Letter to Asher

My wife, Sarah, wrote this beautiful letter to our soon to be born son.  May it inspire you to live your life w/ the purpose, promise, and potential we all started out with.  And to remind you of the great, good, God who penned each of our stories.

Dear Asher:

We live in a beautiful part of the country. And you are arriving in a beautiful time of year. I have seen twenty-eight autumns. I don’t remember all of them. I hardly remember anything about them. But every time this season comes around it feels fresh and familiar, inviting and transient, comfortable and fleeting, all at once.

 

Driving home from work yesterday I was struck by the lighting. And maybe it wouldn’t have been all that impressive if the lighting weren’t coupled with the drama that is Fall. But for some reason, the angle of the sun, the texture of the colors, the glow in the sky—it was breathtaking. It was like seeing the meandering creeks, the decades old trees, the aged barns and the leaning fences I drive past countless times every week for the first time.

 

So I rolled the windows down, as if doing that allowed the presence of Fall to permeate my car, maybe even seep into my skin, trying to get close to the magic outside my window.

 

And subconsciously, unintentionally, I found my hand drawn to my belly, rubbing it, trying to find and name the ambiguous lumps and bumps that the knobs of angles and bones make up. I wanted you to share in what I was seeing. I wanted you to witness the enchantment that I saw, that I live in the midst of, that you have never experienced before. There is a world, a literal world waiting with baited breath for your arrival that is new and unknown and mysterious. And in a matter of weeks, it will be yours.

 

I couldn’t help but note to myself, I think you are going to like this place. This world. Sure. It will be different from the dark comfortable quarters you have grown accustomed to in the last eight months. Yes, it will be a bit cooler here—but once you know what it means to feel a breeze, to breathe in crisp coolness, to be enveloped in a soft wind, I don’t think you will mind it. Yes, it may be overwhelming—the sights a little more complex and extensive than you may be used to. But once you see the trees, once you smell and feel the colors, once you notice the sun and how its subtly changing arc shades a shifting landscape, I think you may actually prefer it.

 

You haven’t seen anything. Right now, you will just have to trust me. Count on me. Believe me when I say, this world, this beautifully changing and transforming world is going to capture your heart. You will find there are moments of extravagant wonder—windows into a different world, a world you may be intimately familiar with having just come from there yourself. But before you arrive, before you are thrust into this strange and different and evolving world, there is something you should know. You should know that it isn’t all beautiful, all the time. And I don’t just mean the seasons and the colors.

 

Sometimes, the world grows dim. Sometimes, it is hard to remember a more beautiful place and more loving God exists—when the color fades, when what is left of the yellows, reds and oranges is a brown, and bare landscape, with sparse evidence of life. Sometimes, this world does not make a lot of sense. Sometimes it is cruel. Sometimes it is harsh. Sometimes it seems void of all that is beautiful and right and good. Sometimes you see more brokenness than you do restoration. Sometimes you see more pain than you do healing. Sometimes you ask more questions than you get answers. Sometimes the world stays just this way for just too long, and you start to wonder where you fit in the midst of it all.

 

But I want to tell you something, baby boy. You fit. In the moments when there is more confusion than you know what to do with, when there is more hurt than you know how to handle, when there is more uncertainty than you know how to process, you fit. These moments don’t last forever. That is when you have to draw on the moments of wonder. Recall the moments when the colors are bright and vibrant, the light soft and magical, the air scented and saturated. You have to remember to look, to dig, to search out the evidences of God—and be diligent in your search. He is always there—there with you now in the dark places of my womb, and there with you later in the dark places of your soul. And if you aren’t sure you can find Him, be assured He will find you.

 

The thing is, I won’t always be here Asher. And your dad won’t be either. And I think I have become more aware of that now than I have at any other time in my life, because I feel this burden as your impending birth comes closer and closer. I want to make sure that the time we have with you, however long or however short it is, is soaked through with significance, intentionality and meaning. And what I want you to get, starting now, before you have even seen my face, now, when all you know of me is the steady rhythm of my heart, and all you know of your dad is his soothing voice and calming rub on your body, I want you to know, that you belong in this world. In the loveliness and the horror, in the meaning and the senselessness, in the evidences of God and the seeming lack of His presence. You belong in His world.

 

And it will break you, and it will fix you. It will challenge you and it will comfort you. It will push you and it will hold you. And when I am no longer here, when your dad is no longer here, when all you have left of us is the legacy we have tried so hard to leave in tact for you, I hope you will remember simply this. You belong. You fit. In this family, in this world…in God. You exist to be a part of this family, to make it better, to be a part of this world, to make it better, to be a part of God’s story—that makes you better.

 

It took my ordinary drive home, transformed into an extraordinary display of divine extravagance for me to realize how blank your slate really is. How much there is out here for you to see and hear, taste and touch, feel and experience. There are things I still don’t understand about this place, about how it all works, but I suspect the questions are what keeps us young, keeps us searching, keeps us seeking out the One who put it all together.

 

In a few weeks you will be here—sooner than I think am ready for if I had to guess. But when you get here, I want you to know we are going to set out on this journey together. I am not going to pretend to have it all figured out. Your dad won’t either. We will be honest in our uncertainty, and determined in our certainty. And we will invite you to be a part of it all, guiding your vision, directing your gaze to the One who loves you more than we ever could, who understands more than we could ever hope to, whose narrative involves us more than we ever deserve.

 

I slowed down yesterday. Long enough to imagine what your first encounter with this crazy world might look like. And I realized I don’t slow down enough. Maybe I will when you arrive. Maybe I will start to see it all through your eyes. Maybe we will teach each other. Maybe, in effort to determine and solidify our own legacy, you will begin to leave yours. And maybe as we try to write into your story, you will write into ours. And maybe as we try to show you God and the mystery of His character and the lavishness of His love, He will actually be showing Himself to us in ways we never imagined. And maybe, with your arrival, there will be a richness to our lives we have never known before. Maybe, that is what yesterday meant for me to do. To better understand this place you have never seen before, and to better understand me and how little I know too. You, me, dad and the God who put this tiny little family together—we are going to work at it. We are going to embrace it. We are going to live it. And we will do it as a family of three guided by a God who is One.

Comments

[Brian Glaze]

that was amazing...wow.

[Casey Darnell]

Wow. That was beautiful and I'm having a better day because of reading this.
Thx!
Love yall

case

[Diana Warden]

Beautiful. God has given Sarah a gift and I'm so glad you shared it with us. Rub her belly for me and tell her I am proud of her!
Diana

[Carol Jones]

Wow. I don't even have words. And if I DID have them, I would be embarrased to write them b/c this is so eloquently and beautifully written!

[Will Henderson]

You are a beautiful family. Asher is blessed to have you both as his Mum and Dad. I look forward to seeing how Jesus works in and through this young man in the days and years ahead. Love and miss you guys.
Will and Nerida

[Carolyn Craddock]

Sarah and Rodney,

WE are beyond thrilled for you as you enter into this new phase of life... being a parent is the most unexplained joy in the world. May God bless your family and we are praying for your sweet boy's arrival. You are an amazing writer and this letter made me think of how much I love my daughter and am thankful for how much God has changed our life with her entering into it!
Love,
The Craddocks

[Angela Payne]

That's incredible! What a gift to be able to put into such eloquent words what feelings, emotions and thoughts all parents feel.

Thanks for sharing that! Made my day:)