You are so sweet. So innocent. So unscathed by the world. So far you have been under my wing, and aside from the occasional babysitter I have watched your every breath and seen your every move. You spend little time by someone else's side, and accompany me to almost every shopping trip, doctor appointment, dinner out, play date, meeting, practice and play date that has taken place in the last 4 years. You are a much a part of me as the shaky fingers I am watching type out this note.
I have watched you almost slip away from me, and as I held you that night I knew no time was certain or guaranteed. The paramedics saved your life and since that moment I have hovered over your health like a rain cloud. I watch you breath at night...still. I've lost hours of sleep listening to your breathing on a monitor that should have long been stored away. I listen for the sound of your cough and can decipher within seconds what my next step will be. I know what you can eat and drink and vigorously read and re-read and re-read again any label of the food you consume. I control the food other people bring into this house and monitor the cleanliness of the fingers of your brothers' and your friends' in order to keep your skin clean and your body from itching. I would give my right arm to ensure I would never have to see you the way you looked that October night, when I thought perhaps Jesus was calling you back. I control your environment to keep you safe....to keep you healthy....to keep you with me.
I know your laugh, your cry, your precious pretend baby doll's cry, the sound of your footsteps, the sound your lungs make when they are crying out for rest. I know when you're tired. I know when you're sick. I know when you're annoyed and I know when you're sorry.
Your father and I watch you sing and create songs from soundbites from your memory. You dance as if you are a professional and we are your biggest fans. We love your every move and smile brightly for you. We clap at your awkward spins and silly leg kicks, and as far as you're concerned you are fit for Broadway. The paintings you draw are works of art and are hung with pride. Your innocent prayers about baby dolls and the weather are praised and we are proud of the made up words and oh so innocent requests to your Father in heaven. You smile brightly at other children, even when they aren't so nice and assume everyone is as madly in love with you as we are. You get excited about a trip to Rita's as if it may be the best thing that has ever happened to you. You think all the colors are lovely....even grey and black. You flip your wild hair and feel like a beauty queen. You could put on any article of clothing and feel ready for the runway. You are unscathed and innocent and see the world in a beautiful way.
I love you. Your father and I love you so, so, so, so ridiculously much. The love we have for you extends further than any possible way we could have ever imagined. We would easily lay our lives down for you. Easily. Without question.
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God loves you too, but so much more. This is hard for me to imagine, but I know it is true. God loves you so much that He sent His son to die for you. In fact, He sent His ONE and ONLY son to die for you. Being your parent has helped me to understand a fraction of the pain this must have caused, but it had to be done. When I think of sending you to die for men who hate you, an alarm screams inside of me, "send me instead!". It makes me love God more, knowing what He did for me. He loves you and knows how to protect you. He also hovers over you. In a much more "in control, not crazy nor wild eyed" kind of way. He is not worried about you. He is not anxious when it comes to you. He does not panic when he hears you cough or run to the pediatrician to test your pulse Ox. He just hovers. He hovers and protects you and holds you and loves you. In an "I got this" kind of way. His loves extends and fixes where we fail you. His love is unfathomable. His love is perfect.
Why do I tell you all of this, my sweet, sweet little? I tell you this to reassure myself that as I send you off to pre-school, God is hovering in an "I got this" kind of way. For the first time in your 4 years, mommy will trust your care to people who will never love you like I love you. For the first time in 4 years, I will need to turn off the hovercraft and trust that God will protect you. For the first time in 4 short years, you are going to spend time with people who have not mastered the sound of your scary cough and your "help me" cry. For the first time in 4 years, someone else will be feeding you and handing you snacks and not washing down fingers like a psycho in an attempt to keep you safe.
Perhaps the thing that stings the most for me is that for the first time in 4 years I must
This world will not always be easy on you. This world will beat you up and tear you down and make you cry. You won't always be safe here. You won't always be healthy. There is no guarantee of how long you'll be here either, or how long the ones you love will be here. There will be pain, sickness, tears, fighting and sorrow. But there will also be happiness, health, laughter friendships and joys and success.
People will disappoint you and your ideas won't always be appreciated. You will fail and it will feel like no one around you cares about the state of your heart. You will cry...sometimes to the point of dehydration all while the world twirls around you. You will fall in love and have your heart broken. You will love and find that you were loving alone. You will be ignored, under-appreciated, and taken for granted. You will work, sometimes to exhaustion with no return. So many unexpected sorrows. I want you to know, even the ones you love the most will fail you......I will fail you...so many times. So many unfortunate times.
This is the beginning, sweet little. You are growing up, whether I like it or not. I cannot keep you safe forever. I cannot trust in my own strength any more. I must relinquish control to the ONE who gave it all. For you...for me.
...And know..without a shadow of a doubt...and as long as I draw breath, I will be here to hold you and dry your tears. In a most imperfect way, I will cheer for you and encourage you and be your biggest fan. I will stop what I'm doing to walk with you through tragedy and call on God when you need prayer. I will bake for you when you're sad (vegan). I will fight for you when there is a fight worth fighting and will remind you to back off if the fight is a war of the flesh. I will be excited for you. I will push you to succeed. I will dream with you and for you. I will cry for you and mourn with you. I will love you until I draw my last breath.
You are beautiful. A creation that could only come from a most perfect God.
So, as you go into this world, know we will be learning together. While you learn colors, numbers, letters and words, I'll be learning about PTA, classroom snacks and room mom business. While you learn who God has created you to be, I'll learn to finally and imperfectly fully trust Him. So, thank you for teaching me more than I could have ever dreamed of learning. Thank you for teaching me that I'm not strong at all. I speak for your father as well when I say, Thank you for teaching us how to rely on and trust our creator. A God that loves us more than we could ever possibly imagine.
Thank you, sweet little. Now fly. The beginning is sweet and scary and lovely and terrifying.
As terror screams around the walls of my heart, I will learn to fully trust in Him. I will learn to fully trust in a God who holds your tomorrows, who hovers above your every need and whose promises are truer than anything I could ever promise you myself. He loves you....more than even your anxious, worried mother....and that truth alone will sustain me.
Love,
Your mom
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