Dear Liam Worth,

You are six years old today! You've been patiently awaiting this day for months, and we are thrilled to celebrate you and what God is doing in your life this year.

Your biggest request for your birthday was a guided nature walk at the nature preserve near our house. (You also asked for a metronome and a camouflage watch.) You are delightfully quirky and loving nothing more than to pack your field guide and magnifying glass on a nature walk in hopes of discovering wild creatures. Your current favorites to spot are five-lined skinks. You're also a homebody. If we run more than one errand, you beg to return home to your nature encyclopedias and climbing tree.

Liam, you are a gifted and passionate learner. I knew you'd be an eager student when we started homeschooling in August, but I had no idea how your mind would come alive this year. Here was a recent conversation:

You: What animal do you want me to draw?
Me: How about an antelope?
You: What kind of antelope? An ibex? An oryx? A springbok? A deer?
Me: An ibex. (Not having a clue what that looks like.)
You: Ok. I'll draw an Alpine Ibex at the base of the European Alps.

You're a walking animal encyclopedia, and that is no exaggeration. You told me at the beginning of the school year, "I can teach you about animals. You can teach me about everything else." That's 100% true. You also love talking about ancient Greece, doing science experiments, practicing piano, learning Spanish, and reading through Exodus in your ESV Bible.

Your name means "protector" and it couldn't be truer of you. I've watched as you've stood outside the bathtub dripping wet with goosebumps covering your body, holding a towel for Lanie so she wouldn't be cold. I've seen you wedge your body against the crack under Brooks' door so that he doesn't wake up from his nap when I have to use the hair dryer. You sacrifice so much for those sweet,  mischievous siblings of yours and it baffles me. Sacrifice isn't a quality I readily see in other kids your age (or even in myself).

Most importantly, your heart for Jesus and your love for his Word is what I am most thankful for. A few weeks ago, we let you participate in the community group that meets every week at our house. I had a feeling you'd want to read the Scripture passage aloud and then get bored and head back downstairs to play with the other kids. Instead, you engaged in every bit of the discussion. You'd raise your hand and ask probing questions like, "Why does Jesus say, 'Let the dead bury their dead'?" and then share insights. You've told me multiple times since that you cannot wait for Tuesday nights so you can talk about Jesus with our group again. I often catch you reading from your Bible during rest time and you interject your dozens of memory verses into conversations.

You are truly evangelistic and your heart breaks for kids around the world who have never heard the gospel. Through your homeschool program, we've been focusing on India this month and the work God is doing there among kids. We decided to sponsor 4 kids to be able to attend Bible clubs and hear about Jesus, then Sonlight matched our gift so that 8 kids could attend. When I told you the news, you very confidently said, "Well, I don't know if we'll get to meet those kids in India, but we'll meet them in Heaven!"

Liam Worth, you are of great worth to us. I could go on for days about how our family wouldn't be what it is without you. A buddy of yours recently said of you, "You know why Liam is my favorite? Because he is kind and he knows cool things." I think that sums you up perfectly.

I love you dearly, son. Happiest birthday!

Love,
Mommy

One year with Brooks Wilder.

Dear Brooks Wilder,

You're one. ONE! This year flew even faster than I thought it would.

A couple weeks ago, I baked vanilla cupcakes for your birthday party. As I whipped the batter and let your siblings taste-test the frosting, my mind went back to a year ago that day. A year before, I was not frosting cupcakes or feeling light and hopeful. Instead, I lumbered around as if I was carrying a baby elephant, contracting every few minutes but not dilating, wondering if you'd ever arrive. Your swift kicks into my right rib confirmed that yes, you were getting stronger and I was getting closer to meeting you. But I still had a hard time seeing the light at the end of what felt like an endless tunnel.

But then one bright June morning, you decided it was time. The hospital room was quiet, only the sounds of deep breaths through strong contractions and hymns playing in the background. We'd made it to a birthing room - my only birth plan after giving birth to Lanie in triage - and I felt safe and ready to meet you, mercifully two weeks early.

Within a couple hours, you were ready to come. There were other patients my doctor needed to see, but I pleaded with her: "I know I can do this in a few pushes. Please just stay." She agreed, gowned up, and I pushed you out in one long contraction. You didn't cry and needed deep suction to clear your lungs after such a quick passage through the birth canal. But you were perfect. As soon as they placed you on my chest, you stared up at me and looked so familiar, as if I'd known you for a hundred years.

The next few months proved difficult. You did not sleep at night. I made my nest in a bed next to your crib for months on end, hoping it would be easier to nurse you every 2-3 hours without making a trip down the hall. But after 5 months of this, I finally noticed a trend: I'd pick you up to nurse, you'd take one good drink, then you'd nestle in and fall back asleep. You didn't want food. You wanted your mama.

Even now, you're not our best sleeper. The other night, after a 12-hour shift at the hospital, I was exhausted and complained to Shawn as I dragged myself out of bed at the sound of your cry,

This feels never-ending.

I meant not-sleeping-through-the-night. But when I said it, I felt a pang of guilt. Because it does end. Seasons change. Babies will not always need their mamas to hold them in the midnight hours. On the week of your birthday, a dear friend buried her 19-year-old son. His death came suddenly and served as such a startling reminder that we aren't promised tomorrow. I've been holding you a little closer, walking a little lighter into your room at night when you cry out for me to hold you. These days are precious and numbered and fleeting.

Since changing your name at 7 weeks old, you've garnered a plethora of nicknames: Brooksie, Brooksie Bear, Bear Bear, Boo, and Mr. Wilder (Lanie). You respond most quickly to "Bear."

Bear, your Daddy and I say it every day, but I'll say it again: you are a dream come true. Our dream come true.

I love you, son. Happy birthday!

Love,
Mom

One year with Lane Eliette.

Lane Eliette,

One year of you. That's hard to swallow, but at the same time, it's hard to imagine life before you. After your first few difficult months that we thought we'd never survive, you've become our dream baby. Our miracle. Our joy. You sleep for 13 hours at night, nap once or twice a day (depending on what our schedule allows), and are generally always smiling and babbling. When you get sleepy, you lay your head on our shoulder, plop a thumb in your mouth, and say, "Nigh nigh" in your raspy little voice. With your long fingers, your deep blue eyes, your Daddy's olive-toned skin... you've captivated us. You've developed a host of nicknames this past year: Lanie Lou, Lulu, and now Louie. Liam calls you "my girl" or "Lou" most often.

You are petite with one exception: your plump, round belly. You'll eat anything: a scrambled egg, an avocado, a third of my Chipotle bowl. You aren't picky in the least (at least not yet!) and you're always disappointed when the meal is over.

One year ago on this day, your Daddy and I spent a few moments in the morning praying that you'd arrive on January 8, one week before your actual due date. By this time in the afternoon, I was losing faith. I hadn't felt a single contraction all day and thought for sure you'd stay tucked inside until well past your due date. When Liam and I headed to the children's museum that evening, we had no idea you'd make your grand entrance two hours later. Your whirlwind first year has been a little like your whirlwind birth: surprising, exhausting, exhilarating.

Your middle name means "my God has answered," and this year, that has been our theme. God has given Mommy a new job that has been an absolute gift. He's given Daddy new responsibility and new songs. But mostly, He's given us you. What we ever did without you, I'll never know.

We love you so,

Mom (and Dad and Liam)

6 months with Lane Eliette.

My little Lou (it's just about your only name around here),

You're well into your seventh month by the time I post this, but I still want to celebrate 6-month-old you. On your six month birthday, you decided it was the right time to start crawling. So you did. You'd been pushing up and rocking for weeks, but finally put one chubby hand in front of the other and crawled across Liam's carpet to a lamp cord (of course). And I smiled with tears in the corners of my eyes because a) I was so crazy proud of you and b) you spent so little time being a baby. 

You're the most joyful little girl I've ever met. You wake up in the morning and light up every room with your gorgeous smile and, lots of times, you're smiling even when no one's looking your way. After your first few horribly difficult months, this new Lanie is so surprising and delightful. And now, it's the only way I know you to be.

Some days, I want to tell you to slow down. To let me rock you. To sit still for just three seconds. But that wouldn't be true to who you are. I can already tell you're eager to explore the world around you. To create and learn and experience and be right in the middle of it all. What a privilege to get a front row seat to such a courageous spirit bundled up in one beautiful little girl.

I love you deeply,

Your mom

5 months with Lane Eliette.

 Dear Lanie Lou,

On the very last day of your fifth month, I decided it was about time to write a little update on you. You've grown and changed immensely this month and have really started to move. It's like one day we put you down on your back and you decided to not only flip right over, but get up on your hands and knees and start to rock. A few days later, you started scooting across the floor to whatever you wanted to get a hold of (usually one of Liam's favorite dinosaurs or books). And when we start to unstrap you from your carseat, you do a complete flip over your right shoulder to get out. You're feisty and active and playful and fearless and I adore that about you.

You're growing hair, thick and blonde, and it's coming in so evenly all the way around. You're learning to self soothe, and when it's time to sleep, you flip over onto your tummy and plop a thumb in your mouth and we watch you lay there quietly with your eyes open before you fall asleep. Never ever after your first three crazy hard months did we expect you to be so easy. Or such a delight.

Liam adores you. When you wake up from your nap, he's always the first to hear you and exclaim, "Wanie Lou is awake!" He bolts upstairs to your room, throws open the door, and yells, "Wanie! You're awake! You look so pretty! You sleep so good?" And then my heart melts into a puddle. You're still so tolerant of him, letting him basically wrestle you on the floor while you just smile and giggle.

You're the smiliest baby we've ever seen. One glance in your direction and your big blue eyes (just like your mom) turn to happy squints (just like your dad). You also have lots to say, especially when you're alone and Liam is away.

We are smitten with you, Lane Eliette. We can't wait to see what our gracious God has in store for your life. You've already blessed us in ways we never thought imaginable.

Love,
Mommy

4 months with Lane Eliette.

 

Lanie love,

This has been a big month for you. Even more, this has been a big month with you. I've needed you this month, sweet girl. As I started back to work at the hospital, what has surprised me most is how sad I've felt being around patients again. For whatever reason, a large swath of my patients so far have come to me at the very end of their lives. To see their broken bodies and the broken spirits of their loved ones has made me mourn for what this world is. And what this world lacks. Our world is so fallen. So broken and dragged down and muddied by sin and toil and pain. It's broken bones and hate crimes, paper cuts and hot tears, hunger and hopelessness. It's such a dim reflection of what God originally intended for his creation.

So when I come home to you at the end of a 12-hour shift - to your quick smile, your sweet spirit, your milky breath and downy head, your innocence - my heart is lifted. All you're doing is being you, wonderful you, and you're bringing so much joy to me. And so much glory to God. You remind me of the very good gifts our Father has given us and the hope we have only in Him. That this world is not all there is. These pictures of you capture your light, playful, sweet spirit and I'll cherish them forever. You're constantly wiggling, constantly smiling, constantly drinking in the world with the biggest, bluest eyes.

This month, you took your first two flights (you were a champ), have been in three different church nurseries (and have still only ever slept one time at church), and you started sleeping through the night. You actually don't mind tummy time at all and usually flip yourself from your back to your belly so you can prop yourself up and take a look around the world. You've even started getting up onto your knees and rocking back and forth. Isn't it a little early for crawling? Slow down, Lanie girl. You'll catch up with Liam in due time.

I love watching the relationship you have with the men in this house. Your whole face lights up when you see either of them, and honestly, seeing Shawn with a daughter and Liam with a sister is more wonderful than I anticipated.

Lanie, you're a joy. You're our joy. To say we're utterly in love with you is an understatement, but we'll say it again: we love you, we love you, we love you. We pray that your life points to Jesus in powerful ways.

Love,
Mom

Wearing your great grandmother's dress