« May 2006 | Main | October 2006 »
June 09, 2006
A Sick Pooh Bear
Just two days ago, a member of our church commented on how much Caleb seemed to be growing. This church friend mentioned how Caleb had developed the ability to hold conversations on an adult level, how he could look you in the eye and understand. I was reminded of the firmness of his grip when shaking hands. But this disclosure caught me off guard. Could he be right? Could Caleb really be growing up?
Such revelations as this strike a father with a sense of pride, and also a sense of loss. Yes, my Caleb is growing up. At nine years old, he is gaining the confidence and the understanding of a young man. He has certainly learned from me – more by accident than design – how to honor God, how to respect and protect women, how to work with his hands. My son, growing to be a man. And yet, he is still the son that I rocked, making up songs to calm his infant cries. My son, the one I let beat me to the top of the stairs at bed time when he was just a toddler. My son, the one who played with the “guys,” little men made of wooden shapes. We would play that they would pray for one another and help each other. My son, my own little bear, the one I would read the Adventures of Winnie the Pooh – can now read. Oh, the pride, and the sadness, we fathers face as our sons grow.
But this young man is sick this week. A fever rages in his body. He was limp and incoherent. As his fever paced above 104 degrees, he became delusional. He reached for an invisible basket, he said “I have seven sisters and two brothers,” to an unseen guest. At least he got the numbers right. And this father worried.
This young man wanted one thing, for his father to sit with him. My little man is still my little boy, and I love him dearly. I stayed out in the living room through the night with him. I prayed with him and anointed him with oil. I checked his temperature on the hour, putting a cool washcloth to his forehead, giving him sips of water to help reduce the fever. And I held my little bear.
I am a father with three sons – in three very different age groups. My namesake, James, is now 22 years old. A real man on his own and carving out his own destiny. I sat with him today and discussed his life and his goals. And yet, as we sat there talking, I remembered holding him as a newborn. I recalled his pirate birthday party, how I constructed a pirate ship out of large cable spools and the joy in his eyes when he found the hidden treasure. I considered with shame the time I let him down by missing his track meet due to an extended business meeting. My son, my little boy, now a man.
This afternoon, I watched little William, just 14 months old, toddle across the living room from his mother’s grasp to my waiting arms. As he staggered and floundered across the floor, his gaze was on me, his little tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth betraying his intense concentration. And without falling, he made it! He reached out for his father. And his father was there.
Three sons at three different stages in life. A young man seeking God’s plan for his future, an infant lad needing his father’s provision, and a sick little pooh bear, still a little boy, but soon to be a man. Such blessings are too much for this melancholy heart to bear. God has certainly given me so much more than I deserve – and yet He has also directed me to love them and guide them, to teach them and admonish them, and still to hold them and care for them, regardless of age.
And now, Caleb is asking me if I will sleep in the living room with him again tonight to care for his needs. I pick up a book to read him a story. And yes, I say, I will.
Posted by jm at 10:13 PM | Comments (0)