As I write this post, it is the eve of my eldest child's birthday. I'm waxing sentimental again, as he turns seven tomorrow. In our culture, when a child turns seven, it is sort of a big deal. Parents are usually expected to throw a big birthday bash in honor of the celebrant. This is not the case for us though. We will celebrate it, but it won't be anything grand. It will just be a simple celebration with the people closest to our son -- immediate family members. We'll go to Mass as a family and my parents will treat him to lunch. Then we'll have dinner with family members on my husband's side; he'll open his presents and play with his cousins. We will pray over him and for him together, and hopefully end the day on a happy note.
In honor of my son's birthday, let me share with you this letter I wrote for him.
Dear Tim,
I can't believe you're already seven years old! It seems like only yesterday that your Papa and I found out I was pregnant with you.
I still remember how surprised and happy we were when the pregnancy test Papa bought showed a positive result.
I still remember the first time we saw your heartbeat via the ultrasound machine in the national hospital in Timor Leste.
I still remember how we'd pray over you while you were still in my womb. And how I'd place my hand over my abdomen, rubbing it in the hopes of comforting you (and maybe myself, too) during the days of crisis in Dili, when we'd stay in the mission house and hear gunshots in the distance, or hear the sound of helicopters flying in the air, signaling the patrol time of peacekeeping forces.
I still remember breaking down in tears, caressing my abdomen gently, while your Lola and I -- with you in nestled safely in my womb -- and your Tita Nirva, our co-missionary, were evacuated via C-130 out of Dili. I feared for your Papa and Lolo Mon's life that time, since they were left behind to tie up loose ends.
I still remember how community members from Couples for Christ (CFC) all over the world prayed for us, especially you, when we returned to Timor while you were still seven months old in my womb.
I still remember how these same people, and so many others, prayed for you when you had to be hospitalized right after you were born.
These, and so many, many more memories come to mind as I write this letter to you, our dear Tim.
Breastfeeding you.
Rocking you to sleep.
Panicking when you wouldn't stop crying, so I ended up asking your Papa to come home while he was still in the middle of a talk.
Your baptism.
Wearing you during our mission team's first Christmas presentation for our Timorese brothers and sisters.
Your first steps.
Your first word.
Teaching you baby signs.
Your first haircut.
Your first birthday party.
Your first mission trip with us.
So many, many memories. Many of which had Timor as their setting.
Did you know that we chose your first name, "Timothy," for two reasons?
First, after Saint Timothy, a great saint and a young follower of Christ.
Second, because you were born in Timor, against many people's recommendations -- because it was still relatively unsafe when we went back there. Your being born in Timor became a symbolic event for our CFC community there -- symbolizing God's hope and love for their troubled nation.
My son, I know there are times when Mama doesn't show you the unconditional love and kindness that you need every day. I know there are times when we are too harsh on you, and that you feel as if we favor your little sisters over you. When we hurt you with our words and actions, or lack of hugs and affirmations.
Please forgive us, please forgive me.
You really need to know this:
You are special.
You are loved.
You are unique.
You are destined to be used by God for a special purpose.
You are God's son, and are ours only "on loan."
And because of that, we thank Him for the gift of life He's given you... Not just on your birthday, but always.
Never, ever doubt that.
Happy birthday, sweet Tim! We love you!