Birthday Boy

It’s been ten years.  Ten years since I first held him in my arms.  Ten years since I first saw the face of the one who wiggled inside.

I remember well the day, one of those six days which are pushed deep into my story.  I labored, humble and raw on the linoleum floor, and his father’s arms held me.  How I needed to be held.

Life came pouring out and he cried and I cried.  I fell in love.

For anyone who thinks that the mother of a brood carries a fraction of love for each, I can only say that every child has captured me completely.  A mother’s heart cannot be measured by capacity. 

So he belongs here, adding fullness to a family, adding a brother for adversity.  He brings music to the halls, sound effects to the dinner hour, and a sweet sincerity of affection that makes everyone his friend.  Happy birthday, Samuel.  We are so glad that our Father has lent you for a season, already half gone.  We intend to enjoy every pleasure!

About Julie

A happy wife, a mom on the learning curve, a daughter of the King . . .
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2 Responses to Birthday Boy

  1. Frederic Scheffler says:

    Your mom and I love this. Where was the linoleum floor? In the hospital? at home? We fell in love with him, too! And we still are, the Little Prince of Jericho!

    • Julie says:

      Yes–at the hospital. Giving birth is a very humbling thing, but very precious too, as you know. Somehow all the details don’t matter much once you see that squalling little person! (smile)

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