Two Years

Happy Second Birthday, Little Buddy!

Two was such a fun age with your big sister! I lived through her, watching the mystery of every new day open her eyes to a magical and beautiful world. Her youth made life feel fresh and innocent, again. It’s different with you.

Your brief life did not bring thoughts of fairy princesses and enchanted kingdoms. Your life did not fill me with the vigor and innocence of youth. Your life did not offer empty promises and imagined recollections of what life is not. Your life told a bitter and beautiful truth. Life is temporary.

Life is beautifully temporary.

My days are numbered. I have a limited amount of time to do what I was meant to do on this earth. This very moment counts. It does! I can do something with this moment. I can make it mean something for your momma, sister, and brother. I can make it mean something for the world. I can take every new day as a step on the path to a tomorrow that is better than today. And, when my flesh is rotting into dust, I can rot easy knowing that the purchase was worth the price.

Life was not meant to be easy. Life was meant to be whatever we make it to be. The beauty and mystery of Creation is that God gave us a vote. Life is ours to define.

I want a meaningful life. You reminded me that, despite my very best intentions, my life may be cut tragically short tomorrow. I have all of the time from this very moment until my time ends to fill my life with meaning. I have the rest of my life to make a difference in this world.

Thanks for the reminder, sweet baby girl! Life is temporary, and life is beautiful. I cannot wait to see you again. Until then, I want to make the most of every moment!

Love,

Dad

Anxiety

Hey Little Buddy!

Anxiety. I know the Bible verses. Some like to claim that we, as ‘Christians’, don’t feel anxiety. We don’t worry. It’s in the Bible, right? God has counted every hair on my head, and if I go to God with prayers of Thanksgiving in every situation, I’ll be filled with the Peace of Christ.

As a semi-talented officer who has made some amazing PowerPoint presentations, I concede that this really briefs well. I can see myself, in an air conditioned room full of healthy soldiers with full bellies and a promising future, clicking through the slides. They are eating them up! “Don’t be anxious about anything, fellas! It’s all going to be just fine. Your armor will protect you, and your training will get you out of any obstacle, scratch-free.”

Bella, in the months sandwiching your brother’s birth, I dealt with some serious anxiety! As I did, I thought about our Savior sweating blood in the garden of Gethsemane.

Anxiety in the moment is human. We are human. I’ve never doubted the eternal. The eternal is easy. When Paul (in the Bible) talks about not being anxious, he speaks as a man who understands incredible suffering. Believing in salvation through Christ does not make hunger pains feel like a bowlful of chocolate ice cream in the gut. It simply puts the pain into an eternal perspective. Jesus did sweat blood for concern over the suffering of His children and the day that lay in wait. I hesitate to assume anything on His behalf, but I suspect that He was incredibly anxious! Therein lies the beauty; He was human. Humans get anxious in the present. He knew how the story would end, but he knew that the current chapter was going to suck so bad that it would make forty days in the desert seem like Boy Scout Camp.

I’ve run a few marathons. I get anxious about them. I’m fairly certain that a stray lion is not going to eat me at mile fifteen. I know that my body will not suddenly revolt into a fatal cataclysm. I know that the 26.2 will pass. But, the 26.2 will suck! And, for miles 20 and on, I have a special loathing for you that I keep treasured in the least Christian corners of my heart.* I get seriously anxious about marathons! I suspect that this is true for anyone who seeks to push out their best effort in a difficult conquest. In the garden of Gethsemane, I suspect that Christ was about to start the most difficult conquest that He would ever face. I suspect that He was incredibly anxious.

I am so thankful for your fat, healthy, precious little brother! The joy of his birth came with a healthy dose of anxiety. In all honesty, it was probably a bit beyond a healthy dose.

Bella, I know that you are watching over us from Heaven. Until I meet you there, I’ll deal with anxiety. Anxiety is not a failure of faith; it’s an acknowledgment that life on earth is not perfect. My faith assures me that this movie ends the way that it’s supposed to. The good guys win and live forever in paradise. But, no good story is told without some serious drama plaguing the protagonists and begging them to doubt the outcome.

Our story is an amazing story! I’ll deal with a little anxiety—or maybe a little bit more than a little anxiety—because it’s beyond worth it.

I love you so much, my precious and beautiful little girl!

Love,

Dad

*Sweet Lord, please forgive me these corners of my heart and help me to reconcile them with Your perfect love!

Two Days

This has been delayed from the date of writing, at the request of your momma. I wrote this on July 22, 2015. Two days before the birth of your little brother.

Hello again, Big Sis,

Two days until Jack is scheduled to arrive. Twenty months ago, I left your momma (and you, in her stomach) and your sister to spend the day at a charity event. I expected you in two days—at most.

You were late. Very late. Even the docs who were comfortable with a natural childbirth were not comfortable with you going any longer. So, there we were. Two days.

I think that I took it for granted. I always liked to tell my friends, “Good things happen to good people. And, sometimes, good things happen to me, too.” It was a joke, but I had always felt that I led an enchanted life. To top it off, I was working a charity event. Certainly nothing unpleasant would await my return.

Two days. That’s all that stood between us living the rest of our lives together. That’s all that prevented me and your momma from introducing you to the world.

When I got home, your momma was laying in bed, trying to get a kick count. I’m not good at waiting. Within fifteen minutes, we were on our way to the hospital in Cortlandt Manor. 

I think that I knew it as we drove. I didn’t want to know it. I did a good job of pretending that I didn’t know it, but I could feel it. Your momma was begging you to give a little kick or a jab—even to the bladder. You were completely intransigent.

Today feels familiar in a panicked excitement. Two days.

It’s hard to know what to feel. I am so excited to meet your little brother. I also know that I should not take anything for granted.

Two days!

I love you so much, little buddy!

Dad

Congrats, Big Sis!

Dear Big Sister,

Congrats on being a big sister! Your big sis brags about being a ‘big sister’ so much that I figured that you’d already be flaunting your status in heaven. While I’m not the type to encourage you to brag, I have to admit that I am pumped about you being big sister.

You are going to have a little brother, much sooner rather than later. In fact, you already have a little brother; he’s just uncomfortably stuck in your mother’s stomach at the moment. I wasn’t sure that I was capable of producing boys, and yet here your brother awaits his big arrival!

Of course, the doctors are taking especially special care of your momma as she waits for your brother to arrive. I’m not sure if the extra special care would have made a difference for you. 

I was playing with your big sis today and I saw a young girl who was about your age. She was so adorable, animated, and difficult to watch. I wish that I had been playing with both of you together! As your brother’s birthday nears, I am struck by how much I wish that your birthday was a day of joy.

But, I know that you feel nothing but joy as you watch me fumble about my day-in and day-out. I’ll be there with you, one day! In the meantime, please look after us, and put in a good word with the big man upstairs. 

I love you so much, big sister!

Love,

Dad

The “Joy” of Christmas

Merry Christmas, Little Girl!

I’ve always loved Christmas. As both a kid and an adult, Christmas has always filled me with deep wonder. In that wonder lies as much stress and uncertainty as happiness and comfort.

In youth, the mystical powers of Santa consumed my thoughts. After all, he knows everything. As a five-year-old with an impressive rap sheet, the concept of everything inspired a few more than a few sleepless nights. I hadn’t really meant to tease Amber on the bus ride to school, had I? And, I’m pretty sure that my little sister started the fight that landed me in timeout without trial or jury. Surely letting the word stupid loose from my lips was a transgression that Santa could overlook, right? As much as the magic of flying reindeer and a secret workshop full of elves and toys tickled my imagination, the threat that Santa might find it in his judgment to judge me naughty—and not nice—tormented my conscience.

And, I must admit that I am indoctrinating your sister with the same dichotomy. I don’t really think it’s by design so much as it is for my own amusement. Yet, perhaps there is method in the madness.

In this season of unequivocal joy, we celebrate the actors who played out the beauty of the nativity. I wonder if the actors felt unequivocal joy in the unfolding of the story.

I imagine Mary as a young girl. She is devout in her faith and she loves God as much as any earthly being can, but she is an earthly being. She has probably fantasized about being swept off her feet by some debonair young prince who offers her family to forego a dowry for the privilege of taking her hand—after all, her beauty is without parallel. She has probably dreamt of being a princess in a palace with servants and luxuries. At times, she has probably wondered about the treasures of the world and longed to taste them in her own life. And yet, the Angel Gabriel comes to her and tells her that she will birth God’s son, a king among men. I then wonder, in the pains of labor, if she ever imagined birthing this king in a stable. I wonder if she knew that she would watch her son walk away from the family to live among thieves, prostitutes, and beggars. I wonder if she knew that he would be branded a heretic by the men of the word that she so dearly loved. On that Christmas night, surely she did not see him dying an agonizing death at the hands of the men he was supposed to rule. Despite her faith, I wonder if Mary’s Christmas was served with equal parts of joy and fear.

I see Joseph. He’s a good man, the type of man that I’d be happy to see Caroline—or you, if you were still with us—settle down with. He’s not bound for greatness, but he makes an honest living and his peers respect him. His word is his bond and he has a kind heart. And, in the confusion of a dream, he is instructed to marry a pregnant woman. He is probably not entirely sure what he has signed up for, but he obeys despite the strict norms of his society. And, in the stable on that Christmas night, he holds Mary’s hand and tries to comfort her through her labor. Maybe, in his heart, he wishes that someone was there to take his hand and comfort him, too.

More than anything, I see the mothers and fathers of Bethlehem. I hear their cries of agony as they watch a wicked fated army steal the future of their sons. I feel the sorrow of a generation of parents whose children have suffered genocide at the hands of a jealous and despicable king. For them, Christmas is a pitiless reminder that the thirst for power can trump all human emotions: dignity, compassion, decency, and the least of which is surely not love. For them, the heavy burden of Christmas reminds them of their buried sons, needlessly lost at the hands of the wicked Herod.

I fathom to think what went through His mind at Christmas. Perhaps it was true joy. Not the superficial joy that I feel from time to time when my pillows are appropriately fluffed or when my spirit is adroitly inspired. Perhaps it was the joy of knowing that, despite all of the immeasurable pain and suffering that fills the journals of history, this story of life is truly a story of victory and love. Perhaps it was the joy of knowing that, as we go about the real and tangible tribulations of our daily lives, if we could only see the master plan, we would know that Mary, Joseph, the parents of Bethlehem, and Jesus, truly lived out a story of unmatched joy and glory. Maybe, in this Christmas season, if we could understand this unfounded joy, we would realize that our trials are part of a bigger story.

It won’t change today. Pain is still pain and sorrow is still sorrow. But, beyond act three scene four, victory awaits! For those of us who are unsure, wait. And, if still unsure, be still and wait some more!

Bella, I miss you so much that it hurts. I know that my pain is not unique. I know that victory does not come cheap. My heart hurts for all of those that feel what we feel in your absence, but my heart also celebrates knowing that we will be together again. There was a young king who loved me more than I could ever fathom. His birth signaled as much tribulation as triumph. His birth in this wondrous Christmas season ensured that, despite what we actors may feel from time to time as the scenes play out, this story is truly a story of joy, victory, and the least of which is surely not love!

We will see you again. When we do, these tears will seem silly. Merry Christmas, little buddy!

Love,

Dad

P.S. Please do tell Santa that I never meant to say stupid. I’m quite sure that the word never would have entered my vocabulary had it not been for the corrupt influence of Kerry, my older sister. And, for the record, I never enjoyed a fight. Any fights that transpired between me and my little sister were undoubtedly instigated by Kathleen.

 

Caroline's take on the nativity. I'm pretty sure that's a guinea pig at left.