Sweet Baby Pearl,
I’ve written this letter over and over in my head, trying to think of the perfect words to say to you… but words fail me now. You, sweet baby girl, have consumed my thoughts and my prayer life for months now. The summer before you were born, Brennan and Abbey spent several days at Granny and Granddaddy’s house and went to our church’s Vacation Bible School. My responsibility was to share the Bible stories with each class. During that week, God spoke directly to my heart about you. I shared a line from the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego with the children, – “Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego knew that God could save them, but they didn’t know if God would save them.” The line pierced right through my heart. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that God could save you, could heal your body, could defy the diagnosis that scared me so… I knew he could. But I didn’t know if he would. Hope felt scary, not hopeful. One of the many things that I have learned as I’ve witnessed your story, is that God sometimes uses difficult paths to accomplish His purposes. I see it all throughout Our Story—He hardens Pharaoh’s heart before delivering the Israelites—so that all of Egypt would know that He is the Lord. Christ himself chose to make himself low so that we could know him. And he allowed those three Hebrew men to walk into the fiery furnace just to meet them there.
Sweet girl, I don’t have answers. But thanks to you, I am embracing questions more fully—head on. I am thinking more about Christ being the antidote to the diagnosis we have all been given at one point in our lives, “not compatible with life”. Through Him alone our prognosis is changed to life eternal.
I’m beginning to feel as though this letter is more for me than for you. But there are a few more things I’d like you to know. I love your fiery red hair. It reminds me that you are the spark I prayed that you would be (Isaiah 62:2). I continue to pray that your life will effect change in many many people. I love the way that your long skinny tongue pokes perfectly from your mouth. I love your big beautiful eyes that seem to soak it all in. You are special. You are sweet. You are wonderfully made. You’re one of the toughest I know, yet so vulnerable. You are so fortunate to have parents that are willing to fight for you, even when the “experts” say their efforts won’t matter. You, sweet girl, are a gift. You remind us all that life does matter. Every bit matters. Even more so as we look through the lens of the eternal. Thank you, sweet girl.
With all my heart,