Hi friend!

My name is Theresa, and I am a twenty-something year old navigating a life filled with goodness and beauty within teaching, being a wife and new mom, creating art, reading, sketching, drinking coffee, and seeking truth. 

A Letter of Waiting

A Letter of Waiting

Tonight, I was stuck in a rut. A rut of feeling like I will be pregnant forever, of feeling uncreative and uninspired, of feeling restless and wanting to hold my baby more than I wanted to do chores or plan lessons or read a book or paint. 

I decided to take a walk, something that I have legitimately never done before in my life, in an attempt to clear my mind and allow some sort of peace to transcend my human boredom. Nothing awe inspiring came to me in that walk, but I breathed fresh air and moved my feet and decided to sit before the sunset and write a letter to my son, the reason behind my excruciating impatience. 

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To my dear little baby Nam,

Time is such a funny thing. It seems like just yesterday I walked into school bursting with excitement because I knew you existed. I didn't feel an instant, deep connection with you like I imagined I would. Instead, you were like a precious little mystery, utterly unknown and yet so inexplicably precious to me. I remember walking differently, once I found out that I was now home to such a beautiful little soul. 

You taught me how to surrender my plans and be joyously free in God's design for my future, while at the same time, you made me more the person I was and am supposed to be, only an infinitely better version that I imagined. I am more myself because you exist. They say that holiness makes you delve more deeply and richly into your own unique personality--you are like holiness to me. You've changed me, and yet you feel more like home more than anyone or anything else has made me feel. You've given me the crown of motherhood when I did not know myself how fiercely I desired it. 

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I find myself so anxious and impatient to meet you face to face, to behold you in the flesh for everything that you are. I suppose that's how I yearn for God, and how we all do in our own way. We feel this presence of life within us, the presence of the unknown other, which is so like us and yet possesses the majesty of wholly other. This presence transforms us because it demands something from us: it demands a full gift of self, to become meek and humble and sacrificial for someone we have not even seen with our own eyes. This presence can bring us pain, because I have found that pain usually accompanies growth, and that love always forces my heart to expand its reach.

But even as I wait in joyously painful anticipation, I know that my unseen love for you is only beginning to blossom, and that, even as I hold you for the first time, my love for you is boundless and will never be exhausted. I will continue to love you as your life unfolds before me, and the mystery of who you are will overwhelm me, even with all of your mistakes and quirks and silliness, because you are you and I am in ceaseless awe of the gift of your existence. 

May my tireless craving to know you always remind me to pursue my own Creator, and to never forget that ardent zeal with which I long for you, because the fecundity of God's love is the immeasurable depth from which my love  draws all of its strength. 

More than watchmen wait for the dawn, so my soul longs for you. 

To my little son: never stop reminding me to long without ceasing, to wait with undimmed zeal, and to always fuel my desire for even more and greater love. 

I love you, Baby Nam, and I am still waiting to meet you!

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