Milk Cartons

My youngest son was in sixth grade at the time.
I lovingly called him my Dennis the Menace because of his pockets.
Whenever I did the laundry, I always had to turn his pockets inside out.
I never knew what I would find there.

A pencil that looked like a dog chewed it; a broken rubber band.
A paper clip that had been unwound; the cap of a pen.
Half of an eraser; a penny or two.
The outside shell of a pen with the ink cartridge missing.

I could never wash his jeans without first sorting through his treasures.
They were kept in a small pile until he decided what he wanted to keep.
He usually wanted to keep most of it!

I never understood it!
You’re not a boy, he would say.
True enough.

One day, after he had gone to school, I was changing the sheets in the boys’ room.
I was placing the flat sheet on the mattress and heard a small noise.
My foot kicked something underneath his bed.

I got down on the floor to see what it was.
I couldn’t believe my eyes!
It was a collection of empty milk cartons!

There must have been about twenty-five or more!
There was no odor of sour milk; each one had been rinsed.
There were cartons of white milk and chocolate milk.
I had many questions…questions that had to wait until he got home.

My children brought their lunch to school.
Why were the milk cartons under his bed?

The bus couldn’t come soon enough.
I was waiting for him.
Brian, can you come upstairs, please?
He came up and walked into his room.

My foot kicked something under your bed today…
He looked in the direction of his bed.
Why do you have milk cartons under your bed?

I was collecting them.

Did you drink all of this milk?
No…people gave them to me when they were done.
Why? You had your own lunch.
I wanted to see how many I could collect.

Clear as mud!

It seems as if you have collected about twenty-five cartons.
They may not stay under your bed!

OK, Mom.

The cartons were removed.
The count tallied in his memory.

My son is a intern for the same ministry he worked with last summer.
The team traveled about twelve hours away doing construction…helping the people.
He enjoys working with the youth.
He is the drummer for the worship band.

A few weeks ago, he was the speaker at an evening rally.
He asked me to pray for him.
I thought of him all day and knew in my heart that God would use him greatly.

When he came home for a week long break, he told me about that evening.
My prayers were answered.
I looked at the man that stood before me.

He shared his heart in front of all of those middle school students.
He talked about his Lord…how much He needs God…about his own faith journey.

He is a quiet leader…with gentle strength.

Oh, I forgot…he said, as he put his hand in his pocket.
People could write down encouraging things…if they wanted to.
What a blessing. Did anyone write to you that night?
Yes…most of them did!

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a large wad of papers.
Crinkled papers, ripped papers with uneven edges.
How long had he been carrying them around in his pocket?

You can’t take the boy out of the man!

Memories of milk cartons under his bed came flooding back.
Through warm tears, that I don’t think he noticed, I watched him.

I’m glad the boy remains…hidden under height and broad shoulders and a full beard.
He is there.
He is precious.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.
When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. (1 Corinthians 13:11)

Don’t you think that God the Father delights in the men and women we have become?
He knows all of our idiosyncrasies.
They, too, are a part of who we are.

God smiles lovingly at the child He sees…the one we try so hard to cover up.
We are not hidden from Him.
We are fully known…and that is good.