Tire Tracks on my Driveway

I was walking down our long driveway to the mailbox today, when I noticed some unusual tire tracks. They were smaller than car tires, and formed a perfect 360-degree circle. I stopped my other, normal thoughts, and took a second to praise the Lord for the dirt bike tracks in my driveway.
My son is now 14 and in full teenager mode. He loves that dirt bike. It makes him look (and feel, I’m sure) very cool. It’s also therapy after a tough day at school; it seems like a couple of laps around our 1.6 acres can loosen up pretty much any stress for him. It’s loud. But that’s ok with me.
It’s ok in the same way that I don’t mind his hair being pretty far on the long side, or the posters completely covering probably 60% of his bedroom wall space, or the sound of figuring out a new song by trial and error on the too-loud electric guitar, or the way he likes to sleep until noon in the summer. Those were all the kinds of things that were important to me at that age as well.
His teenage things are ok with me, and I even praise God for them. I am one of those women who waited a good long time to become a mom. We had been married 8 years, pursuing parenthood at least 5 of those, when our son was born. He didn’t grow in my womb, but I don’t care. He’s mine all the same. I think he doesn’t care either. We agree that in God’s amazing sovereignty, He can place a baby anywhere He wants. God chose, according to His plan and by His grace, to bring us together as mother and son by way of adoption. It suits me just fine.
I know that I love him the same way a mother loves her biological child, because two and a half years later our daughter was born, from my own personal womb, and the feeling I had the first time I held her was exactly the same as the first time I held my son. It has been the same ever since. I am crazy about them both.
Fourteen years later, I pray I never take them for granted. I want to treasure them every chance I get. My son starts high school in a few weeks; my daughter middle school. Where did the time go? Before we know it we’ll wish we had the old screech of the electric guitar spicing up a summer afternoon, just as it is as I write this. I’m just so thankful there is someone there making the noise.