My Boy

I don’t know what prompted me but Easter Sunday I sent to both our children this simple text: He Is Risen!

Our daughter and family were camping and wouldn’t see the text for some time, if at all. Our son was in Louisville visiting his girlfriend’s family for Easter. He might not even be up but it didn’t matter. I was only wishing them a happy Easter but there was a hope for the response I’d get.

It’s been some time since our son has attended church regularly. The foundation was laid firmly in his life. I know that. He likes his dad’s preaching. (An excuse perhaps) When he’s with us there’s never a fuss about attending even though it means leaving the house at 8AM on Sunday. No, the boy has a good heart. A big heart. I know it and I think he’s finding it. The children that take longer you tend to watch more closely. No hovering, no. That wouldn’t work for him or me. Just love. I’ve mostly learned that but still am reminded.

Over 20 years now we’ve started every Easter service with this:

Pastor: He is risen

Congregation: He is risen indeed.

This is repeated two times with voices becoming louder and more jubilant each time with all voices nearly shouting: HE IS RISEN INDEED!

That is the response. That’s what I was hoping Heather or Jonathan would text in reply.

I never heard from our daughter. Not sure if she got the text and knowing they were busy with a 4-year old who turned out to be extremely frightened of the crabs the folks in the next campsite offered to share with them.

Boy, kk, Sissy

kk with Uncle Jonathan

Our kids and granddaughter

But hours later I heard the text chime. It was from the boy. My boy. The one that only I call J and his sister calls Boy. Both of us too often give in to his charm. It was from him and his reply made my mouth beam in broad smile and my heart soar.

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About Deborah Hudson

I serve in ministry alongside my husband. We are currently working in the recovery community as administrators of a residential program for men who have lost their way in life, many due to substance abuse issues. This program is called an Adult Rehabilitation Center under the direction of The Salvation Army. My husband and I are officers in this organization and as such, ordained ministers. I have two grown children and one delightful granddaughter. I'm also learning to deal with the effects of dementia as my mother is caught in the mire of this disease. I drink too much Pepsi and sing too loud in my car. I blog about my life. Life among people in recovery, life as a journeyer, life unexpected. My life has the typical messiness of the day to day and in the midst of the mess of me is grace. View all posts by Deborah Hudson

14 responses to “My Boy

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