Our boy turned
seven today.
SEVEN.
Can you believe it?
Oh how I wish I
could sit with you today over a cup of coffee.
I want to hold your
hands in mine and hear your life story.
I want to look into
your eyes and tell you how much I love you.
I want to hug your
neck and thank you for choosing life.
If you could have
hand picked a mom to raise your Misikir,
I don’t think you
would have picked me.
The me before your
Misikir was so full of pride.
The me before your
Misikir wasn’t willing to die.
The me before your
Misikir loved me more than you.
The me before your
Misikir didn’t have a clue.
But God.
He gifted me with
your Misikir and we named him Miles.
You gave him life,
but I get his smiles.
The heaviness of
that truth is not lost on me.
And that’s a
reality I will always grieve.
Miles was fearfully,
wonderfully and autistically made.
Miles was purposed,
adopted, and a gift I wouldn’t trade.
Sweet Firkirte-
Since I can’t see
you and hug you and love on you today,
I pray that the
Lord will comfort you in every way.
