Today
Wednesday, March 26, 2025

as I reflect on my fourth child
my second son
my precious baby
turning one
I pause to remember.

I am brought back to a summer day in June 2023. In a prayerful and quiet moment, asking the Lord if it was His will for us to grow our family, God gave me the image of the tree with four branches. I drew this picture in my journal, then listed every fear I had about having a fourth child. Many of those fears included the physical surrender of my body: pregnancy, postpartum, and nursing. The nearly two-year physical undertaking of a new baby was one of the most dreaded parts that kept me from being open to the miracle of life that God would have for our family.

Shortly after, we rejoiced in the news of finding out we were pregnant. But the physical toll began (again). I remember nauseous days in the 100-degree summer heat and feeling sick as I brought Lydia to her first day of kindergarten. I remember paralyzing back pain while hosting Eliza’s 4-year-old birthday party. I remembering sprinting 38-weeks pregnant as CJ’s scooter headed full speed for a busy street. I remember the bonding with Adrian & commitment to health during the final months of pregnancy and his birth—leading up to Holy Week, 2024.

I remember the joy of showing up at Good Friday service with Adrian only 3 days old, and Easter Sunday, 5 days old. I remember countless times nursing him or trying to get him to sleep while anxiously praying that my other children who roamed freely in the house and yard were safe. I recount Adrian’s volume of spit up that lasted until 10 months old and led me to a purchase a little Green Machine vacuum for the carpet of our new house—the only house Adrian will remember. Countless nighttime feedings alone, while everyone else in the house was asleep. The dreaded sleep training and weaning. His first belly laugh. The first time he said mama. His first steps—followed by a dogpile by all three siblings and the most precious family hug.

All these little moments,
leading us to
today. 

In many ways, Adrian turning one feels like a fulfillment of that prayer I laid before the Lord on that summer day. A trust and a peace, amid many fears.

God carried both me and my family
from then
until
now.

Since that time, I see that God has both comforted me and changed me. I have so much delight as I look to the next milestones that come after Adrian’s first steps and the one-nap transition. I am so proud as I see him play with his siblings, dance every time he hears a beat, voice his opinions, and explore and discover the world around him.

When I think of Adrian now, I think of the way his deep brown eyes light up every time he sees me, how he drops his head to fast crawl from across the room and pull up on my legs, how he turns his palms face up to reach for me (reminding me of the open palms that is often my posture when I seek to worship the Lord). I think of singing “This Little Light of Mine” before many naps, but changing the lyrics:

This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let him shine.

I wondered why I was not more emotional about his turning of one, until yesterday when I sat with the Lord long enough to remember—not just the growth he’s had this year, but the growth of my own. The Lord has used Adrian to increase my endurance—physically, mentally, and spiritually—and my dependence on Him for each of my four children. 

Psalm 131:2 says, “Instead, I have calmed and quieted my soul like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like a weaned child.”

Often, I think of our relationship with the Lord like a nursing infant, because we are utterly dependent on God for life. This verse in Psalm 131 then has me wonder, why does it say a weaned child? This week as we are weaning Adrian I have a precious picture: a weaned child comes to his mother, not because he needs milk. He just wants to rest in her presence and feel her comfort and warmth. As he cuddles on my chest now without nursing, he is calm and quiet. His soul is at rest.

Before the Lord, I come
for rest, comfort and strength—
and
even as
we don’t know the circumstances of life
or
as we ponder the regrets made
or
the fears of the future
I wonder at how the Lord invites us into His presence to
rest
our minds
rest
our bodies
rest
our souls
“like a weaned child comes to its mother.”

As your name means, Adrian Ray, you have brought a wealth of light into our life. This little light of mine, you point us to our Heavenly Father. You shine.

Happy Birthday, Adrain.