You are growing so much, little man. I am amazed at your hard work – the doctors say you’re right on time, even measuring a few days ahead. You move and squirm around a lot, but I know that the space is starting to feel small. The world here is bigger, and there will be much more space for you on the other side. We have a big backyard and sidewalks, we have the river walk where Dad and I go sometimes to talk and sift through our thoughts, where we go to wonder out loud.
It’s been a little while since I wrote to you about your cleft. We had the MRI, the ultrasounds, the follow-up appointments and there will be a few more before September. You are being such a good sport about letting these strange people take pictures of you. And I know it is a lot, and I think we’re both relieved when we pull out of the hospital each time, heading home, the three of us still making our way through.
I have been talking about you to God, every day. Lately I’ve been asking how this is happening to you, this complicated, challenging stuff. I keep saying that it seems like you’re too little to have to go through all of this, that it’s so unfair, how much I wish I could be the one to have this instead of you. How much I would give for you not to need any extra help, how much I would give. And I tell God that I don’t understand how this can be happening to someone I love so much, because, little man, I love you so much more than I can explain.
But then Jesus asked me while I was standing in my closet, trying to pick out something to wear, in that silence that so often carries the voice of God to our noisy hearts: Hilary, do you believe that I love Jackson?
And then Jesus asked me, Hilary, do you believe that what I will do for Jackson is better than what you can imagine?
Little man, I do believe this. And I want you to know that I believe it. I believe that when you are born, in those few short weeks that stand between us and the mystery and adventure of your birth, Jesus will be celebrating. Jesus will be rejoicing with us that you are here, that you are finally here in the world with us. And I believe that if you are miraculously healed before birth or if you go through some surgeries, if you come out screeching or if you need a little help breathing from the doctors and nurses in the NICU, if you have some or all or none of what we are preparing for right now, I believe that Jesus will do, and is doing, better things than I can imagine.
I could try to trust in ultrasounds, in MRI reports. I could try to trust in miraculous healings or dreams or prophecies or the late night prayers we are praying over you. I could try to predict what will happen, to imagine you, to imagine what is ahead. But I believe, little man, that it is better to put my trust in Jesus.
And Jesus has better plans for you than the ones I could come up with. Jesus has better things for you than I can ask or imagine. Jesus knows you and loves you so much beyond my imagining.
Jesus led me to your dad – and he is so much better than I could ever have imagined.
Jesus led me to studying philosophy, to asking big questions about disabilities and differences, about human nature and the image of God – better than anything I imagined when I was applying.
Jesus led me to the right college, to the right high school – both better than I could have imagined when I first set out.
And Jesus brought you to us, and you are already so much better than I could have imagined. Carrying you along with me, every day, I remember: what God has in store is always far more than we could have imagined by ourselves.
So, Jackson, these last few weeks, I am leaning on this for both of us. I don’t know what is up ahead. I don’t know where we will be in 8 weeks or what it will be like. But I know, I know, I know that Jesus is with us and ahead of us. He will be rejoicing when you’re born, for there are far better things in store than the things we can imagine.
I can’t wait to see you, little man. Just a few more weeks. We will be rejoicing.