“Look at those big clouds, mommy! I wish I was on a cloud!” came the voice of my three-year-old from the back of the car. Goodness kid, me too! I used to daydream about bouncing and running on clouds, carefree and without worry, so I did my best to squeeze those memories to the surface in order to join my precious little one in his imaginary world. We talked about how clouds might feel, if we could we jump, run, dance, and play on them, and about our affinity for fluffy clouds rather than thin, wispy ones. I heard pure joy and innocence in his voice—happy sounds of childhood.
Three has been a tricky age for me. I’ve watched my son become much more independent which, with a new baby also in the house, has been something I’ve welcomed. However, I am beginning to realize that his newfound physical independence—using the bathroom, getting dressed, picking out snacks—has led me to overestimate his emotional independence and overall maturity. Little moments like this bring me back to the reality that he is in fact, still my little baby, seeing the world with fresh eyes and wonder. Little moments like this remind me of the importance to foster whimsy and spark imagination in his heart. Little moments like this bring us closer. Little moments like this remind me that I need to set aside my type-A, list-making, task-driven self and dance more, laugh more, and dream more.
So, to my son, here’s my commitment to you:
I promise to play superheroes with you any time of day, in the hope that you will one day know the One true Superhero who is able to save—Jesus.
I promise to have random dance parties with you so you learn confidence in being silly.
I promise to make hot cocoa with you whether it’s 10 degrees or 80 degrees out, because hot cocoa rules were made by adults and should be thrown to the wind.
I promise to snuggle with you on the couch while you watch TV instead of always doing housework, because I know you won’t always want my arm around you.
I promise to always let you splash in puddles because wet clothes are temporary but memories are forever.
I promise not to be so uptight about crumbs on the floor and dishes in the sink because you won’t remember those things, but you will remember if I made time to play with you.
I promise to dream with you, little one. I promise to laugh wholeheartedly with you. I promise to look for adventure in every day little moments in the hope that it helps you keep your sense of wonder.
I promise to do my best to love you exactly how you were created to be loved.
I promise to learn more each day about who you are and the things that make your heart soar so that my love becomes a reflection of your Heavenly Father’s love for you.
Most of all, I promise to point you to the God who is perfect, because I know that I may fall short, but He never will. Someday, may you dance on clouds with Him.
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