Life-Breath

They sat close to each other, an open Bible between them, following along as their minister read the words from Mark, chapter seven. When he reached the eleventh verse, their hearts leapt, and without even looking at each other, they both knew.

This would be the name of their firstborn son, should the Lord see fit to bless them with one.

They really had no inkling of how they would live out what the name meant; nineteen and twenty-four years had not dealt this lesson to the young engaged couple. So ideals took the place of reality, and they clung to the name and its’ meaning rather the way one who cannot read might view a precious book – surely the words mean something beautiful, but how to glean the reward of a story would be beyond them until life offered more.

When the seven pound, seven ounce baby boy breathed his first life-breath, his proud daddy spoke the chosen name out loud. The tired mama rolled the meaning of his name around in her mind – funny, it wasn’t so hard to imagine before she held her firstborn. But now… fiercely, she whispered to God, “He’s mine!”

So seven years passed, and the boy grew in stature and soul. He was skinny, but strong; tall, yet still able to fit under an arm for a hug. He was a leader, but a good playmate as well. His vocabulary astounded many, and his comprehensive use of figures of speech (with perfect timing) was a constant source of entertainment. He read the call to worship before the congregation, closing the service with prayer on many evenings. He learned to read and voraciously devoured “Choose Your Own Adventure” books and Treasure Island; choosing, on many nights, to use his free time before bed by reading to his brother. For his sister, he quickly learned the “hug and release” concept, taught by his mama, who was worried by seeing the baby fall to the floor after an aggressively affectionate hug.

He prayed hard, played hard, and loved hard.

His parents felt the pleasure of God as they looked at their firstborn son.

But in his eighth year, his mama felt something new. Fear. And she remembered what his name meant. Really meant. She read this, and worried that she was clinging too tightly, growing troubled that she might be asked to let go. Might I?

And in her anguished heart, she heard this response…

Beloved, he is a gift. Accept him in the manner he was given. With great love. I do not ask now for the return of his life-breath. But oh, that you might devote yours to the devotion of his…to Me!

His mama sighed. She knew this, this she could do. With all her life-breath.

Happy eighth birthday, Corban Mark! Pray hard and love hard... after God. And feel His pleasure.

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