There is an evil secret in my heart.
I am proud.
I am proud of this man who didn’t “roll over and die” after being thrown off a motorcycle. The fact that he stands there is only because of God’s grace and mercy in our lives. The fact that he can pull back a bow after the surgeon said his elbow was “cornflakes” is a testament to the guiding Hand of God Himself during that surgery.
So, yes, I am proud. Proud of my Lord who shows Himself mighty.
Proud of the father of these boys who takes the time to be with them and teach them. My husband is a competitive man and he is raising four boys who, I’m afraid, will be just as competitive. But he is teaching them well and I’ve sweetly told him that he is training the ones who will be his own competition one day.
Alright. So maybe it was said with a smirk.
To which he sighed and said that “yes, there will come a day that they must increase and he must decrease.”
I’m proud of these boys who are miniature carbon copies of their father. Right down to the furrowed brow.
Alright again. So maybe the one with his mouth open takes after his mom a bit.
And I’m proud of Big Sis who is all I’ve got in the realm of femininity to share my love of pink and lavendar, pretty bows and ruffles, stickers and coloring books, playhouses with gingham curtains, and twirling in a brand-new dress.
Lastly, I’m proud of my Little Tyke who is still small enough that he is forced to stay home with mama when the big guys go shoot bows. Though he may wail, Mama is secretly delighted there is still one to sit on her lap and give her slobbery kisses. Every one else seems to think they are getting too manly.
Now you know the wicked secret of my heart.
But maybe it’s not so wicked after all.
Maybe I’m just extremely grateful for these extra special blessings God found fit to bless little ol’ me with.