A Letter to My Daughter, On Father's Day
You are about 22 weeks old and probably weigh a little more than a pound. In less than 18 weeks you will finally be here and we will meet you face to face. And one day, God willing, when you get older I will tell you your story.
I will tell you about how your dad and I prayed and hoped for another baby and how much we wanted you. I will tell you that I had almost given up hope and wasn't sure if it would happen, but that your dad was sure God would answer our prayers. And He did.
I will tell you about the day we all went to your 18-week ultrasound (at right) to find out if you were a girl or a boy. Your dad and I and your two brothers and two sisters crowded into the room and waited to hear what our tie-breaker baby would be. I will tell you what the doctor said during the ultrasound: spine looks good ... brain looks good ... fluid looks good ... no cleft lip ... definitely a girl. And then he said, But do you see this? He said something about a hernia. "A hernia," I thought, "that can't be serious."
I will tell you how the doctor took your dad and me into a separate room and explained things in more detail. A congenital defect ... diaphragmatic hernia ... underdeveloped lungs ... surgery ... mortality rate is 50 percent. I will tell you how we later decided we will probably go somewhere out of state for your birth. God willing, I will tell you all that and then I will tell you about your dad.
I will tell you that after that ultrasound the only thing that kept running through my mind was "mortality rate is 50 percent," but that your dad was thinking "all things come not by chance, but by his Fatherly hand." I will tell you that when we got home from that first appointment and we were alone, your dad cried more than he has ever cried before. But at the same time he reminded me that the doctor may have said 50 percent, but that God is working 100 percent for our good and His glory. One day, God willing, I will be able to tell you all this.
I will tell you how never in my entire life had I been so afraid, and that I'm sure your dad was too, but that he was constantly reminding me of God's goodness to us -- goodness that I didn't always see. I will tell you that when he gets in his car he plays the song that reminds him of you, the one with the lyrics, "hey you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race." I will tell you how he would pray for you and how he knew deep inside that this plan God has for you and for our family is perfect. I will tell you that I knew this too in my head, but that your dad was the one who helped me to believe it deep in my heart.
God willing, one day, I will be able to tell you all this. But by that time you will already know what a great dad you have. You will know how much he loves you and has always loved you. And one day, God willing, you will hand him your scribbled homemade card that says Happy Father's Day.
I will tell you about how your dad and I prayed and hoped for another baby and how much we wanted you. I will tell you that I had almost given up hope and wasn't sure if it would happen, but that your dad was sure God would answer our prayers. And He did.
I will tell you about the day we all went to your 18-week ultrasound (at right) to find out if you were a girl or a boy. Your dad and I and your two brothers and two sisters crowded into the room and waited to hear what our tie-breaker baby would be. I will tell you what the doctor said during the ultrasound: spine looks good ... brain looks good ... fluid looks good ... no cleft lip ... definitely a girl. And then he said, But do you see this? He said something about a hernia. "A hernia," I thought, "that can't be serious."I will tell you how the doctor took your dad and me into a separate room and explained things in more detail. A congenital defect ... diaphragmatic hernia ... underdeveloped lungs ... surgery ... mortality rate is 50 percent. I will tell you how we later decided we will probably go somewhere out of state for your birth. God willing, I will tell you all that and then I will tell you about your dad.
I will tell you that after that ultrasound the only thing that kept running through my mind was "mortality rate is 50 percent," but that your dad was thinking "all things come not by chance, but by his Fatherly hand." I will tell you that when we got home from that first appointment and we were alone, your dad cried more than he has ever cried before. But at the same time he reminded me that the doctor may have said 50 percent, but that God is working 100 percent for our good and His glory. One day, God willing, I will be able to tell you all this.
I will tell you how never in my entire life had I been so afraid, and that I'm sure your dad was too, but that he was constantly reminding me of God's goodness to us -- goodness that I didn't always see. I will tell you that when he gets in his car he plays the song that reminds him of you, the one with the lyrics, "hey you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race." I will tell you how he would pray for you and how he knew deep inside that this plan God has for you and for our family is perfect. I will tell you that I knew this too in my head, but that your dad was the one who helped me to believe it deep in my heart.
God willing, one day, I will be able to tell you all this. But by that time you will already know what a great dad you have. You will know how much he loves you and has always loved you. And one day, God willing, you will hand him your scribbled homemade card that says Happy Father's Day.
