Look. Here is my only son. Today is his eighteenth birthday and he is a man, a head taller than most. Not physically speaking but as a matter of the heart. He has the heart of David and the loyalty of Jonathan, his names sake from the Old Testament. In him,
I am proud, if I can be that without sin.
Today, I was asked to send him out amongst the wolves of our world, many of which are dressed in sheep’s clothing. He has been requested as a counselor for a camp with troubled children from horribly disturbed home lives.
Lord, his heart? That is not a safe place. Please send me instead. . . . Yes, he is yours. I gave him to you as a baby even while nursing. You’ve done a splendid job keeping him safe thus far. What tenderness you have created in him. I trust you to keep that which is yours. I give my only son to you again. Please hold my heart as it breaks for my little one, now big, venturing out where the wolves are.
This can be only a fraction of what you felt as you sent your only son to die for my wrong doings. Forgive me.
I have no grounds to ask, but please make my son brave. Keep him tender towards you, a man after your heart.
