He’s My Son

*a break from education and/or theology*

You just gave a dirty look toward that tall boy.  You see him there?  Yeah, I know he looks like he is five or six.  But he’s not.  He’s three.  He isn’t going to be at that level of a five or six year old yet.  And he’s my son.

You cluck and shake your head at that boy for being upset.  You don’t understand how parents would allow a boy that size (not age, mind you) to cry and get upset.  But you know what?  That boy has trouble communicating with others.  He had a hole in his ear for two years and suffered many ear infections that severely delayed his speech development.  You think you are frustrated that you cannot understand him?  Try walking in his shoes.  Or mine… because he’s my son.

Ahhh… that boy is three and has the language of an 18 month old.  He’s *ahem* “slow.”  That’s it.  So you decide to baby him or ignore him.  And yet, that boy can construct and deconstruct 3-D puzzles that have stumped adults.  He can hum along with music on pitch.  He can draw amazing pictures.  He tells funny jokes.  He has mastered the alphabet and counting up to 20.  He has difficulty speaking; not processing.  Trust me, I know, because he’s my son.

Gideon, my son, God has granted you some tough times.  But I cannot wait to see the man that He is molding you to be.

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