Just in the last couple of weeks, Silas has begun to lie, not with brash left field tales, but with earnest eyes and plain-faced persuasion.
Tonight Ben found a rogue two dollar bill in Silas's jeans pocket. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and FINALLY the story seeped out, part of the story, and then a bit more, and then the whole thing.
After hashing it out, little Silas climbed into bed under a heap of regret. Ben followed him over to his bed, and I sat in the semi-dark on the floor of his room, unsure about our parenting. With my back against the wall, I watched them. Ben sat on his knees, his bare feet dirty from the day, and leaned over Silas who lay huddled on the bottom bunk, and without betraying his wearied frustration, Ben kissed Silas's face and tucked him in.
As if in answer to my questions, there was the picture of how I want to love: with my dirty feet in plain view, full of forgiveness.