Dear Baby Girl,

Another Christmas is here and you’re still not home.  I had hoped to have you in my arms by now, so my heart is missing you extra.  I’m thankful for the special grace that has been given during our crazy-long wait, but there’s heartache too…and more so as time ticks on.  Some days, it comes in the form of deep disappointment and frustration.  Many days, it’s a quiet acceptance and just doing the next thing because life has to go on.  I know few can understand my journey, so I’ve learned to simply ponder many things in my heart, like Mary all those Christmases ago who also found herself in a place few could understand and of seeming impossibility, a place she never expected to be with a story written so differently than she supposed.  But redemption came to her and a world so weary of waiting.  Angel song broke her quiet reverie and a star of light pierced her dark night.  Our weary waiting will be redeemed too, little bird.  And we will get to sing carols together one day and watch the stars together under night skies too and see that light always finds its way through darkness.

I had hoped I wouldn’t spend yet another Christmas without you.  As much as I love the tradition of stealing my friends’ kiddos for the day to help me decorate for Christmas each year, I want you a part of that too.  And I want to take you skating with us afterwards and make you more Canadian than a piece of paper whispers.  Most of all, I want to see your wonder at all the new things you’ll experience once you’re home.  You’ve never known snow or a toboggan and perhaps have never seen Christmas lights or enjoyed a minty candy cane.  Or known the joy of a warm fireplace with a cup of cocoa and popcorn on a chilly night.  I want to tuck you into your own bed at night wearing striped Christmas pajamas rather than staring at striped bars of a communal crib.  Often I think of the delightful firsts I’ll get a front row seat to, and it makes my heart beat happiness.  Perhaps because I’m missing so many other firsts that make my heart sad.  Sometimes it takes counting your blessings, little bird, to carry sorrows.

I am thankful this year for simple joys and special blessings, but I’m already dreaming of a white Christmas next year and a little girl to soak in the simple wonder with and to make snow angels together with.  Where tree tops glisten a little more readily than tears and where we listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow.  Where it’ll be a little more merry and a little more bright because I’ll have you to hold and my heart will be light.  Until then, the stars in the bright sky will look down where you lay, and I’ll keep hoping and continue to pray. 

I’m so thankful for a little Baby that came before you, who teaches my heart in tender ways what it means to “advent,” to anticipate, to wait for a special coming and celebrate fulfilled promises.  Jesus’ story makes our story that much more beautiful and reminiscent of the manger…beauty birthed in humble places, long journeys taken, hope strengthened during dark nights, prayers answered, and love filling the simplicity of our days.

Merry Christmas, little one.  I love you the whole wide world and back again.  Hang on a little longer, and I’ll cross oceans to show you.

Forever,

Momma