When my youngest was little, I used to tell him a story. It went something like this…

“I loved being a mommy so very much that after your brothers were born I knew I wanted more babies. I prayed and I prayed only it didn’t look like it would happen. So I said a special prayer to God that if he just gave me one more baby I would never ask for another and God sent me you.”

One day when my little guy was about five years old, I hear all three of my boys bickering in the family room. I can decipher from the dialogue that my youngest is feeling the oppression of being the low man on the totem pole.

He stomps defiantly out of the family room despite feeling powerless.

He then walks up the two stairs to the kitchen, swings around to face his brothers and in a moment of absolute indignation declares, “Oh yeah!! Well, mom didn’t pray to God for the two of you!”

I lock eyes with my eight-and-a-half and eleven-and-a-half year old and we bust out laughing.

They have heard the story so many times even they find the humor in their brother’s retort.

He walked right past me with his head held high. I had to smile. It was a moment of child and motherly success. We hope to instill so much love in our children they tackle adversity with confidence.

This weekend my baby turned 17. He now readies to stomp out of the house and towards his future rather than out of our family room.

I am reminded of just how much love I have sought to instill in each of my children. A vast amount of love that overflows so generously it can’t help but spill over into the others that they meet.

And of course, enough to tackle adversity, head held high…knowing exactly who he is.

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