To the Mysterious Stranger Inside Mommy

Today we found out a little bit about who you are. Up until this morning, we’ve been praying for him, her, or it. “Help him or her be wise, intelligent, holy, and beautiful God. Or…good-looking.”

Today marks the official end of those prayers, as well as your introduction to this site (there were only two to choose from). Welcome. I’m glad you’re not an it. This is going to be a special place for you. Because you are Daddy’s son.

Here we are going to laugh and cry as we journey through the Bible together and get to know each other at the same time. In case you don’t know what crying is, Daddy will do a lot of it because he has a faulty eye valve gene passed down from his father. In moments of extreme emotion, it breaks down and lets all Daddy’s eye water out. It’s something we’re looking into, but based on our recent failure rate, it will probably be in its current state of operation when I pass it down to you.

Good luck with movies like Braveheart and Chariots of Fire, kid. And Elf.

When Will Ferrell’s reindeer and sleigh fly because the town sings “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town,” those suckers redline every time.

So watch out for things like that.

Also, your Daddy is kind of a cuddler, so you might want to consider your future as a potential cuddler. Hours and hours of practice with Daddy are recommended. I can personally guarantee your safety falling asleep in his arms. I promise Mommy will be there to catch you if he falls asleep and you start to roll down his lap. It’s a good idea to start practicing early, because Daddy will be in close proximity at all times until you find out from your friends it’s not cool to kiss your Dad on the lips.

The main thing I want to say to you, though, is I’m really excited to meet you. I love you already. So much. I’ve been praying for you since you were a walnut. I celebrated when you became a peach. And now you are a person with fully developing organs. And a penis. Tear duct watermain levels are almost constantly in the danger zone.

This is the amazing transformation that is the story of every parent.

But it shouldn’t be too suprising, really.

I saw your arms move inside Mommy, kiddo. I watched play time in the amniotic fluid with your umbilical cord. I saw you rest one hand against your face and the other by the side of your head when you decided you were done. Only you were just beginning.

You have no idea how cool that is.

Of course, your head looked like an unidentified mass in a doctored moon landing photo, but that’s not your fault. It’s Daddy’s because I can’t come inside to meet the perfectly created mysterious stranger inside Mommy.

But I’ll make it up to you. In another five or six months, I’ll pick you up and hold you before God and bless you. It will be a blessing that God will honor all your life. I will hold out big hands to you and you will curl your tiny fingers around one of mine. I will pull you to my chest and our hearts will beat in sync, your excited, expectant pattering perfectly matched over my wise and steady ones.

And together we will open an old, tattered Bible, weathered and smudged by curious fingers that passed across it before yours, and we will read page one.

Daddy will read it to you.

It will be a great day, because you will be in the world. Daddy will begin writing a story on your heart, kiddo. And God will hold the pen. It’s his words, after all, that make it worth telling. And we will write love all over it, buddy, in every color and text, with big words and intimate, precious ones, scrawling inside and outside the lines and all over you. With God’s glory.

In beautiful, rich language that he is preparing for you.

It is a story he’s begun.

It is a story we’ll write together.

It is one I can’t wait to read the next page.

You’ll have to come out and tell us your part when you’re ready.