As Long As I Can

There are few sensations quite as unique as your child’s drool sliding into your eye. It’s warm, sticky, and has this way of making you aware of every nerve in your face. Normally, something like that might frustrate me. But not this time. Not with my son.

This time, it felt like an honor.

He was on my shoulders, grinning and gurgling, doing his best impression of a baby king surveying his kingdom. And me? I was the proud and willing pack mule.

When I broke my collarbone a while back, I spent a lot of time wondering what I’d lose. Would I play catch again? Lift groceries without wincing? Ride a bike? But the question that haunted me most was: Would I ever be able to give my son rides on my shoulders?

That thought hit me hard. Shoulder rides aren’t just fun—they’re a picture of everything I want to be as a dad. Someone strong enough to lift him, steady enough to carry him. Losing that felt like losing part of the dream.

But God has this way of bringing us back, doesn’t He? Reminding us that healing is real, that joy can follow pain. Now, here I am—sometimes sore, but strong enough to hoist my boy up high. He loves it up there, and I love it too. Every ride is a reminder of grace, of second chances.

These moments don’t announce themselves. There’s no flashing sign that says, This is one you’ll carry forever. But deep down, I know these rides won’t last. One day, I’ll lift him down for the last time without realizing it, and he’ll walk ahead of me for good.

But today wasn’t that day. Today, I felt his hands in my hair, his legs bouncing on my shoulders, and yes, drool sliding into my eye. And all I could think was how grateful I am—to be here, to be strong enough to carry him, to be his dad.

I wiped my eye and laughed as he laughed, but I said a quiet prayer too: Lord, let me always remember this. Let me carry him as long as I can.

Because one day my shoulders will be empty. But for now, they’re his. And that’s more than enough.