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Geronimo. (Or: A Letter To My Everett)

Updated: Jul 2, 2018

My Sweet Everett,


You, love, are a gift.

I've known you for 31 days and in those days you have awed me, softened me, terrified me, taught me, blessed me.

Do you remember those few days before you entered this world? You were brave, little one. Readying yourself for the impact of a life full of vulnerabilities and risk and love. Those days were long ... and I missed you so much. To lock eyes with you! The ache to lock eyes with you was so real, and it is that very ache that saw your dad and I through so many hours of labor, eyes glued to the screen watching your heart rate as it blipped and beeped. It dropped dangerously low far too many times. You were ready. I was ready. Yet we were being kept from seeing each other because of the blurred and fuzzy words I remember in the background: oxygen, umbilical, positioning, nerves. They told me they could see you. They told me you had hair, little love. You had so much hair! And then the beautiful rhythm of your heart dropped out, low, slow, and we all knew this was too real. Too fragile. Next thing is: surgical lights, steely metal, masks, knives, bags and drips and lines and tubes. It was cold and hot all in the same moment. Dad came close to me, forehead to mine. And eighteen minutes later, you took your very first breath. You arrived in this world with the smallest, most beautiful fill-our-hearts-to-overflowing cry, and your dad and I just lost. our. selves. Boy? Your eyes. They said everything - alive and inquisitive and so very bright, taking it all in. Not even a blink. You were so ready.

You've made my heart burst in gratitude, in love, and in the wonder of both how big and small it all is. You've pushed me into new territory, little one. You've made me think in ways I've never had to, adding to my life an honesty I had yet to experience. All the pieces that make you up, Ev? They move me. I collect the learning of you and it makes me run somewhere new, hard and strong and determined - all in uncharted surrender to what being your mom means. It's so vulnerable. It's so raw. It's so scary. And so incredibly beautiful. You, sweet boy, are a wonder. Thank you for teaching me to unclench my fists. For teaching me what it looks like to give myself away. To look fear in the face and then leave it behind, letting love be what lingers. I was shaken by the newness of you. Yet still, I say: I'm all in, boy. You've turned my world inside out and I love you, Everett. Here's me, open hands, all in, flinging myself out of comfort and into the reckless beauty of it all.


May you, sweet Everett, forever find that your feet stand on a firm foundation of truest love.

May your roots grow deep, drinking the living water of our Jesus who is your advocate and life source.

May you grow healthy, strong, vibrant.

May joy surprise you around every corner in your incredible, unstoppable life.

May the roads be open and wide for you, little one. Go, go, go for it!

May your relationships be strong and supportive. Honest and compassionate.  Loyal and loving.

May your eyes see wonder and beauty and resurrection everywhere.

May the passions of your life lead you to amazing places, filling you up and pouring out goodness everywhere you go.

May your battles be fought in peaceful valor, always knowing we have your back and will champion for you.

May the good words spoken over you find their way deep into your heart. May you remember them always.

May you find yourself at ease in this little family; authentic and supportive and honest and silly.

May life thrill you and surprise you and bless you over and over again.

May you thrive, little one. May you have an absolute blast in this life!

And may the grace and peace of our Jesus be with you, always.

All my love,


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