Expectations

All day long we expect the best of each other.

In blue-eyed Bronson, I see endless possibility. I have no thoughts of him failing or being anything less than amazing. When he bebop’s to music (he literally grooves to it now.), I wonder if he’ll be a world-class musician. When I watch him look intently at photos, I expect that if he wants to, he could be a far better photographer than I. He’s sweet beyond belief, and I expect that he’ll bless many throughout his life with that sweetness.

He expects me to take care of him perfectly. He never doubts that I’ll catch him if he lunges, no matter how sudden his movements. He never doubts that I’ll provide food if he cries. He jumps, expecting to be caught. He cries, expecting to be soothed. He poops, knowing I’ll change his diaper.

Sometimes expectations feel crippling. What if I fail to meet those expectations? Fear clenches, preventing me from trying.

But within Bronson and I’s expectations, fear doesn’t exist. I know Bronson isn’t perfect. And he knows that I’m not perfect.   But we love each other immensely, and in that love, fear cannot exist.

Our expectations for each other are about our belief, our faith in each other. I hope and pray that throughout Bronson’s life my expectations for him aren’t limiting or crippling; rather, I hope they let him know that I think very highly of him. And ultimately, all I expect is that he’ll be the best version of himself.

I’m learning why child-like faith is so much more beautiful than adult faith. What if I believed that God expected so much of me because he thinks so highly of me? What if I expected only the best from him, trusting that he’ll always provide for me and sooth me?

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