Seven years old
It was seven years ago today that you forever changed my life. While I had dreamed of being a Mama for as long as I can remember, it was nine months before your birthday that I dreamed of delivering a baby boy.
And then, it happened.
To God be the glory.
Oh, my Trey. How very special you are. Your seven years have crawled by, my dear, as we have so enjoyed watching you grow and mature, and as we have struggled with the trial-and-error parenting that accompanies all firstborns.
You are tall and skinny, having grown inches but hardly gaining a pound. You are your Daddy, head to toe. Except your hair is darker than his now. I guess it might end up brown. Those huge hazel eyes rimmed by mile-long eyelashes are still mine, though.
You are sweet and compassionate. Most of the time. And definitely not toward your brother. But most of the time. You like to give hugs and kisses, maybe to remind me that I no longer have to bend over to hug or kiss you. Sigh.
You don't like for anything in your world to be off-balance, and many times these displays of affection come immediately following discipline or some of your selfish moments. I think you want to make sure that we still love you.
Baby boy, we couldn't not love you.
Routine, logic, method, schedule - this is how you function, my child. Anything unexpected or unexplainable is unacceptable. We rely so very much on this structure to keep peace for you. Almost as much as we rely on your incredible memory and your very capable helping hands. You follow directions and do things right.
And right now you're looking for directions on how to know that Jesus lives in your heart. No directions there, my son. He's coming after you, though. While we expect Him to take hold of you anytime now, as with everything else in your life, it won't happen until you're good and ready.
But oh, how we're praying for your salvation. And that God might deliver you from the fears that paralyze you. From getting to sleep at night, from meeting new people, from the great experiences you could be having in your life. From playing organized sports. Please play on a team, Trey! Please! You are already an athlete, and a good one! We want those great memories for you. (And for us!)
Beyond your fears, life just mesmerizes you. How things work, how they are built, how they came to be. You are obsessed with history and geography right now. I've had to tug on plenty of underused brain synapses to dish out random trivia in answer to the endless array of questions you come up with. I know a lot, but not as much as you need me to.
You are hopelessly devoted to your grandparents, you'd rather not play with your brother unless he's your last resort, and you have trouble using your imagination. You talk every moment you're awake. Sometimes interrupting yourself. You are smart and lovable, active and energetic, careful and funny. Your dance moves remain unmatched. You can absolutely whoop tail at Monopoly. And when you get the giggles, it's beyond hilarious.
Oh, the joy and faith you have brought to us, Trey. On this your seventh birthday, we celebrate exactly who God made you to be, and we look forward to watching you become the man He intended. You're irreplaceable, and we're so proud of you just for being you. Happy birthday, little man. Love you forever.
And then, it happened.
To God be the glory.
Oh, my Trey. How very special you are. Your seven years have crawled by, my dear, as we have so enjoyed watching you grow and mature, and as we have struggled with the trial-and-error parenting that accompanies all firstborns.
You are tall and skinny, having grown inches but hardly gaining a pound. You are your Daddy, head to toe. Except your hair is darker than his now. I guess it might end up brown. Those huge hazel eyes rimmed by mile-long eyelashes are still mine, though.
You are sweet and compassionate. Most of the time. And definitely not toward your brother. But most of the time. You like to give hugs and kisses, maybe to remind me that I no longer have to bend over to hug or kiss you. Sigh.
You don't like for anything in your world to be off-balance, and many times these displays of affection come immediately following discipline or some of your selfish moments. I think you want to make sure that we still love you.
Baby boy, we couldn't not love you.
Routine, logic, method, schedule - this is how you function, my child. Anything unexpected or unexplainable is unacceptable. We rely so very much on this structure to keep peace for you. Almost as much as we rely on your incredible memory and your very capable helping hands. You follow directions and do things right.
And right now you're looking for directions on how to know that Jesus lives in your heart. No directions there, my son. He's coming after you, though. While we expect Him to take hold of you anytime now, as with everything else in your life, it won't happen until you're good and ready.
But oh, how we're praying for your salvation. And that God might deliver you from the fears that paralyze you. From getting to sleep at night, from meeting new people, from the great experiences you could be having in your life. From playing organized sports. Please play on a team, Trey! Please! You are already an athlete, and a good one! We want those great memories for you. (And for us!)
Beyond your fears, life just mesmerizes you. How things work, how they are built, how they came to be. You are obsessed with history and geography right now. I've had to tug on plenty of underused brain synapses to dish out random trivia in answer to the endless array of questions you come up with. I know a lot, but not as much as you need me to.
You are hopelessly devoted to your grandparents, you'd rather not play with your brother unless he's your last resort, and you have trouble using your imagination. You talk every moment you're awake. Sometimes interrupting yourself. You are smart and lovable, active and energetic, careful and funny. Your dance moves remain unmatched. You can absolutely whoop tail at Monopoly. And when you get the giggles, it's beyond hilarious.
Oh, the joy and faith you have brought to us, Trey. On this your seventh birthday, we celebrate exactly who God made you to be, and we look forward to watching you become the man He intended. You're irreplaceable, and we're so proud of you just for being you. Happy birthday, little man. Love you forever.
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