The Secret Holder.

I’ve had one constant, consistent prayer for the last 10 years.   My prayer request has simply been for God to allow me see my boys graduate and reach adulthood and be truly self sufficient.

God has heard my pleas and it’s been His will for me to see this happen.  I’m grateful.  Everything else in this lifetime God decides to give me is a bonus.

Hunter has his wings spread wide and is ready to soar from mama’s nest.    In less than two short weeks,  I get the honor and privilege of  seeing him graduate.   It’s slowly dawning on me that he has literally done his last assignment and taken his last test.   Never again will he hold his head in shame over a less than stellar report card.  Never will he stay up past midnight, worried about the math test the next day.  Never will my phone ding and there be a text from his teacher that his stomach hurts.

Hunter “found” himself in the last year. Or rather, he found out who he was created to be in God’s own image. He found out that it’s ok to be square with chewed off corners.   It’s ok to walk to a beat of his own.  God has gifted Hunter with an awesome mechanical ability. He is is father’s child. And that’s perfectly okay.

I see so much of Joseph in him that it takes my breathe away at times.  The crooked smile.  The swagger. His hands, in their forever state of perpetual grease and grime. Because of the COVID19 restrictions, he’s sporting a near mullet like his daddy had. Joseph also walked to a beat of his own, with those same chewed off corners.

I think back to the day that I refused to order a standard tombstone.  My boys were babies when he died( 7 and 9, close enough!).  Although they knew he was with Jesus in heaven and not in the Flat Creek Cemetery, I did not want a tombstone.  The boys needed a bench and a safe place to share their secrets.

The bench became a permanent part of our lives. We’d spend many afternoons in the cemetery  fighting those sand spurs and infamous gnats.  We’ve stolen our own handmade and purchased flowers and gifts back from other graves and placed them back where they belong .  As the boys were growing,    they would often take their guitars and sit on the bench and play songs.  I’d often sneak away to give them some time alone, all the while I’d shed my tears pretending to be  looking at tombstone from 1864. Sometimes we’d all sit on the bench and cry together.  As the boys grew, they would take special people  to share the bench.

That bench has often been where I met with God.  And where Chase has talked to God. And where Hunter has cried to God.  That granite bench holds a lifetime of secrets.  Some good. Some bad.  Some downright ugly. But all heard by God.

It’s where God heard my prayers to let me see my boys grow up.

Thank you, God.  From the very bottom of my soul.

The grateful BeanCounter.

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