"No crying!"

He was the cutest three year old I had met since the days of Samuel Houston and his insistent 'excuse me... excuse me.' Toby hopped up and down on the twirling stool, crawled onto his mom's bed constantly squirming out of this father's arms. He wasn't three actually, closer to two and three quarters.

His mom on the other hand was wearing fantastic penguin pajama pants with tiny flower petals dotted on her toe nails. She was exactly 24 weeks and 1 day pregnant, not just pregnant, pregnant with twins... not just twins, twins with a cramping uterus and a short cervix. Twenty-four weeks is viability, the age at which if a baby is born it will be resuscitated. The implication of pre-term birth this early are huge, really really little babies just aren't supposed to see the world that early.

We chatted, I got the history, all the annoying questions. Then as she lifted up her t-shirt so I could examine her belly, the dad asked Toby:

What do we say to the babies?

No crying!

And what else do we say?

Dohn come out! Throwing his arms up in the air as only a two and three quarter year old can do.

It was refreshing. Did I mention he was nearly as cute as Samuel Houston? There is enough human tragedy to fill the ocean, but this kid, he was hope.

90th Birthday Parties

My Auntie Edna turned 90 yesterday, we had a great party. I read her this letter, one that I had sent last year (when I clearly had more hope and more sleep!)

Dear Auntie Edna,

It was so lovely to see you over Thanksgiving and I’ve been meaning to write this since I got back. I just got in from a fantastic bike ride through the Endowment lands. I got home covered in mud, chilled, and completely soaked but blissfully happy. The fresh, bright spring mossiness has now turned to the sweet, musty yellows of fall and each time I go out there I’m amazed at the towering trunks and lush vegetation, comforting in its peacefulness . . . I’m incredibly blessed.

I was a bit worried about you when we chatted in Calgary and I know you’re excited about getting to heaven and all but I was wondering if you were depressed. You voiced the frustration of having to rely on others so much and feeling like a burden with your physical limitations. It made my eyes well-up with tears that you felt this way. I suppose I understand it though, your whole life you have given and given and given, you’ve been self-sufficient and supported dozens and dozens of people spiritually, emotionally, financially and in other innumerable ways. Your whole life has been a gift to all of us and I hope and pray that as you live out your twilight years we who have been blessed by you are able to give back just a little bit of the immeasurable gifts you have lavished upon us with your time and your love. My other thought was that you no longer feel that you can give and contribute in the ways you have done your whole life. Well, here’s the deal, we’re not done with you yet. I get all choked up when I think about all the love, encouragement and support you have given me personally and my whole family, well, you are part of my family. You write us weekly letters when we’re not in Calgary, whether we’re in Tanzania, Peru, or Australia, those letters gave me roots, they held my home for me. You know me better than any biological or missionary aunts I’ve ever had. In this messy world we live in where who we are depends on what we accomplish you love me regardless of anything I do or don’t do. You’ve taught me that my worth doesn’t depend on what I do but on who I am. You loved me when I was a rambunctious, bratty little kid bouncing off the walls when you visited us in Peru, you loved me enough to go into a store and buy my me an Oilers shirt to bring me when you came to Ecuador, you loved me in all my bitterness about Canadian winters, and you need to know that your love still makes a difference to me now, today, on the soggy west coast. Your life is a testament to hope.

You probably want to know how I’m doing out here. Honestly, life is delicious (not gonna lie). God has given me a peace like I’ve never experienced before, about who I am, where I am, and what I’m doing. I have moments of incredible joy, my life is so full and I am blessed and privileged in a way that I am infinitely grateful for. God is so good. Not that things aren’t challenging now and then, but I am held tightly in a blanket of grace. I want to live fully, to do justice and show mercy. When I think of those in my life who have demonstrated this I think of you, you are living a rich legacy for all of us.

Love,

S