I have been thinking about Wyatt a lot this week. Carson has recently taken up a new interest in hearing about what he was like as a baby. “Tell me a story about when me was a baby, mama.” So I proceed to tell him how he grew in my tummy and was born in a hospital and was loved so much. He smiles and says, “tell me the rest!”
It pains me that we likely will not have these early details of Wyatt’s life. And if we do, they will not be part of a peppy little birth story that we are accustomed to hearing here. No, his early history will be shrouded in circumstances such as poverty, abandonment, or death. More than likely, the birth date on his birth certificate will even be fabricated- the nun’s best guess to when he might have come into this world.
While I recognize that our son very well might struggle with this one day down the road, it is my prayer that this struggle is conquered by the more beautiful truth that he has been loved and wanted and chosen. I pray that he will know this down to the marrow of his bones. And that he can rejoice in the knowledge that God, in His infinite love and flawless planning, knit him together. While Wyatt may be birthed into unfortunate circumstances, he will not remain there.
Beauty for ashes. Baby boy, that’s my story too.