Wounded Warriors

Baby Bob has been on electronics lock down for two weeks. Again. Yeah, it was a repeat performance of the notebook… This grading period was actually worse than the first. And again, he knew the sentence before he committed the crime. We are working through some of those issues, and I am surely praying he will (soon) see the light…

The first week, he entertained himself by constructing massive operations bases from Lego and Halo sets. He had quite the engineering masterpiece set up across three rooms. Last I saw them, the troops were gearing up for a humanitarian mission complete with tiny bundles of supplies wrapped with para-cord (kite string). He even wrote out little leaflets of coded information to be dropped with the aid packages. He showed the leaflets to me, chattering about the “code” he’d printed. He’s seen them before. Small strips of notebook paper with numbers written so painstakingly … just numbers.

I haven’t felt very well the past few days, and haven’t been further than the living room all weekend. He has been right here, practically sitting ON me, telling goofy kid jokes, watching football, and tucking blankets around my feet. I had to lay down this afternoon, and fell asleep. When I woke up, he wasn’t here in the living room. I could hear him talking, so I figured he was probably fortifying his super bases, and went to check the troops’ progress.

I didn’t find him with his Lego creations. I found him in his room, quietly giving encouragement to a soldier. You see, a year or two ago his aunt gave him a box full of GI Joe figures that belonged to her children when they were young. Of course, they were not new, but very well loved, and perfectly appropriate for my military child. My son loves to tell “their stories”, and their stories tend to change, based on whichever life circumstance he’s working through. He had each of them out of their box, neatly lined across the carpet. For the most heavily damaged, he built a wheelchair. For the Joe recovering from an amputated arm, he fashioned a prosthesis. And for his favorite, the fellow that lost his left leg, he tailored Joe’s pants and built a cane.

Curious, and admittedly impressed, I said something like, “Hey, you fixed your broken men!”

And my boy looked me straight in the face… “No, Ma’am. These are the guys we rescued. They read the verses (Oh my word…the numbers!!) on the leaflets. They are all wounded warriors. I can’t fix them. Only Jesus can fix broken men. But I’m helping them until Jesus can make them whole.”

I can’t beat that. I can’t even live up to that. But you know something? Jesus gives children the purest hearts. It’s my responsibility, as a mother, to keep my son’s heart so full of light, that darkness has nowhere to take hold. And when Jesus looks straight into me, from behind the eyes of my child, it is impossible to deny Him. Utterly impossible.

Be blessed, Y’all.

  ~ He sent out His word and healed them; He rescued them from the grave. ~

             ~ Psalm 107:20 ~

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