On March 12, John and I received this message from a friend, "Tomorrow you will be the parents of a person legally defined as an adult...which means you both now fit the legal definition of 'old people'...Have a nice day." That's one way to jump start your oldest child's 18th birthday.
Another is to reminisce. So I did.
This is the child whom we prayed for. Diligently. Urgently. For whom we went through every infertility test known to medical science.
The child who was to join the austere group of youngsters known as Clomid babies. (Hey, we should look into this - maybe there's a college scholarship for which you might apply!) And whatever he did in there, it worked because they just kept coming after he left.
Back in the day, before FB and Twitter and play-by-play delivery photography, we announced his birth with a snail mail announcement. Before the day of naked baby pictures, we actually clothed him for a cute shot to include in our joyful announcements. And he has no pictures of my pregnant belly to hang on his future living room wall. He thanks me for that.
But then he and I spent our first week together sitting in the comfy living room chair, crying. Both of us. And I asked (sorry to say), "I prayed for this?"
But those days end far too quickly, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
This is the child whose favorite television show at 18 months was Wheel of Fortune. The child who sat on my hospital bed when introduced to his new baby brother, preferring the TV to the little grub in my arms, repeating each called letter on the show by saying, "D...Daddy! M...Mommy! A...A-dew!"
The child who insisted he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up and whose favorite bedtime stuffed "animal" was John Glenn.
This is the child who grew in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and men. We couldn't be prouder.
Happy adulthood. May you continue to follow God with all your heart and to lean not on your own understanding. May you be a blessing to everyone you meet.
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