I love four year olds

Four is such a fun age: personalities blossom, total dependency is a thing of the past (yay, for consistently wiping your own booty, son!), and opportunities to work through life lessons arise.

For example.

Last week, Bray and I had a chance to stop what we were doing and pray for someone in need. I still have the image of him laying on the floor next to me, head resting on folded arms, burned into my memory. The look on his face revealed a tenderness I'd not yet seen. Usually, our prayers involve me talking while Bray interjects all the things he wants me to add. Like keep the yucky buggies away. But, this prayer he remained silent until I was done. Then he asked a myriad of questions and it became clear, he is processing. Much, much more than I realize.

Then we had last Thursday. Oh, Thursday. you. kicked. my. butt.
By 9:00 a.m. I'd already yelled at Bray. Come 4:00 p.m., I repeated my ugly behavior, but this time Bray was in tears screaming, "you yelled at me two times today!" Gah. I knelt down and we both sat weeping over my mistakes and his heartbreak. Thankfully, it didn't end there. By God's grace, I was able to look him in the eye and declare, through beautiful defeat, my utter dependance to our Savior. Bray didn't say a word when I finished, but he pressed his head into mine and we snuggled. Which said more than any words could.

You know, it's been no secret, Bray and I have had a rough road. His difficult infancy and my green parenting didn't exactly make life easy, but gosh. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world. Each year our bond deepens, and my love and enjoyment of him reaches new levels.

I'm so thankful for you, Braydon James. Through God's grace we will emerge from this parenting journey with a fierce love and respect for one another. And, most importantly, a greater love for the one who changes everything.