God gave me sons.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to shop for pink dresses, and oversized bows. To have tea parties or baby dolls scattered across the house. To feel the responsibility of raising a strong woman, in a world that sometimes feels built for men.
But God gave me sons.
So I fold tiny superhero underwear and give daily reminders about putting the toilet seats down. There are trucks and tractors packed into every crevice of our home. Giggles when the slightest noise sounds like a toot, and moments where spontaneous wrestling matches break out, pretty much anywhere.
Yes, God gave me sons.
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Sons to teach empathy, kindness, and love to. Sons to remind that the dishes and the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning are not just for a woman to do, but for a man as well.
Sons to snuggle so they know embrace is more than just something physical and one-sided—there is an emotional power that comes with touch.
Sons who I can remind to be vulnerable because it’s one of the bravest things you can be.
Sons to be husbands and fathers—ones who don’t walk away or quit when it gets hard.
Sons to be men, to be respectful, responsible, and encouraging, no matter your race, gender, or beliefs.
That’s why God gave me sons.
Not because they needed me, but because I needed them. To remind me that sons need a mother’s strength, a woman’s love—because I will always be their first example of how to treat a lady. I believe few things in life are more powerful than that.
God gave me sons and if He ever gave me another, now I know why.