mode, giving Davyn Sunshine, Charlie and Mammy (who never leaves your room).

You've likened the scriptures to yourself.  Felt the power of The Book of Mormon.  Realized that righteousness is happiness.

I was stunned.  Awed.  Grateful.  Humbled that we're not left on our own to instill these powerful lessons.  The seeds were yours already, your first and best birth day gift from a Heavenly Father who loves you so. so. much.   

As I do, too.  

Comments

[Jill S.]

Beautiful post Amy, truly beautiful.

[Neighbor Jane Payne]

Whoa. I'm humbled. I'm grateful. I'm appreciative you shared this. Thank you. Thank you.

[Kay S.]

I'm crying (and I already knew the story). He's quite a boy. I echo Jill and Jane, beautifully written and thanks for sharing!

[Sandra S.]

Someday I'll tell you in person what a wonderful mom you are. And then I'll tell you what wonderful children you have.

[Vella]

I should have known I'd need the kleenex box when I started this post. I'm off to read it again.