Yes, I've used this little passage before, but it seemed quite appropriate for me to use it again this morning. Scrooge has a soft spot for Tiny Tim. In fact, at the end of the book, Dickens writes, "...and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father." Tiny Tim becomes the child Scrooge never had.
Today is my son's fourth birthday. Before I left the house for work this morning, I stood by his bed in the dark and watched him sleep. I watched his small chest move up and down with his deep breaths. I watched his fingers curl and uncurl into his palm.
My children are miracles to me. I sometimes can't believe I actually had anything to do with creating these creatures. My daughter is tall and graceful, with thick auburn hair. My son is funny and strong, a little bull in a proverbial china shop. If it ain't broke when he enters a room, it will be by the time he exits. I find myself fiercely protective. If one of my children gets hurt or upset, I want to fix them. Heal them. Make sure nothing hurts them or upsets them again.
My children are smarter than me, thank goodness. I like to say they're made of rubber because they're so resilient. They bounce back, fast and hard. They don't let hurts hurt them for very long. When some child or adult causes injury to my daughter or son, they forgive them quickly. (For my son, who has the attention span of an amoeba, hurt and forgiveness are the same thing.) They don't understand grudges and seething resentment like me. They don't understand the satisfaction of harboring anger for days or months or years.
I have learned so much from my son and daughter about forgiveness and love. Daily, they teach me how to be a better person, just like Tiny Tim teaches Scrooge.
Saint Marty celebrates one of the two biggest miracles of his life this day: his beautiful son.
 |
| Happy birthday, my wonderful son |
No comments:
Post a Comment