Jackson Levi

Oh, Jackson. How you've changed my life. You've changed who I am, what I do, and virtually every aspect of my existence. You came screaming into my world and I will never be the same.

I remember my first look at you. You were staring at me with intensity, with a look that said "Whoa...what just happened?!?" and I looked back at you with that same identical look. We both cried. And I remember that seconds after you were born, I looked up at your dad, and he immediately teared up and was staring at you with a combination of fascination, fear, and overwhelming love in his eyes.

And then he looked at me, and I will never ever forget that moment where we locked eyes and simultaneously realized that we were now parents. The emotions were simply overwhelming. I don't even remember anything that happened after that--the stitches, the pain, frenzy of activity in the room. I only remember holding you on my chest, staring at the top of your cone-shaped head, and never wanting to let go. Just in shock as to what had happened and unsure what to do now, but knowing that I didn't want anyone to take you away from me, even to weigh you or clean you up. You were mine, and that was all I knew.

Then, the hard part came. Getting through the next month. I had no idea how difficult it would be. Pregnancy had been hard, labor and delivery had CERTAINLY been hard, but those were nothing compared to the next month. Jackson, please never doubt that I love you. If you had been there with us (of course, you were there, but if you'd been able to really experience it) you would know. I've never been so tired. So emotional. So raw. I was in physical pain, of course, but the hormone changes and the sleep deprivation turned me into a person I've never been before. I was anxious, every moment, about you. Even when I had the opportunity, I couldn't sleep. Were you eating enough? Were you sleeping enough? Were you gaining enough weight? Were we being good parents to you? Were you thriving? Were you happy? And sometimes the answer to some of those questions was no.

One time, in the hospital, you had a scare where for a brief moment we thought we might lose you. And I've never been so scared in my life as when that happened. Scarier than breaking my arms. Scarier than hiking on a narrow path 2,000 feet up. Scarier than getting married, being left alone for the first time at college, or anything else I'd ever experienced. My heart was wrenching in my chest. I couldn't breathe. And anytime you cried, I was physically in pain. I would do anything to make it stop. Anything.

And now, looking at you at 7 weeks old, you already seem like a totally different person from the day I met you. You're smiling, laughing, observing the world, (slowly) learning to put yourself to sleep. You bring so much joy to everyone around you, including me. You've cheered your Pop Pop while he goes through chemo. You've cheered your Mimi while she cares for your great-grandma. You've encouraged your grandma as she stresses over planning a wedding. You've made your dad smile after an especially long day at work.

And you are SO loved. You should have been there for your baby showers, Jackson. The whole world (or at least our whole world) showed up and gave you gifts. Mountains of gifts. Our friends and family were so excited about you that we had to come up with more things to add to our baby registry because everything had already been bought. People that you still haven't met knitted you blankets. Do you know how long it takes to knit a blanket, Jackson? And they did that for you. Before they'd even met you.

And, through it all, God has been so gracious. Did you know that is what your name means? "God has been gracious." There have been so many desperate moments, Jackson, where I didn't think I was going to make it through this past month, and God has carried me. One night, I was crying, desperate because I'd been up without sleeping for days, and I begged God to be kind and let me get some sleep. I went to bed thinking, well if that happens, it will be a miracle. And then, you slept for 4 hours. That was the first time I'd had more than 1-2 hours of sleep since you'd been born. And I cried again when I woke up because God had been gracious. He'd answered my prayer even though I didn't deserve it and all the circumstances pointed the other direction.

I've prayed more these last 7 weeks than I have in the last year. And you've helped me do that. And even though it has been the absolute hardest thing I've ever done, I'm so thankful for you. You're helping God to shave away my rough edges, even though I'm kicking and screaming about it the whole way. I simply can't wait to see who you will become. We love you so much, Jackson Levi.

Parents.

A teenager I know confided in me a few weeks ago that she feels her parents are disappointed in her. That she is not living up to their expectations and that it hurt her heart. I think her exact words were something like, with tears in her eyes, "I'm not sure they really love me, and I think they want me to be different before they will really be proud of me."

And, as I teared up with her, my thoughts (and my hands) instinctively went to my belly. Oh, honey, I thought. You have no idea. You have no idea how much your parents love you. Pray for you. Worry over you. Dream about you. Work for you. Cry with and for you. Physically feel your pain as you're hurting. You have no idea how their love for each other is manifested in you---how much you are the culmination of everything they have been working for their entire lives. You have no idea how fully intertwined your happiness is with theirs. How they cannot even imagine life without you. How they would take a bullet without even thinking about it for you. How they would give their kidneys for you. And images, like flashes, came into my head of the (I'm sure) hundreds of sleepless nights, thousands of diaper changes, endless meals, unrelenting laundry, (and the list goes on and on and on) that these parents had done for this child.

I was thinking, you have no idea how ridiculous that statement is that you are making. They could not possibly love you any more, and there is absolutely nothing you could do that would change that love. And they have proven it to you over and over again--how could you possibly not know that they love you like this?

And then. It hit me. God describes himself as our Father----as our parent. And I was suddenly convicted. How many times have I asked this exact question about God? How many times have I wondered, "Does He really love me, or is He mostly just tolerating me?" How many times have I thought I needed to get my act together in a certain area of my life, etc. before I could come talk to Him? How many tears have I shed that were just as ridiculous as this young girl's?

God is our parent. He loves us in this self-sacrificial, fierce, almost ridiculous way that parents love their children. It is an active love, one that goes through pain and suffering for His children. One that aches for relationship with them. One that would do anything, even give up His own life, to be with you. The current you---not the "new and improved" you that you hope will one day exist. I hope you know that and dwell on that today. It was very convicting and encouraging to me.