We pulled to the curb, in front of the tall, brick dorm, and unloaded my son’s belongings. Everything material he’d need for living, packed into heavy, gray totes. Soon we’d grab a cart, and Lonny and Logan would begin the haul, up to the sixth floor.
“Hey, Logan,” a handsome young man called. He crossed the street and he and Logan did the brother-hug. Quick embrace. A few cuffs on the back. They fell into easy conversation. What was your summer like? Missed you, Buddy. The guys have been waiting for you…
Then the young man continued on his way. But it was just a moment more before a bevy of young men came up the walk. Logan! Hey! Good to see you. More hugs. More cuffs. Conversation and friendship and gladness and joy. A few minutes later, others joined the group. These are the young men, I thought, that God has brought my boy. The ones he’ll pray with, laugh with, grow and move into manhood with.
Thank you, Jesus.
An hour later, when the totes had been hauled and goodbyes had been said, I watched my young man walk up that same sidewalk. There was a bounce in his step, an ease in his stride. When he reached the door, Logan turned, tan and strong and long-summer blond, and gave me a thumbs up.
My heart smiled.
Thumbs up to you, too, Sweet Boy.
Now go ahead and fly….