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How grateful I am for this boy.

Yes, upon hearing for the 20th time in one day, “Momma, let’s play trucks!” I find myself digging deeply into a motherhood well of patience. I am 41 and know more about diggers, backhoe loaders and excavators now than at any other point in my life. Yes, there are moments that are challenging and yet …  overall, due to the presence of this 3 1/2-year-old wonder, magical moments permeate my day.


I watch my son marvel at our world. He takes in the beauty. He takes in the light. I watch him learn the names of animals, trees, and stars. He holds butterflies and alligators. When I find him in quiet reflections, I ask: “Honey, what are you thinking about?”

“The world. I’m thinking about the world,” he answers.

“The world is a beautiful place,” I reply.


This week, the world has become a more just and beautiful place for reflection. Now, all America’s children can grow up knowing they can marry whomever they love. Now, all American’s children will grow up understanding that access to the basics benefits of health care are human rights, not privileges dependent upon income. These are victories many Americans, identified as progressive, rightly celebrate. Yet, the work is far from done. For the magic of the world is mixed with great pain. One day, when my son is older, I know he’ll not only reflect upon the world’s wonders, but (I hope) also upon how he can mitigate, transform, and bring healing to the pain.

The Muslim mystic Rumi once wrote: “Love turns all pain into medicine.”

The love I have come to know through this child transforms me.

I draw upon the magic and light reflected in his open, trusting eyes to deepen my commitment to love — to deepen my commitment to turn pain into medicine.


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