Change.

"Ox-ee-gen..." 

 he sounded out the word,

 making the soft sound on the g in "gen".

I could see his fingers gripping the large book,
and that's all of him I could see.

"Oxygen," I helped.
"It is what we breathe."

Without meaning to, I inhaled and thought about the oxygen that filled my lungs,

that gave me another moment of life

watching my son discover his

granted by the will of God.

The moments with him, the things he loves, the person he is,

and he keeps changing and reaching zealously to know more.

He sat there reading, and I almost couldn't believe he'd come this far

with the little help and guidance I'd given him.

Change. 

His nine year old sister has taught him more about letters and sounds than I have,

 

and here he sat reading a book about bones and muscles,

 because it interested him so much:

he was determined to read those words about those pictures.

"Why can't babies walk, Mom?"

his question interrupted my thinking.

I explained to him about cartilage, tweaked his ear, and pointed to the pictures.

His eyes smiled and I wondered how much he was understanding,

likely much more than I give him credit for:

this little man entering a looming world of adventure

and questions.

And suddenly, as I looked at him, I smiled,

because I just couldn't help it.

Linking up to:

Jennymatlock: Alphabe-thursday-letter-o

and to

Lisajobaker: Five-minute-friday: change

(where we write for five minutes each Friday).

Cornerstoneconfessions.com
Raisinghomemakers.com