Growing Up

He's growing up, that boy of mine.

One night, after dinner, he asked, "Are we having devotions?" We usually do, but it was late, and we were all tired. "Not tonight," Henry said, and I expected a quick exit from the table, a sigh of relief, some sort of sign of approval. "Oh," he said, clearly disappointed. And so we pulled the Bible out and had devotions. What parent wants to disappoint a child by not reading the Bible after the evening meal?

And then there was the night he apologized for something that he needed to apologize for. No threats, no commands. An unsolicited apology.

And then there was the game where he had spent most of the evening on the bench, like he often does, hoping that a wide point spread in the fourth quarter would put him in the game. (It takes great courage to begin playing basketball when you're a junior in high school, but he did it.) His teammates were playing hard--they had played badly the first half, but in the second half, in the first couple of minutes, they finally began playing like they usually do, scoring about ten points and taking the lead away from the other team, leaving them in the dust. And the glory of it for my boy was that they did it--they actually came back. And so he had cups of water ready at time outs, pats on the back and hugs for those who returned to the bench for a rest. A son of encouragement who never got to touch the ball that night.

And then, on the way home from church one night, he told us that he wants to profess his faith publicly,  before God and the church--to say that he believes the doctrine of the Old and New Testament as taught in this church are the complete doctrine of salvation and to promise to continue in this for the rest of his life; to declare that he loves the Lord and desires to serve him and live a godly life; to submit to the government of the church.

He's growing up well, that boy of mine.