What is it about a mother’s love for her son?
The word ‘son’ instantly fills me with swelling pride. I almost never say the words ‘my son’ – they seem so weighty and wonderful, and if I speak them out loud perhaps something would burst or be irreparably tarnished. Sometimes I say it fast or whispered, catching my breath a little. Really? Is this all real and true, and right here? ‘My son’? What a privilege.
Since that first October afternoon, I have been smitten and a little woozy – completely delighted with a romance of the purest and most innocent sort. My daughter has my whole heart and all my love in a special way, all her own. She’s my first born, my princess, and my joy! Yet my love for Hudson and his for me is unique, differing in ways I don’t completely understand. Attempting to describe it feels like grasping at the wind.
Hudson and I don’t talk much yet. Just coos and clicking tongues and sometimes laughter. I think of the words of King Lemuel’s mother, recorded in Proverbs 31, and one day I’ll teach him these things. But as I care for him in his infant dependency, I trust my serving hands are teaching his spirit: Open your mouth for the speechless, In the cause of all who are appointed to die. Open your mouth, judge righteously, And plead the cause of the poor and needy.
One day he’ll be a man, a leader in his home, church, community, nation…yet this intimate love, these word-less conversations and long, wakeful nights are all shaping him into the man-prince God created him to be.
The son of my womb, tonight in my arms, one day to wage His Father’s war in the world.
My precious son.