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My Dear Child, I Have a Confession…

My dear child,

I have a confession.

Throughout the eight years you’ve been in my life, I’ve prayed and longed for you to be healed from all your diagnoses, illnesses and struggles. I’ve yelled at God for allowing my sweet, innocent baby to come into this world with such life-altering afflictions. I’ve traveled the world seeking treatments to help you overcome these diagnoses. I’ve pleaded with doctors for answers and to save you from distress. I’ve always wanted you better.  That’s all I’ve ever dreamed of. A better you.

As I was lying in bed early this morning, I could feel your warm, plump hand against my shoulder. You were stroking and patting my shirt in what seemed like an attempt to wake me. I turned around to find you awake with your bright sparkling eyes blinking happily.  I kissed your perched lips good morning, and you quickly returned a kissing sound to me. Then that signature toothless smile came. We giggled and hugged and made the most of our alone time as I brushed your perfect dirty blonde hair with my fingers. I loved every second of it.


These are the moments when things become clear to me. Crystal clear. Although I pray for a better you, I know I shouldn’t. I believe God’s plan for you is so much grander than I could ever fathom. I believe He sent you here to this place we call Earth filled with so many people who long for hope and love and peace, for a specific purpose. You were destined to be mine. I believe God handpicked you to come into my life and change it; it was up to me to decide how.

I have to admit, the first few years with you were rough. You cried all. the. time. You puzzled me. You pushed me to my limit. You made me question everything I was brought up to believe in. I couldn’t understand the why or how. But you my child, with your persistence and will and love for life, you changed everything. I’ve watched you suffer. I’ve hit my knees asking God to make it stop. You’ve endured back-to-back hospital stays, agonizing seizures, gruesome surgeries, relentless needle sticks, tests after tests — things no one should ever have to live through. Yet you, my beautiful child, you endured these things and then you smiled a smile that knows much more than I do.


Years have passed, and our life together has crystalized. You’ve learned how to navigate your life and your courage amazes me. I’ve seen miracles performed on your little body, and I’m just in awe. You smile through it all. Your joy is infectious. Having you in my life has made me a better human being. You’ve deepened my faith without ever having said one single word — all from being exactly who you are, no more no less. I’m eternally grateful for you.

I go about sharing your testimony to our family and friends and to anyone who will listen because I want others to experience you. So I lie here watching you wave your hand in the air, feeling the wind from the fan and contently clicking your tongue, and I think to myself how I could want a better you. It isn’t possible. You’re perfect. I’m so sorry you can’t enjoy life the same way others boys do and play ball with your brothers.  My momma heart wants you to have sight and walk and talk and be a typical kid. While that would be absolutely amazing and a dream come true, it wouldn’t be you. I wouldn’t be who I am. And the thousands of other lives you’ve touched wouldn’t be themselves either. You’re our warrior, and you teach us to appreciate the small things, find the blessing in every situation and love unconditionally. You make us better.

I have days where I struggle with heartache for you, which I know is completely nothing in comparison to what you endure. I cry. I pray. I hold you close to me breathing in your goodness. Then just like a drug, I’m surrounded by grace, and I’m thankful. Thankful for you and our life together and the joy you bring to everyone you meet. I’m once again reminded of your perfect purpose here, and the heartache subsides.  Knowing this, I have to confess, my precious child, I can’t say I want you better because you’re exactly the way I believe God intended you to be. You’re perfect.

I love you.


A version of this post originally appeared on My Blessed Little Nest.

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