This morning I woke up to the sounds of Will’s creaky door opening, listening to see if I’d respond, and then the pitter patter of feet back to his bed. I drifted in and out of sleep and then heard the sweetest song.
I see the moon and the moon sees me,
The moon sees the things that I long to see,
I see the moon, I see the moon,
I see the moon and God bless me.
That’s how our William sings it and that’s how I hope he sings about life. If you didn’t know, Will wants to be an astronaut. Specifically, he wants to go to the moon in a blue rocket ship and then walk on the moon and “see everything”. He’s so clear in his want for it, he talks about it all the time, and this morning as he peeked out his blinds singing at it I just knew that we were so held by God then and there.
There are those moments in life that suspend you in time. That pause the to do list, that melt the uncertainty, that cover our spirit with such grace that the rest of the junk in our minds yields to goodness and is held by the eternal goodness of the Father.
This was one of those moments with my oldest and my Maker. I crawled into bed with him, he half turned his head but kept his eyes locked on the sky.
Mommy, do you see the moon? Did you hear my song?
I nodded and smiled.
He looked right at me, eyes beaming and lighting that eternal fire in my belly.
It looks so close I feel like I could touch it. I’m going to that moon someday, mommy. I’m so brave, I’m going.
Gush. I gushed into a puddle of worship and tears and thanksgiving. We laughed and smiled at the moon for what felt like forever, though was likely two minutes tops. It was perfect.
My favorite part of this is that last night I went outside to walk our Burley, and I was stunned-happy at the peace I felt looking at the gray-melded dark expanse beyond me. The nights are hard for me. My joints, my mind, my tired of the day catches up and I have always found myself conscious of the darkness, fully aware of my past and teetering on fear of the future or fear of myself.
But last night, the moon was stark against the sky, full and bright and owning it as magic and created promise.
Tears slid down my face and elation stretched as I rejoiced in the promise my Maker holds over our family, over my boys, over Will. I prayed then and there that William would always have the curiosity to explore, the joy to express, the bravery to do and the longing to see beyond a broken world’s limited eye.
And then I woke up to that God-song in him.