Photo of the Day: Arrows In A Warrior’s Hands
He comes home from a day at the pool with sun-washed cheeks, bloodshot eyes and tan skin. He’s 10 and I celebrate his fleeting boyhood, a rare treasure indeed. After a late dinner, I tuck him in bed and he begins to talk.
“There’s something worse than death, Mom,” he says as he pulls his quilt over his shoulders.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Eternal pain,” he sighs. “Eternal pain. Torture that goes on forever.”
He’s been reading a lot of Greek mythology lately.
“That stuff’s not real,” I tell him. “They made it up to explain things they couldn’t understand.”
“I know that,” he reassures.
I sit on his bed while he says his prayers. He crosses his heart six times and blows six kisses to heaven. “The first one is for God, ” he explains. “The second one for Jesus. The third one for the Holy Spirit.
“The fourth one for Mary. The fifth one for Saint Columba. The last one for Grandpa.”
As he prays I marvel at this amazing human being and I can’t believe I didn’t trust God more. I can’t believe I ever let myself have a bad day. Like, if I could have known during all the bad stuff – there was so much of it – that somewhere in my future this boy was going to be my kid, I would have never shed a single tear over anything or anyone. I’ve wasted so much time worrying about things I’ve lost, when all along they were the very things that brought me gain. The losses saved me.
I need to repeat that line. The losses saved me.
I don’t deserve you, Son, and, I never will.
Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him. Children born to a young man are like arrows in a warrior’s hands. How joyful is the man whose quiver is full of them. —Psalm 127:3-4