I’m going to let you in on a little secret that you can’t tell my kids. Seriously – don’t tell them.
I have started a blog for each of them. My son’s is called, “Dear Nick, this is your life.” My daughter’s is the same, except her name, not Nick’s.
When the kids near the end of their senior year in high school I will send the blog off to a website to be printed in a book. The book will be their life. Over a decade of letters from me to them, in full color, bound and wrapped for a graduation present.
You can steal the idea if you like. In fact, I hope you do.
I wrote this one in the midst of a near mind-numbing clamor of Christmas music, recorder-practice, and howling cat.
I thought I would share it with you.
As I type, you are upstairs gleefully and faithfully practicing the recorder you first took home from school two years ago. It’s almost Christmas, so the song they are teaching you is Jingle Bells. The tune you are playing is remarkably close.
As you play, your brother is in Dad’s study, dancing in front of the computer. Do you remember how you two used to dance? The song he is jamming to – wouldn’t you know it – is Jingle Bells, and now I can hear you thundering down the stairs to play along with the video.
I love this age. You, eight, Nick, seven – full of fire and curiosity, and starting to find your voice.
As I write, I wonder how many other houses have this joyful cacophony playing. I wonder how many other moms might describe it as joyful. Someday you’ll have kids who have recorders and you’ll know just what I mean.
However, it’s a joyful noise to me, because you’re the one making it. Honey, I want you to make noise. Find your cause. Find your passion. Use your voice.
You have one life – just one – and God has equipped you to be a difference maker. I can see it now, even at the tender age of eight.
Have I already written about the time we went to Port Aransas and you had all the kids following you? I suppose I should read earlier entries before I write new ones, but entertain the story one more time.
We walked out to the pool and surveyed the deck. We found a table and staked our claim. You took a good, long look around, then slowly lowered yourself into the water. There were kids playing ball on one side; a girl with a huge floating seahorse on the other. Your Dad got comfy with a book and I turned around to see what Nick was doing.
Five minutes later, there you were riding the seahorse and directing the kids on the game of your choosing.
You found your cause and your voice and you wouldn’t be silenced.
As I sit here typing to future eighteen-year-old you, I wonder what your message will be.
I believe God will give you a message and a means to say it, and I look forward to leaning in.
I love you, sweetheart. Stay true to God’s Word. It is the truth, and when you go off to college, if that is your plan, the truth will be assaulted on every side. Be strong and firm – God’s Word stands, and your mother not only stands by it, she has built her life and her ministry on it.
How I wish I could make you understand the depth of my love for you. When you laugh the world laughs with you. Your eyes sparkle like diamonds when you smile.
Keep smiling, my sweet love. And never, ever, ever, ever stop making noise.
Psalm 98:4 – Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise.