House on the Rock

First things first, I hope you like mowers.

Three to seven times a day, we’ll race outside to watch a neighbor mow. If it’s rainy, I’ll cave and put a mowing video up on the TV. You’re lucky to be born near the end of summer, or perhaps even in the first days of fall, where cooler temps will halt the growth of grass and we may be able to settle inside a bit more. But even still, each time we ask your big brother if he’s excited to meet you, he lifts up my shirt and races to his mower. The boy cannot wait to teach you to mow.

It might seem like I’ve thought little about you, considering I slapped together some plastic drawers and called it your nursery. Or maybe one day you’ll find out that I wrote Luke a letter every day for a month until he made his arrival, and this measly blog post is my first correspondence to you. But the truth is, ever since I knew you were coming, gracing our world — a girl! — I haven’t been able to stop dreaming of the daughter I’m getting in you.

Because it’s no secret, Lainey Linn, that girls are different. Girls call their moms more. Girls bubble over with details far superfluous for a car ride home from school. Girls grow up to plan the parties, pack the picnics, make sure grandparents are included, and get people together. Boys are an absolutely necessary, wonderful, perfect gift from the Lord, but girls are the glue of the world.

I think of the relationship I had with my mom. A mere sixteen hours home from our honeymoon and I’d already sent her eleven pictures of my tan lines, our wall decor, the shopping cart, the sky. My brand-new husband asked, sincerely (and likely with concern), “Are you going to tell your mom everything we do?” So for a few weeks, or more likely days, I gave only the most crucial updates. But trust me when I tell you it’s different for girls.

I painted my nails pink as we await your arrival. Death to all these neutral trends — everything in your closet is pink. Flowers, bows, and frilly socks –I’m so excited to don you in dresses while you race your brother around the bases, the perfect mix of girly and gritty. You’ll probably grow up with your feet in the mud, but as long as I’m dressing you, you will be in pink. We’ll paint our nails and flowers on the sidewalk and I’ll let you play dress-up whenever we’re home. I love all the baseball and bug-hunting with your brother, but you’ll tap into that girly side I have but seldom show.

People keep asking me if I think Luke will be gentle. I chuckle and say, “no, but Lainey will be tough.” This world is not gentle, my girl, but you are tough. People will accuse, slander, ridicule, and ignore you. There will be grief, losses, heartbreaks, and sin. I pray that you look to your Savior again and again. He was mocked, pierced, beaten and killed for a world full of enemies. But what love he showed! What steadfast commitment to the will of His Father. What sights set on eternity — Heaven as His home. May you always stay tough and may this world never be home.

I pray you come soon, baby girl. Our bags are packed (and filled with pink!) and everyone we know is dying to meet you. But whether you show up today or take your sweet time like your brother, you are an answer to so many of your parents’ prayers. We absolutely adore you, our dear daughter. There’s not a moment you’ll be forgotten.

Mow fast, stay tough, wear pink, look to Jesus. Call me absolutely anytime ever. I love you with my whole heart for my whole life.

Forever yours,

Your Mama