It a number. It's not the number 22 that I usually speak of but the number 12. Good ole number 12.
There are 12 in a dozen. That's good, right?
6+6=12
We learned that early on.
Twelve could be the age of your child. Maybe twelve is the number of years that you have been married. I can only pray for that one day. But that's not the topic of this post.
Perhaps the number twelve represents the number of pounds you want to lose this year. It could be the number your child wears on the back of their jersey. But what does the number twelve mean to me? More importantly, what does it mean for my son? My 9 year old son.
For those of you that don't know, my son's father has been incarcerated (that's a word I never thought I would use) most of my son's nine years he's been on this earth. His father has struggled with addiction most of his teenage years and adult life despite his many efforts to live a sober life.
I remember when I got word that my son's father was back in jail. I know exactly where I was and who I was with when I saw his mug shot (ouch). Lost. Sad. Broken. I had to fight back tears even though it was an answer to many prayers. What an awful prayer to pray? Not when you never know where they are or what they are doing. Not when you live each day wondering if you will get the dreaded phone call. A phone call I won't even speak about because that's not the point of this at all.
I know a lot of people were relieved. Maybe not relieved for the reason I was but that's not up for discussion. He can serve a greater purpose where he is rather than on the streets. I don't have to live with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach every day of my life anymore. But what about my little boy?
Have you ever heard that grieving someone still alive is harder than grieving someone who is no longer here? I have experienced both and grieving someone while they are still alive... unexplainable. I wouldn't wish that feeling on my worst enemy... not that I have enemies...
It's almost been one year since his arrest. Nearly 365 days. My life changed that day. A part of me was lost and I believe part of my little boy was as well. A void we are both aware of. Maybe those around us aren't aware of it like we are but parties...my son notices the dads and their kids... he notices my brothers with their kids... he notices that his mom is all alone in the bleachers... he notices that other kids have dads to throw a ball with while he gets to throw with his less than capable mom.
I see it in his eyes when he watches dads with their kids. I fight back tears when I see the sadness in his big brown eyes. It's there. It may be something only a mom can notice...but it's evident.
Several weeks ago, my little boy's father was sentenced to twelve years. Twelve years that he will more than likely serve because he was on probation (another word I never thought I would use). This is not part of my story...it can't be. But it is.
Twelve years. Twelve years from now, my son will be 21. WOW! Two more years of elementary school. Junior high, high school, college... girlfriend...s...I hope he finds that one early on and doesn't have to experience the heartache of a break-up. Twelve years of questions that only a dad would be able to answer. Twelve years of ball games. Dates. Dances. Ups and downs. Highs and lows. Good and bad.
We waited... we both fought. But now it's time to move forward and stand on the promises that God will make everything work for HIS glory.
What will the next twelve years look like for us? I have absolutely no idea but I know that greater things are in store for us. God has a plan for me and a plan for my son. We have both been through hell the past several years but God continues to get us through each and every storm. We break. We fall. We cry. But we persevere... we fight and we continue to believe that God's plan for us is far greater than anything we could ever imagine.
This is my story...this is my song...praising my Savior ALL THE DAY LONG.
There are 12 in a dozen. That's good, right?
6+6=12
We learned that early on.
Twelve could be the age of your child. Maybe twelve is the number of years that you have been married. I can only pray for that one day. But that's not the topic of this post.
Perhaps the number twelve represents the number of pounds you want to lose this year. It could be the number your child wears on the back of their jersey. But what does the number twelve mean to me? More importantly, what does it mean for my son? My 9 year old son.
For those of you that don't know, my son's father has been incarcerated (that's a word I never thought I would use) most of my son's nine years he's been on this earth. His father has struggled with addiction most of his teenage years and adult life despite his many efforts to live a sober life.
I remember when I got word that my son's father was back in jail. I know exactly where I was and who I was with when I saw his mug shot (ouch). Lost. Sad. Broken. I had to fight back tears even though it was an answer to many prayers. What an awful prayer to pray? Not when you never know where they are or what they are doing. Not when you live each day wondering if you will get the dreaded phone call. A phone call I won't even speak about because that's not the point of this at all.
I know a lot of people were relieved. Maybe not relieved for the reason I was but that's not up for discussion. He can serve a greater purpose where he is rather than on the streets. I don't have to live with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach every day of my life anymore. But what about my little boy?
Have you ever heard that grieving someone still alive is harder than grieving someone who is no longer here? I have experienced both and grieving someone while they are still alive... unexplainable. I wouldn't wish that feeling on my worst enemy... not that I have enemies...
It's almost been one year since his arrest. Nearly 365 days. My life changed that day. A part of me was lost and I believe part of my little boy was as well. A void we are both aware of. Maybe those around us aren't aware of it like we are but parties...my son notices the dads and their kids... he notices my brothers with their kids... he notices that his mom is all alone in the bleachers... he notices that other kids have dads to throw a ball with while he gets to throw with his less than capable mom.
I see it in his eyes when he watches dads with their kids. I fight back tears when I see the sadness in his big brown eyes. It's there. It may be something only a mom can notice...but it's evident.
Several weeks ago, my little boy's father was sentenced to twelve years. Twelve years that he will more than likely serve because he was on probation (another word I never thought I would use). This is not part of my story...it can't be. But it is.
Twelve years. Twelve years from now, my son will be 21. WOW! Two more years of elementary school. Junior high, high school, college... girlfriend...s...I hope he finds that one early on and doesn't have to experience the heartache of a break-up. Twelve years of questions that only a dad would be able to answer. Twelve years of ball games. Dates. Dances. Ups and downs. Highs and lows. Good and bad.
We waited... we both fought. But now it's time to move forward and stand on the promises that God will make everything work for HIS glory.
What will the next twelve years look like for us? I have absolutely no idea but I know that greater things are in store for us. God has a plan for me and a plan for my son. We have both been through hell the past several years but God continues to get us through each and every storm. We break. We fall. We cry. But we persevere... we fight and we continue to believe that God's plan for us is far greater than anything we could ever imagine.
This is my story...this is my song...praising my Savior ALL THE DAY LONG.
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