Raising a Son

Raising a son as a single mom has been one of the most humbling and sacred experiences of my life.

Now that my son is 14, I’m witnessing something beautiful—he’s beginning to carry himself like a man. It’s in the little things: the way he chooses his cologne, how he styles his hair, and the confidence he shows when deciding what to wear.

There’s a quiet pride in how he adjusts his shirt collar or takes his time picking out just the right pair of shoes.

But what stops me every time is when he puts on a suit. The way he sits—ankle crossed over knee, shoulders back, calm but proud—I call that, a man’s best. That posture, that presence…

I didn’t teach him that. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to show him how to fix what’s broken, or how to put the small things together with his hands.

That was my deepest worry as a mom—how do I give him everything he needs when I’m still learning so much myself?

But God knew.

When my son was just 2 years old, I prayed for help—not just a partner, but someone with a heart as big as mine. Not just for me, but for my child, and the family we might create together.

God answered with grace. I’ve had moments of divine assistance, unexpected strength, and gentle reminders that I’m not alone.

Watching my son grow into his own, stepping into manhood with dignity and subtle pride—I know my prayer is still unfolding.

This is what grace looks like. This is what a man’s best becomes.