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Dreams are ….funny things.

I’ve heard that some people dream about their grown kids, but as they were when they were little. I never dreamt that until recently. My youngest just turned 13. He, like his brothers, is now taller than me. His voice is deeper. When his brothers where at this stage, I still had tiny Elliott. Who wanted to crawl into my lap. Or beg to be held. I know why I dreamed about him being little again, too. I volunteer at a thrift store in my town that’s connected to my college. And a mom came in with her young kids. Those kids were so adorable. As they were paying for their finds, the little boy in this tiny little voice asked his mama, “Can you hold me?”

I just about melted right there. Reflecting on my own kids getting older, taller, changing – how cool for them, but how bittersweet for us. I said to the mom, “I know it might seem exhausting some days but they do eventually stop asking to be held.”

That night, that’s when I dreamt of my youngest being so little with his smooth face and chubby hands. Looking at me like I was the most important person in his world. But in the dream I knew it was fleeting, like really knew it? I tried to hold onto his face. I could see teen him behind tiny him, in the way that dreams are weird combinations of a crossover collaboration of time. Those are the dreams you really think about the next day. I’m still thinking about this one.

“Let your roots grow down into Him, and let your lives be built on Him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.” -Colossians 2:7

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The River

Author The River

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