Three years ago, my pregnant wife and I dropped off our daughters at a friend's house to spend the night, because the doctor told my wife that our son was coming. I told the "back-up" worship team that they were on this weekend. Yet, we spent the night at our house by ourselves and nothing happened. We drove to the hospital in the morning, thinking that something might happen. (I almost left my car's gas cap at the station). Thankfully, they let us stay at the hospital.
Later that day, a little after 6pm, my son was born. And now he's 3 years old. I've already
written about his name.
I love my son and how boy-ish he is. He playfully runs, hits, throws and shouts more than both his sisters. I like how he follows me and looks for additional men to look up to when we're at a family reunion or at church. As he grows, I pray I can teach him with God's wisdom.
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