To My Son, On Your Third Birthday

The Joy That Followed Fear

Theodore: gift from God. Your daddy told you that’s what your name meant the other day, and you said, “Oh, I didn’t know that,” and went back to playing.

I hope the older you grow, the more you know that. Because you are, truly, a gift from God.

Over three years ago, on a cold January morning, I stared down at two bright blue lines crisscrossing on a pregnancy test, put my face in my hands, and wailed.

You see, I thought I wasn’t good enough to be your mommy. I thought I couldn’t take care of you like a strong and healthy mommy would. I thought that maybe I couldn’t love you like a mommy should love her little baby growing inside of her.

My own wounds were so large inside of me, it felt like you would stretch them larger.

It is true that you have been like a mirror to me, reflecting my imperfections too clearly for comfort. But without you, I would have ignored those wounds. I would have tried to forget them, slapped a band-aid on, and pretended they didn’t exist.

You, Theodore, have been a gift from God’s hands reminding me of just how deeply I am wounded and weak, sinful and helpless – and, AND, how powerful God is to redeem every part of me, how present is His strength, and how precious is His healing grace.

The night of your birth, in the last excruciating hours of labor, my midwife told me:

“Joy comes in the morning, Abby. Joy comes in the morning.”

It did, Theodore. It did.

It does.