First Thanksgiving

Yesterday was your first Thanksgiving!  You made quite a splash, smearing stuffing and mashed potatoes all over everything you touched, and finishing off the day by making a lightning-fast grab at the cranberry sauce and overturning the family-sized bowl onto your grandparents dining room carpet. We cleaned it up pretty well.  I was thankful for that.

Your first year has flown by.  Today you are still a baby, but we are going to your school today to learn about your upcoming transition to the toddler room.  The TODDLER room. Be still my soul.

So here's what I have learned about you so far:  first, you are a serious trooper.  I mean, you have had one ear infection after another for months on end.  Your nose is never not running.  And with all those sore ears, you were in a big old plastic helmet for four months!  But in all of the miserableness of constantly having a cold, your smile is the most contagious thing about you.  Everyone comments on how happy you are.  And to be sure, you have your unpleasable moments just like everyone else, but those are the minority.  Most of the time, you're a happy-go-lucky little boy.  Lately, you love to speed-crawl into mountains of blankets or pillows and then roll over quick, so that you roll right down the mound and onto the floor.  And then you do this baby-chuckle that is totally hilarious.  I love that.

Second, you are persistent.  This is a trait that runs in our family, and I can already tell that you have it too.  You're just starting to walk, and you fall.  A lot.  But you don't cry when you fall, like a lot of little walkers do.  You get ready to go down and stick your bottom out, and you thump to the floor. You don't mind the bump if it gets the job done.

Third, you are busy.  So busy that I don't have another second to pontificate about your smiles, your baby chuckle, your playful nature.  Got.to.go.

With Love,
Mom

Dedicated

Luke,

This weekend, we celebrated your dedication.  Your Grammie and Grandpa, your Grandma and Grandpap, and about a dozen other people came to church with us, and then came back to our house for lunch and to spend some time with you.

Dedication, in our church, is a time when the whole congregation prays for you and agrees to help us teach you about who God is.  We learn about God in many ways, but a big way is through each other.  When people show us love and grace and acceptance, we get to experience God's presence here on earth.  And as your Dad and I have dedicated our lives and our family to God, we put your life in His hands as well.

It is a funny thing to dedicate a thing or a person to God, Luke.  He already has you, really.  He has all of our days written before one of them comes to pass.  We are made by Him and loved by Him and already belong to Him in our entirety.  But the process of dedication is not really for God; it's for us.  It's easy to be grabby with life.  I find myself taking time or resources or expectations and holding them tight and calling them MINE.  MINE, like a toddler grabbing a toy.  Living like that is hard, because none of those things are actually mine.  I can't control much about life, even though here and there is the illusion that I can.  In the end, living a life dedicated to God means that I can acknowledge how little control I have, even over the very most important things to me, and that it's ok.  It's enough to know the One who IS in control, and to know that His will for me is good.

Please don't think this process is an easy one.  It has never been; at least, not for me.  Dedication of my time and my energy is a daily task, and there are many days that I muddle through.  But it's enough, and I am learning on the way, and you will learn, too.

You are my very favorite little boy, Luke.  Your smile lights up the room.  You are patient and persistent and warm and smart.  You, your sister, and your Dad are the best things about this world.  I am so proud and honored to be your Mom, and I am committed to you no matter where life takes you, no matter what decisions you make, no matter who you decide to be.

Remember that.  Happy Dedication, Little Man.

Love, Mama.

Another reason to celebrate Easter

One year ago today, we found out about you.  You can read all the details here, if you want to.

I am thinking about that day last year, when we had no idea you were already growing.  I had a long winter and was really struggling with questions about how God takes care of us and how much we can trust Him.  He tells us that we never need to be afraid, because He is with us.  He tells us to trust Him.  You have a lifetime to find out how simple and natural that can be at some times and how nearly impossible it can be at others.

God knows we are most happy when we remember that the details are up to Him, not up to us.  As you get to know me, you will probably figure out that this is where I struggle most of the time.  But God is teaching me still, just as He has been all along, to wait.  And at the moment when I was realizing that there wasn't much more that I could do, He reminded me that planning my life is His job and never mine.  And there you were.  And here you are.

Little one, you are a miracle.  God has been using you to do big things since the first moment of your existence.  For me, Easter is the day when I celebrate the redemption that Jesus bought for us on the cross.  And now, it is also the day when I remember that I can trust God to give me every good thing in His perfect timing.

I hope I have this down better by the time you are old enough to notice.  But if not, I guess we will just keep on learning to same lessons over again, together.

Love,
Mom

1 month

Baby boy,

You are one month old.  Actually, you will be five weeks old tomorrow.  I hope soon to sit down and write to you all about the day you were born.  Today, though, I want to tell you just how loved you are.  I have found that the most important things to say are usually the most difficult to put into words, so this will not be easy or come out right.  I hope you understand.

I am completely in love with you.  Already, you are so different from your sister.  A completely new and beautiful life that God has leant to your Dad and I for a little while.  It is a huge honor to play this role in your life, a life sure to be full of adventure and magic and blessing and love.  We are not perfect parents, but we are ready to learn from you, and are honored to be able to teach you the things you will need to know about the world.

We are getting an early lesson this week, Luke.  I am sitting next to you in the hospital, listening to you breathe deep with the help of a little tube of oxygen taped near your nose.  We all had a cold this month, but you are too new to tackle big viruses like the one you caught.  I wish I could fight it off for you.  This is the first of many things I will want to take care of for you that you will have to do for yourself.  I promise to try to remember how strong and brave you were created to be, and to try not to intervene too much as you chart your own course.  You can do hard things, and what you can't do alone, God can do in and through you.  I believe that.  So, little man, you fight this virus, and I will watch and be proud of my son and the tough stuff he is made of.

Your Daddy, he is an amazing man.  Full of tough stuff. He is an adventurer, a teacher, an honest  and passionate fighter. You will get to know him as you grow.  I miss him, sitting here alone with you in the hospital.  It was so hard for him to leave us here and go pick up your sister, but it was the right thing to do, and so he did it.  You will learn from him how to do the right thing, even when it is hard.  He is really good at that, and it is one of the most amazing parts about him. 

We are lucky, Luke, lucky to have each other.  Not everyone is born into a home so full of love and faith and hope as ours.  We are rich with all the most important things.  And now we are really rich, because we have you.

Luke, I am your Mama, and I love you so much.  It is my honor to spend this time with you.  I am proud of you already.  Get well, little man.