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My son is going through an “I can’t” stage. He “can’t” eat but a millimeter of meat. He “can’t” run and play with his sister if she (and her longer legs) runs faster than he does. He “can’t” squeeze less than an ocean of toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

We encourage (Make) him to go through with his cants for obvious (you will respect me now) reasons, but we mostly don’t want him to be okay with giving up. Health problems have kept him from running and sporting like a 5 yr-old-boy should, so at a young age, he has reached that mountain he’s unable to spell yet: adversity. He’s happy by nature, but sometimes a challenge wells up in him so much that it lights his attitude like a flickering bulb. When his sister beats him to the swing set and the trampoline and the kitchen where cookies are fresh from the oven, his faces scrunches up into a million red creases of agony.

I decided to tell him about David the shepherd boy, who from a young age had to 100_1834kill lions and giants. I tell him how David had to run for years and hide in caves to avoid being murdered by a jealous king. How he had moments of overwhelming anguish, but despite those odds he didn’t let the cants lead him.

I know I’ve had days where the cants try to lead me. But I see Noah, and then drag my eyes to the sky.

If God gave David a mountain to climb in order to become a king, He will take our hands too, guiding us through the steepest crags to become what we are meant to be. One step at a time.

 

I truly hope you have a good Monday. Thank you, loyal friends, for coming back each week.

I wrote about another mountain–one where everything extraordinary has been banned by man. If you’d be interested in a review copy of Wake, visit Story Cartel (soon) to get yours.

 

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