There's a boy pile on the floor in the bedroom, all pretzeled together in blissful slumber. I try to decipher which limb belongs to which boy in my attempt to cover each of you with a warm blanket for the remainder of this chilly evening. Your breathing is deep and contented. You are growing up but you're still so small, so very much in need of each other, and so beautifully happy to just "be", even if it means sandwiched together in a jumbled heap of bodies and blankets upon the floor.
Sometimes, I fret about meeting your needs, helping you become all that you have the potential to become, guiding you to find (true) joy (and the foundation it is built upon), teaching you Truth that will guide you ever forward, building into you strength that will carry you through this gauntlet that is life. The responsibility, called parenting, is impossible, if we plan to do it perfectly. So, I must resign myself to do it as well as I can, trust in the provision of Him, and rejoice in the outstanding men that you are - each of you. My heart is perpetually swollen with love for you.