Trevor is 17 and finishing up his senior year of high school.
Trevor is Trevor today and he was Trevor yesterday and he will be Trevor tomorrow. But I know that as God made Trevor, he was dreaming of a fully loaded technicolor version that none of us have seen yet.
My job, as Trevor's mom, is to help Trevor become himself.
I don't know the inside track to this. I don't know, as we look together at the university options before him, which place is really going to be the best place for who he is and who he is becoming. I have some ideas. I have some inklings. I have some intuitions.
But they could be wrong and anyway, it is not my place to tell Trevor where to go for his degree.
It's my job to help Trevor find his way.
Father, you were dreaming Trevor dreams as you created him in the depths of me. I think you were smiling and laughing as you thought about the boy/ man you were fashioning. You saw him in your mind's eye, fully formed, fully himself, reflecting you in the way that only he could.
Oh dearest Father, would you please guide Trevor into the path that takes him into the fullness of who you dream him to be? Help Byron and me to be midwives in this process. We want to see him birthed into all you have for him.
We are frail and falable. Steady our hands, guard our words, grace our weakness with yourself.
This is your boy. Our delight... but your son.