My Poem

From hopping, bug-eyed frogs and creepy, crawly, slimy snails

to wiggly slithering snakes and wags of happy puppy dog tails,

rumors abound concerning how the good Lord up above

determined what ingredients little boys were to be made of.

I've heard that this mixture included some dirt and grime

perhaps alongside a dash of mud and a pinch of slime.

All of this to create a small child with a sweat-streaked face,

a snotty nose, and a sticky substance from a mysterious place.

It seems that God made little boys tough and strong with the ability to withstand

scuffed up knees, banged up chins, and even cuts on his little, grubby hand.

His appearance is disheveled from the top of his head to the littlest toe on his feet so bare;

conceivably, with a lizard in his pocket and bubble gum in his hair.

Despite never before having one of my own, his reputation precedes

of how a little boy is filled with an adventurous spirit and mischievous deeds. 

As he explores and conquers anthills, climbs trees, and throws stones,

he's likely to end up with countless bloody knees, splinters, and casts for broken bones.

I don't look forward to making meals for his bottomless belly or the endless pile of dirty dishes.

But I treasure the thought of love from a little boy for his mommy, even with the wettest of kisses.

I don't look forward to washing mounds of dirty clothes, constantly replacing his pants quickly worn thin.

But the footsteps that tracked in the dirt from outside will also follow ours as we teach him not to sin.

And I don't eagerly anticipate scrubbing sticky fingerprints off of the walls

But I do look forward to his tiny hand holding tightly mine, picking him up when he trips and falls.

Even a weed bouquet in his chubby little hands surpasses an arrangement of elegant roses.

For he's mommy's little angel with a misshapen halo, the one I'll lovingly gaze on when he dozes.

I look forward to his twinkling eyes, bearing the resemblance of his daddy who held me through the tears.

I can't wait to see Jesse hold his son in his arms, knowing that we prayed over him for nearly 2 years.

I look forward to my son's precious prayers, as He learns to trust his Heavenly Father without any doubt.

I know that God promised big things for his life, and I'm excited to see that come about.

As he roughhouses and plays, imitating dinosaur roars,

as he romps and runs, stomping in puddles after it pours,

I pray that God directs him wherever he may go,

for he's going to need all of the grace God can bestow.

I pray that God guides him, every step of the way, teaching me also through all of life's surprises.

The answers to our prayers come in all packages, all shapes, and all sizes.

In each, along with everything else is insurmountable joy,

but the answer to mine is found in Josiah, this precious little baby boy.