Full

From the moment I found out I had a baby growing inside, I began to pray one prayer and I haven't stopped praying since.

"Lord, let this baby have a heart for You.  Teach him to hear your voice and perceive your presence and give him your Holy Spirit from an early age."

I've been pretty convinced my prayer was answered before tonight, but this evening at church when he raised his little hand and praised Jesus at church, I became even more certain.  I know that he will have a conversion experience some day.  I know that there will be a day when he decides to give his heart to God and a line will be drawn in the sand separating "before" and "after."  But this little one already loves to praise his Lord.

Tonight I went to the Mill for church.  I was craving it.  I dropped Danny off at Kids' Life (our church's childcare) where I deposited him into the eager arms of a woman who recognized him by name and declared him to be "the perfect baby".  Ha!  She wasn't around for dinner tonight.

Anyway, I went over to church and drank it in.  Our church has a gift for worship through music and I lost myself in the Holy Presence that filled the room and drowned out everything else.  It was so rich that when church ended, the worship band kept playing and half of the congregation stayed to keep singing.  I slipped out to go get my little bundle of energy, hopeful that he would still have some of that energy left to come back and enjoy the music for a bit more.

Boy did he ever.  As  we walked back in, he became quiet and observant.  His wide eyes looked all around at the multitude of men and women praising Jesus.  As we approached our seats (which we didn't bother to sit in), it was as though he felt the holy moment and he reacted immediately.

He reached out an open hand to the air.

He wasn't signing please or all done.  He wasn't reaching for something.  He didn't make a sound.  He wasn't waving or pointing.  He was praising Jesus with his little hand open to the air, honoring the King he was before.  And then promptly, despite everyone else standing, his mommy looking at him, the loud music playing and eyes open all around him, he folded his hands and bowed his head to pray.

The lump filled my throat.

In the next minutes, he raised his hand more.  He sang.  He asked for milk and his pacifier.  He wanted down and then up and then down again, but through it all, he remained reverent. He signed music and bounced and then raised his hand again.  It was like he was just taking it in.  I prayed over him and worshiped with him while I observed what child-like faith looks like.

After about ten minutes, his little one-and-a-half-year-old body reminded him it was way past his bedtime and he started to fuss like the Danny I know when he's cranky and tired.  I grabbed his cup that he dropped. Then the pacifier that he threw.  Then the cup that landed on the floor again.  Finally I grabbed our coats and we headed out to go home.

That transition, from awe and praise to tired and cranky, just helped me see a little more clearly that I was not mistaken or blind in my mommy-hopefulness.  Rather, my son saw the King of Kings tonight, and I couldn't be more full.