“He’s Different”

I knew the moment the line turned blue on the stick that it was a boy.

Without divulging all of my unfortunate medical history, we’ll just say that it wasn’t looking good for me to get pregnant.  We had been married for seven years and I had undergone multiple surgeries on my “girl parts.”  The surgeon left little-to-no hope for a baby.

 I cried.

 I begged God.

 I begged for one.

 Just one.

“Out of the blue”, (isn’t that how God’s timing always seems to be?) I was 5 minutes late on my cycle and peeing on a stick.  It turned blue.

So I went and got three more.

I was at work and had my co-worker, Danielle, read the directions on the pregnancy test, then I showed her the sticks.  All of them.  They were all the same.  We squeeled.

 A lot.

We all plotted to get Bobby to come to the salon to surprise him with the news.  Ok, so we lied a lot to get him to come to the salon to surprise him with the news.  Hey, whatever it takes.

I was never sick while I was pregnant.  I was tired.  Hungry.  Occasionally weak, but overall felt fantastic.  I have so many stories in my memory that I won’t tire you with, but one I’ll tell is that during the first trimester I’d get up in the middle of the night and eat poptarts.  Yep, poptarts.  On the couch.

With my eyes closed.

I was 28 when I got pregnant, 29 when I had him.  It was all going great until after the holidays that year.  In January, the first week, I think, I started having contractions.  I thought they were Braxton-Hicks, but come to find out, um, no ma’am, those were NOT Braxton-Hicks.  They were for realz.  Perhaps I should have not cleaned house quite so fanatically.

I spent almost a week in the hospital.  It was intense.  Excruciatingly long story short, (I’ll save all that for another post),  I was put on bed-rest from January until he was born April 17th.  Many times in those months the Lord blessed us and saw fit that Marshall should not make his arrival too soon.  He was only three, or three and a half weeks early.  Successfully incubated.  Pleasantly petite.  Yet I still thought I was going to split in two spitting that kid out. (Insert “lol” here)

The minute I laid eyes on him my world was complete.  The second I heard him cry, I knew in my soul that all was well.  I just wanted, needed, to hear him cry.  He wailed.  I sobbed.

It was the most beautiful sound I will ever hear.

He was 6 pounds 12 ounces of scrawny.  But during the eight months he cooked, my mantra was, “I’ll fatten him up after he gets here.”  Seriously, though, to be early, he was a good size, totally healthy and ready to eat!  He went from hardly on the chart, to 90th percentile in a month.

 That’s my boy!

My sister is a school teacher, so she was off work all summer, and my mother-in-law was recently retired, so when I went back to work in June, they kept Marshall for us.  It was a perfect set-up.  Then, in the fall he went to Mrs. Cindy’s home care.  He loved it there.  It was like going to a young grandma’s house every day.  Mrs. Cindy took such good care of him.  I will always appreciate her.  She often would say to me, “he’s different.  I can’t explain it, but he’s different.”  Words I would find I would hear often in his life.

He stayed with Mrs. Cindy until he was two, or so.  Then went to Annsworth Academy.  A great little pre-school where he learned and grew and got in trouble and cut his hair and loved to play and never napped.  They loved him well and Mrs. Sandy, the assistant director, would often tell me,

“he’s different.”

Then he started Kindergarten at North Florida Christian School.  The school where his big brother had his 13 year career.  We love that school and are thankful for the Biblical world-view our boys have gotten in their education.  He made friends, learned, got in trouble, loved to play and fortunately they don’t nap in big school.  He has made an impression on that school and that school has made an impression on him.  Elementary school was a good experience for him, and his third, fourth and fifth grade teachers all told me,

“he’s different.”

He’s moved up the food chain and as I write, is in the 8th grade.  He had a teacher in the 7th grade who loved him well and took good care of him.  She spurred him on in his faith and encouraged him as she taught him.  She saw in him something special.  She told me,

“he’s different.”

 He plays football and works out at our local gym almost daily.  A young man who works there has taken Marshall under his wing and is training him for football.  He is obviously fond of Marshall and enjoys working with him.  I was talking with him a few days ago and heard those words again.

 “He’s my man.  He’s awesome.  He’s different.”

Stopped me in my tracks.

It surprised me so, that I had to fight back the tears.

This running theme I hear over and over again.  Always the same words.  Always the same tone.  Always the same meaning.  But, what is the meaning?  What is the “different” that people sense?

I can only ponder in my heart what it means, and anxiously await every day to see what comes forth in his life.

Marshall has been a dream child.  Of course, like any kid, he’s had his “moments”, but over all he’s been delightful.  Again, the stories I could tell but I’ll spare you.  As a baby, he’d put himself to sleep, took himself out of his crib, highchair and diapers.  Fiercely independent, yet unwilling to do things alone.  Raised around adults, if he’ll learn from all the things he’s heard, he’ll be alright.

The most important happening in his life, however, was when he accepted Jesus in his heart as his Savior.   He was baptized by his Dad and our pastor in a friend’s pool.  Clearly the most important day in his life.

I’ve never been more content as a mother than the day he accepted Christ.  It all boils down to that.  Everything else is just stuff.

He’s growing into a young man now.  Maturing both physically and emotionally.  It’s fascinating to watch, and sad for my mom-heart all at the same time.  I miss those days of child-wonder, but so look forward to the days of his life where he puts into practice the things he’s learned, and all the giftings God has put in him become evident.

When he was little, I’d pray this prayer over him:

Father, in the name of Jesus, I pray your protection over Marshall. I pray that your angels would be encamped about him and that your hedge of protection would surround him.  I pray that your Holy Spirit would fill his room and that every breath he takes would nourish his body.  I pray that he’ll have a restful and peaceful night’s sleep.  That he’ll sleep all the way through the night and not be awakened or startled, and when he wakes up in the morning he’ll feel refreshed and renewed.  I pray your healing over him and I speak your protective healing over him in the name of Jesus.  I pray a spirit of obedience of Marshall, and a gentleness and kindness toward others.  I pray your wisdom, intelligence, knowledge and common sense over him, and I pray that every day he lives he’ll walk as a man of God and never know a moment apart from your love.  And that every gift you’ve placed in him will come forth in your time to honor your name.  In Jesus name.   Amen

He’s an awesome kid.  I know he’ll be an amazing young man.

 It swells in my heart to know that God has an unchangeable, unwavering plan for his life.  He’s sensitive, introspective, observant.  He is a part of me.  I am in awed wonder that God let me give birth to him.  He’s quite the person.  I can hardly wait to see his life unfold.  Because

“he’s different”