My tale of three sons . . . mine, his, and ultimately, God’s
Every parent with a son—or a daughter!—has special reason to celebrate this morning as we stop to ponder the reality of the birth we’re remembering. Many seemed to resonate with that truth when this post appeared last December. So, as a warm Christmas greeting to you this morning, we’re updating and posting it again.
On the morning of December 19, forty-two years ago, my wife, and I were at home with our infant son, just nine days old, and his 3-year-old sister. I don’t remember exactly what we were doing, but I do remember how pleased we were to add a son to our family, especially at Christmastime. Sonograms were not usual in those days, so we didn’t know we had a son until we got to the delivery room. We would have been happy with another girl or a boy, but once this boy was here, we wanted to tell the world! I fashioned a combination birth announcement/Christmas card. “Thank You, God, for your Son . . .” it said on the cover. “And for ours!” it continued on the inside.
Decades later, on the morning of December 21 just five years ago, that son and his wife welcomed another baby boy to our family, born in the predawn dark after a long and difficult labor. Driving to work that morning, I received his e-mailed announcement, accompanied by smartphone pictures of the forty-five-minute-old newborn swaddled in the hospital blanket, lying face-up on his daddy’s lap. I had to pull over to study the photos as I repeated the child’s name. A baby! A son! A grandson! I don’t remember feeling so giddy even when this baby’s father, my own son, was born.
I don’t remember feeling so giddy
even when this baby’s father, my own son, was born.
Emotions were heightened, I think, because this child came after his parents had been married fourteen years. We didn’t ask, but we figured either they didn’t want a child or couldn’t conceive one. As it turns out, getting pregnant had been a challenge for them, but after all the months of failure and fear, the boy was finally here.
But later that day a nurse saw something that led her to suspect a problem. The baby was rushed to the NIC unit and studied overnight. My son watched a monitor with the doctor to see injected dye course through the infant’s delicate digestive system. It flowed without interruption, and eventually they decided everything was normal. But while we waited, after so much anticipation and so much joy, I couldn’t bear the thought of his parents losing him. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed more earnestly, more desperately, in my life. “Oh, God, you must save this child!” And he did.
Deep love
We stayed with this little family, along with the other set of grandparents, through Christmas, but we returned a couple of months later to discover my son and his wife clearly enthralled with and devoted to this infant. As we said goodbye at the end of that visit, I touched my son’s shoulder. “You see how you feel about your son?” I said. “That’s how I feel about you!”
The statement almost startled him. Men seldom say such things to each other, and most family members repeat the routine “I love you” without stopping to consider the substance behind what they’ve said.
It’s good, though, at least now and then, to ponder this love and to know how deeply it’s felt. I wanted my son to ponder.
Remarkable gift
I’ve been thinking about this as we anticipate Christmas this year. Every holiday we speak and sing other phrases that can lose their meaning with repetition. “God sent his Son, his only Son” we proclaim and not only at this holiday. That’s appropriate, because it is so central to our faith.
But this year, as I remember the deep joy and sustenance brought to me by both my son and my daughter, as we hug a grandson who delights us with all he’s becoming at 5 years old, I shudder at the meaning of “God sent his Son.” My wife and I watch and try not to worry at each twist and turn in our children’s lives: their problems at work, their struggles with faith, their wrestling with personal goals. We hate it when they’re sick. We’re anxious when they’re driving to come see us. We wish we could make right the injustices they face. I expect, and oh, how I hope, that we’ll die before they do. I can’t bear the thought of seeing them suffer in a tragic death.
You see how I feel about my son? God felt the same about his!
This Christmas I’m trying to grasp what it means that God sent this Son, gave this Son, sacrificed this Son to fragile flesh and excruciating pain. The truth of it is overwhelming. Wash away all the buildup caused by multiplied remembrances, and tremble at the worth of this gift. Vow with me this Christmas you will not take it for granted. “God so loved the world that he gave . . . his only begotten Son.” How could any other oft-repeated reality mean more?
Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
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