The Author

It never ceases to amaze me how God takes a tiny cluster of cells and blossoms it into a distinct, unique creation in a matter of weeks.

I am equally stunned every time I have the honor of witnessing a tiny person unfold from the first fitful breaths into a smiling, laughing baby discovering his own abilities just a few months after emerging from the womb.

Jude is three months old now, and he is exactly, perfectly fitted for our family. Once again, I am awestruck at God’s careful sculpting of our family. In His wisdom, He has grafted branches, strengthened limbs, and brought forth a fruit that nearly takes my breath away. Every time I am tempted to call into question our following of this crazy path, I remember this:

If we were writing the story, Jack would be the baby of the family.

If we had listened to the cautions of well-meaning friends and family, we would never have known Babita, Phineas or John Mark.

If we hadn’t been willing to reconsider “what everyone does,” we would be missing Birdie, Simon, and Jude.

We would never have known the delight of hearing Babita giggle, of watching Phineas dance like a robot, of having John Mark show us yet another Lego creation, of tea parties with Birdie, of feeling Simon’s hands twist into my hair, of feeling Jude sigh deeply in my arms. I would be missing out on some of the most profound joys of my life if I had decided to map out my future on my own.

Clearly, the plot twists from the pen of God are far richer than the perfection I had envisioned. Clearly my longings, my desires, were less. It’s so easy to see as I press my cheek against the forehead of a baby son whose timing I questioned, whose presence caught me by surprise.

I can write a good many things. But the story of my own days? I leave that to the Lord.