Season of You

Dear Izzy,

You are eight today and and you are beautiful. For your birthday I pray for a miracle. I pray that you are alive in another eight years to read this. I will not write this post about the things I wanted for your life. The things I covet. Things I cannot give you. I will not tell you about the fear I have for tomorrow. All I will do is tell you how beautiful the past eight years have been to me. And when I’m done writing I will pray for more.

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A long time ago I dreamed of what my life would be like as a mother. Dreamed of all that would come from carrying tiny ones within my womb. Raising them, falling in love with them and then, ultimately, releasing them into the world. As it came to be, the things I thought would be hard turned out not to challenge me so. And the things I had not even considered, well they turned out to be the hardest.

I, as most first-time mothers would say, was not prepared for the birth of your brother. He and I, we learned together. The nursing, the napping, the whole ‘learning to love someone you’ve never even seen before’ bit. But we did great together and we formed a special bond. Thinking I had mastered the ‘baby phase’, I felt fully prepared for your arrival. How funny.

Never one for sharing, you didn’t want to be lumped into the ‘baby phase’ I had already experienced. You wanted your own. And so the Season of You began. At times it was a very exhausting season, but it was still a season marked by beauty through out. It was not until the Season of You that I would learn to love like I have never loved before. Or that I would fully learn what loving was. It was then and only then that I would learn to embody the word as it was meant to be embodied. It was in this Season of You that who I was and all I would become was drastically redefined. Because of your suffering I would be stripped of all I had ever believed about the world. I would wake up one day, no longer disillusioned by it’s promises of entitlement, realizing a blessing for what it truly was.

In all my dreams of motherhood I thought I’d pass down to you much. But instead, you came with sparkling bags packed full of your own spiritual gifts. The beauty with which you distribute them stretches me to new places. I am inspired daily as I watch your gifts unfold.

You carry with you a spirit of grace. Your careful actions bring peace, your gentle words cause pause.

You carry with you a spirit of power. You fight with the same fearless tenacity as you love.

You carry with you a spirit of joy. From the hugs you give to the hand written notes you leave behind, you deposit pieces of joy everywhere you’ve been.

You carry with you a spirit of hope. Believing that God has healed you, you make all who know you want to believe it too.

The truth is, Israelle Marie, when I wanted to be a mother I had no idea what that meant. Had no idea the capacity my heart could have to love. Or to break. But you, you ARE a Chosen People. You ARE a Royal Priesthood. It is part of the beautiful calling that is on your life.

When I wanted to be a mother I never in all my dreams could have imagined that you were part of the plan. I was so unbelievably unprepared for the Season of You that was our road ahead. But I am honored to be on this road. Because this? This. Is. Love.

Blessings on you today and LIFE Izzy.