Vince

Vince at Great America, 1990

The first time I saw his face I felt myself get washed by the grace of God.  There was no way I deserved this child; no way to consider myself worthy enough.  I wasn't – I’m not.

Having children is a way that God shows us that He is gracious.  While I was busy trying to be worthy (and beating myself up because I wasn’t) Vince was busy growing up.  He identified shapes and colors as soon as he could talk.  He read, knew the maps of states, and could count to one hundred before he entered kindergarten.  His mind was constantly going and I loved him so much I was afraid he would disappear. 

Before long he was going to school; then he was playing basketball; then he played Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet, reciting Shakespeare to such perfection I wept.  Then he was eighteen, leaving home. Today he is twenty nine.

Twenty nine.

My friend texted me the day before yesterday, a beautiful mother of three boys – all under five years old.  She told me she was just trying to keep her head above water, trying to get the laundry done and make dinner each night for her three little boys.  Next week she’ll be wishing her oldest a happy twenty-ninth birthday.  

That’s how fast it goes.

My son is no longer just mine.  He's moved from being my gifted and talented little boy to a man in this world.  Now our relationship is something that is one grounded in love and mutual respect.  I’ve actually been given the chance and opportunity to know him as a person.  For that, I am eternally grateful. 

Again, it is all the grace of God. 

Happy Birthday, Vince.  

Vince and Rikki - January 2014