One

Oh my son, tomorrow you’re one.

And you’ve won the totality of our hearts.

You’re contagious and catching and charming,

our visions, our dreams, you’re you, and they are already so true.

We knew you would be strong, we’ve prayed , we pray this for you each day.

And still, you amaze us with your wild, your you.

You’re just one, our son,

but we dream for you,

to fulfill nothing less than what you were designed, formed,

intricately purposed for from the time began.

There’s a place for you, son, no, not just a place,

but a divine niche carefully etched out for you, that you’ll meet and fit and be meant for.

Perhaps it will be a smooth journey, a direction clear and illuminated by great domino successes.

But, more likely, perhaps,

as it seems many men with great dreams must endeavor through,

your pilgrimage will be full of competing, illusive decisions, darkened corners that you must wait in, seemingly stagnant, for seasons.

And so, my son, you’ll wait, and you’ll wrestle, desiring more, needing more, craving more than, at times, at that moment, this life has to offer.

May Greater Strength carry you then.

The strength we have prayed for since we knew of you.

The strength of great inventors, untamed adventurers, persevering scholars, dedicated visionaries.

The strength of loyal men, faithful husbands, sacrificing fathers.

Wise men who face failures and defeat but continue in strength.

Fulfilled by nothing less than the One alone who gives this strength.

Tristan Michael, you are strong, you are joy, you are wild,

you are one.

Covered

It was a beautiful day. Not the skies, or the temperature, or the humidity...but the emotion and excitement carried the beauty for us.


It was completely different than my sweet oldest's arrival. She was, even though it was only four days early, unexpected and sudden and intense. I felt the contractions grow, felt the waves of pain and was completely vulnerable in my surrender to my grasp of survival. I loved the strength that I discovered I owned. Tristan's birth was divine in a different way. He, already proving his temperament to us, was relaxed and in no hurry to leave the comfort of my body. So we decided to hurry him along. This, honestly came with a rainbow of emotions. Chris and I talked softly with our blissfully naive daughter the night before, brainstormed our packing list together, and held each other with anticipation in bed the night before. We held hands and prayed with his parents as they arrived, coffee in hand, to care for Ellie while we met our son. He and I drove just under the speed limit, trying to wrap our minds around the miracle that would be in our arms in just a few hours.




My mom and sister, part of my survival support team for Ellie's birth, visited for moments at a time and just chatted this time. Annie made sure my hair was tucked behind my ears as my own arms kept tangling in the IVs. They grew quiet as I breathed through the initial contractions, feel the warmth grow in my back, wrap around my round abdomen and then settle as fire low within me.

And then I overcame my fear. I really was so afraid of the epidural. For some reason, this frightened me more than the pain of labor. But I sat on the edge of the bed and whispered tearful answers to the anesthesiologist navigating my spine, Chris kept himself close to me, his voice gentle and strong and empowering. His hand, his presence, his breath, I love him.

Then maybe two more hours passed. They were peaceful and supernatural as Chris and I spent most of it alone in the room, praying, talking, so excited. I just couldn't wait to hold my son. Knowing the baby warmth, the complete reliance on me, my body, my heart ached for him.

And then it was time. The frozen moment for me is looking in my husband's eyes, knowing that in just a few minutes, we would see our son. And more fear threatened to invade. What if. I had held him within for so long. Loving him before I even knew he existed. What if. What if. Every possibility finished this phrase in my mind. And again, we asked for our Savior's intervention. The gentle Shepherd. The great Healer. The mighty Creator.







And then he was in my arms. My sweet, blonde son. I heard the doctor with the first push, gasp and "Oh my.", she said. My heart froze for just a moment. But then two, maybe three pushes later, he was in my arms. My son.
"Your son is a risk taker." She told me as she finished. "The cord was around his neck twice."


Once again, just as with Ellie, I believe, I know, my Lord brought my child into the world covered in prayer. Remember Ellie's story? Both times, it could have gone terrible wrong. Both times, the cord, entangled tightly, threatening our joy, our miracle's existence. But, the Lord told us to pray, gave my mom a dream with Ellie, specifically giving her the vision of what could happen, and what to pray against for weeks. And this time, Chris and me, moments before he breathed his first breath.



How we are blessed.


We are a family of four.

Glimpses

Sometimes pictures really do prove the cliche and are worth a thousand words.
And so, I share my joy with a little montage of the beautiful change in our life, one week ago today.
Excuse the silly editing errors and odd timings for the music, this is officially my first IMovie project and I was too excited to see the finished product to spend too long reading any more tutorials. Also, it might be best to turn down the music on the blog by scrolling to the bottom of the page and clicking the pause button because the video has its own soundtrack. Tricky technology.

Again, thanks to Audrey for capturing the glimpses of our little family all together for the first time.