We parents just can’t help it. We feel proud of our kids. The Bible calls pride a sin, so I’m whispering about it. If you whisper, it’s not a sin. (The Gospel according to Kath.)
But just listen. Two of our 30-somethings finished full marathons today. Mine! They belong to me.
A marathon is from the dam all the way to the bridge. Up hills. Down hills. Killer hills. Today wasn’t even the gnarly part. The months and weeks and days and hours in the dark and freezing and rain and alone… that’s the tough. But, the tough got them across a finish line and in photo moments with medals around their necks and stories to tell.
I stood aside and felt the proud in my throat. For a moment I let it roll down my face. It nearly got in the way, but instead friends and husbands and kids swept it back. This was not my moment, this was theirs.
And mine.
Our lives are a finisher-race, and our Father wants us to finish well. Through the dark and alone. Through slower heart rates and stronger muscles. He knows the tough. He cheers us. He gets us to the finish line.
I even think He feels proud. We’re His. We belong to Him. He put a medal around Bill, a finisher. I think proud rolled down His face when Bill arrived. It was the Father’s moment.
Today our kids finished a marathon well. Ssh…I’m very proud.