My baby,
This week you will be two.
I’m treasuring all the baby things about you even
as they slip out with the tide of your infancy. Every nappy I change. Every wide-awake
night because actually I love your patter down the passage with your green
blankie and your back-to-back sleepy snuggling in our bed and your ‘Where’s
Dad?’ when you realise he’s not in the bed anymore because your kicking has
kept him awake and he has opted for the bunk bed and Eeyore (who doesn’t kick).
I treasure how you bury your face drowsy-quiet-shy
in my neck because I am your safe place. I treasure how you exasperate me with
your uncontrollable running-laughing-naughtiness because you are my wild
freedom. I treasure how you wake up early like me and how you look at me with
Dad’s eyes and how you laugh when Noddy gets knocked over by the skittles. I treasure
how you hug Cammy after your sleep and how your brother-bond grows tighter every
time you mimic his (questionable) table manners.
Standing on this wet metaphorical sand with
less and less of your baby-ness washing over my feet I can hardly remember me
before you. You’ve made me feel completely me because of how completely you are
you.
You might be interested one day to know what this
turning tide was washing up on the world’s shores, the week you turned two.
America is two months away from a presidential election. The Pope is urging
Arab leaders to work for peace in the Middle East. There’s violence on the
mines around Rustenburg. Yesterday the Springboks lost to the All Blacks. Quite
possibly the waves will be washing up the same stuff twenty years from now.
As for us:
This evening God made the most incredible
sunset. It rained through late orange smudgy light. Then the rain stopped and
the sun was dusky translucence through bright wet fresh air. We ate supper early
and the candlelight matched the sky. You were grumpy because you wanted to bath
but there was still pretty much perfect peace.
I’ve just started my last term at St Alban’s College
and I’m up-and-down with happy-sad dreams and tears as I watch for the bright
buds of a new season full of goodbyes.
Your strong brave Dad works too hard, loves
you unimaginably, makes me laugh every day, feels things more deeply than most,
and today finished waterproofing the roof.
Cam is the best big brother in the universe. Here
are some things he asked me this week:
‘How do my words come out of my mouth in my
voice?’
‘How does God make pepper?’
‘As a special treat, can I get Scott a set of
jumper cables for his birthday?’
‘Can I make Scott a hot-bubblegum-and-peach pudding?’
He takes ages to finish his food because he
doesn’t stop talking. The other night I said, ‘Not a word until you’ve had three
more bites!’ A few silent bites later he yelled ecstatically, ‘A word!’ Then he added, ‘Actually I had four bites so now I can say lots of words!’
The tide will turn and keep turning and I don’t
know what will wash up on your beaches and what will wash away. There’s so much
I want to say – but there will be other birthdays. Tonight, my prayer for you,
Scott Gideon Reyburn, my mighty hero, is that you will love Jesus with all your
life. That you will be an arrow shot straight to claim Kingdom territory. That God
will unwrap his plans for you and use you to touch countless lives. I pray that
you would live the words of the song we sing in the car sometimes:
Dare to be
a Daniel
Dare to
stand alone
Dare to
have a purpose firm
Dare to
make it known.
All my love,
Mom
xx
Doctor Cam in his theatre garb. And his red galoshes.
No comments:
Post a Comment