My Favorite Gift


This year for Christmas, I received a priceless gift that wasn’t purchased or packaged or even intended for me. But it was mine nonetheless.
It started as predicted: a tornado of squeals and paper, tossed bags and utter excitement. It was particularly wonderful with Ricky’s sister and her family with us. 3 extra children in the house made it even more joyfully chaotic.
Then came the dreaded words no mother wants to hear: “Mommy, my tummy hurts.” My 9-year-old son, Camden, was hit like a ton of bricks with some kind of stomach bug that kept him near a toilet and trash bucket. “I don’t want to be sick on Christmas!” Me neither, little buddy. Me neither.
Throughout the ordeal, I could hear him praying between heaves, “Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.” I was waiting to hear him say, “Why don’t I feel better yet? I’ve been praying!! But I still feel so bad.” However, despite the never-ending bouts of anguish, his faith didn’t waiver. Rather, it grew.
When he was finally able to rest, he said, “Mom, I’ve been praying.”
“I know, baby.”
“You know what I prayed? God, bless this house and this family. Bless me too! Will You please use all Your powers to heal me?! I know that You can do ANYTHING. There is nothing that you can’t do. So, Jesus, please heal me!”
I welled up with tears hearing his absolute assurance in the power and love of God to heal.
Although I was overjoyed at the sight of his body recovering the next morning, the greater gift was seeing the spirit of my son maturing on his own. My faith grew too.


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