My son is just like me. A fact that terrifies me just a bit. Mainly because I can be a bit aggressive at times and thank heavens I have estrogen to help balance my warrior-girl spirit. He has testosterone, plus he's four, so it's kind of like adding kerosine to a raging fire. I keep telling my husband we just need to buy the principal some comfortable chairs because we are likely going to spend a lot of time in that office.
The second way he is like me is his strong sense of justice that takes the form most commonly in the expression of two little words: 'also me?' It plays out like this: Kaiya will ask for some ice cream after dinner and before we even say 'yes' CJ's little voice will pipe up with 'also me?' He says it so often, and usually so fast, I have often thought about getting him to agree to do chores by way of it.
I imagine my girl child offering to do some chore like feed the cats, all on her own and practically singing with happiness, and then CJ piping up before realizing he was asking to do actual work and not get a treat. For Kaiya is a sweet angel child because the Good Lord saw it fit to give me a break and start us off easy before he gave me a real child. One who, and my mother and father will likely giggle at this, is just like me. I call that the grandparent curse. 'I hope one day you have one just like you!' I plan on using it as well.
My phrase was: 'equal rights for twinsies!' That I'm pretty certain my father coined and was likely due to his youngest daughter insisting on justice. Or maybe I just mewed for ice cream with a soft little 'also me?' Either way, to this very day, nothing boils my blood quite like injustice. Which usually turns on my warrior button and I want to fight something.
Like CJ though, I tend to ask for whatever someone else has, not quite realizing I'm volunteering for a nice stomach flu that makes your butt explode. Or I pray for something stupid. Like patience. Never pray for that, it brings horrid things. Like a person you can't get away from that tries your patience every blasted moment they suck oxygen.
For my battles with injustice I typically have had to learn to lay the wounded at the cross. Which I have a tendency to eye because heaven knows I can't stand an empty cross. And the words of Dolly Parton: 'get down off the cross, honey, somebody needs the wood!' are ones I frequently repeat to myself.
God gently reminded me the other day that while I may sometimes be an agent of justice I am never the author of it nor, and this came as quite a shock to me, the dispenser of it. Truer still, I may not even always be 'right,' gasp! That doesn't mean I still don't fight him at every turn to try and insist I am right. He tends to have to cripple the warriors when they won't stop wrestling him until they get their blessing.
Still. 'His understanding is unsearchable.' He knows me so well and understands me so deeply that I couldn't even begin to fathom it. He wisely puts mercy people around me to balance me, and even kindly gives me a few justice friends as well so I can say words like 'smite them' and they completely get it.
And gives me a son who I very foolishly named after this guy who stormed the land of his enemy when all others were trembling and might just storm the lands of his time and right wrongs that make others tremble. Who, when the Almighty is handing out blessings will likely pipe up: also me? And I will smile if that happens for it never occurred to me to just ask for it rather than to fight for it, so maybe just maybe my son will be greater than I. Like arrows from a warrior's quiver they say, but of course, at some point the arrow grows up and becomes a warrior too. Heaven help us, because Texas might not be big enough for a mighty little arrow named Caleb.