‘E’ for Excitement, ‘B’ for Blessing
Big E, little E. What begins with E? EXCITEMENT for a birthday boy. E, e, e.
Yup – it’s been an exciting week around here with Little Brother turning five only yesterday. After days of eager wriggling, sheer elation, and joyful enthusiasm, the big day arrived, and a small boy awoke, blueeyes shining.
He’d tripped off to his Sunday School class, clearly feeling like royalty when his teachers exclaimed and made a fuss. He’d beamed big and bright, high-fiving back, thrilled at the acknowledgement of his special day.
How fitting, I thought, that his birthday had landed square on Father’s Day. This, you see, was the child who’d come to us late. Who’d come unexpected. Who’d been planned – not by us, but by God.
Thinking that a period had been put on the end of that sentence, at the end of that chapter, the world had spun, shifting on its axis, and there’d been great consternation when we learned there wasn’t a period at all; it was actually a comma.
Slowly, we’d come to acceptance. Slowly, we’d begun adjusting. And slowly, but surely, we’d embraced his coming with all its implications…18 more years of Little League, parent/teacher meetings, PTO fundraisers, middle school angst, projects, baptisms, and driver’s training. “It’s good,” we’d whispered to each other, “that it takes nine months. It’s good that Someone knows what He’s doing.”
Last night, we celebrated at Grandpa’s house, opening presents, lighting five candles, singing the birthday song as Daddy snapped pictures and the Unexpected Gift smiled, happy and proud. And Mama remembered…
Five years ago last night, we’d been in a NICU, bending low over his bed, fear twisting our hearts, for the Gift That Came Late had actually arrived early. By five weeks.
Mama remembered, seeing his eyes all alight, the look of him, all hooked to wires. Remembered the ominous sound of the “singing,” that peculiar sing-song wheeze of a preemie whose lungs aren’t ready. Remembered crying over his incubator when the transport team brought him in for a last goodbye before carrying him gently across town in an ambulance.
Five years later, Mama remembered; remembered the prayers breathed over his tiny body curled up tight and his headful of dark hair. Remembered the image of the Gentle Shepherd standing guard over a wee, sick lamb that sustained her at night. Remembered the joy transcendent when at last she could pick him up, kissing his head, rocking him gently on a pillow.
How thankful we are, his family, for the gift that came late, then early, but in the end, right on time. How we celebrate, rejoicing in small things that become the biggest blessings. How blessed, indeed, we have been.