Birthday Letter

Dear E,

You turn three years old in a few hours. It is the night before your birthday, and I am sitting in the living room typing while waiting for the chocolate cake to finish baking. This is the first time you understand that it’s your birthday. Every few days for the past month you ask me first thing in the morning, “is it my birthday yet?” This morning I asked, “do you know what day it is tomorrow?” and you said, “it’s someone’s birthday—it’s E’S birthday!” I ask you, “who do you want to invite to your birthday party?” And you always say, “dee-dee.” “Anyone else?” After a pause you add, “Daddy, Mommy,” like an afterthought.

It’s hard to believe you are three! You are really grown-up now. You know how to press your hand against my forehead to see if I have a temperature. You know how to change Eric’s diaper by yourself. You wipe up his drool, remove choking hazards, refill his Cheerios. You know how to put on the nursing cover and unclick your pretend-bra to pretend-nurse your dolls. You can go potty by yourself, wash veggies for me to stir-fry, wipe up spills by yourself.

You notice everything, learn fast, and talk a lot. You ask me if I’m sad when you sense something is going on. You tell me where to find something I’ve lost. You inform me something is “junk food.” You tell me God is in heaven and also in your heart. You say, “ouch—I bumped my ulnar nerve!” when you hit your elbow. You can locate the clavicle, esophagus and intestines. You can read entire books by heart, flipping through and reciting each page. You never forget anything I say, even if it was days ago. You can chatter just as fast in English or Chinese. Everyone remarks on how sophisticated your vocabulary is.

You are imaginative—you can play grocery store, aquarium, hospital, or classroom with the same few toys; you love stories. You are musical—you sing all kinds of songs and you love to dance. You are artistic—you can draw an accurate cartoon figure, and you love crafts. You are very neat—you wipe up specks of dirt and place your food carefully on tissues to keep the table clean. You are dextrous—you can assemble Legos built for kids twice your age. Your dad asks me a lot, “is this normal for someone your age?” but we don’t know.

Here is a list of the things you like: chocolate. Gummy bears. Sucking on lemons. Hand sanitizer. Stickers. Band-aids. Fruit snacks. Swimming. Swings. Gymnastics. Drawing scribbles in notebooks. Paint. Taking care of your dolls and animals. Where’s Waldo. Play-doh. Fairy tales. Your three security blankets.

Daddy says all the time that he wishes we could have more children exactly like you. You amaze and surprise us every day. I tell you this when we sit in the glider at night before I tuck you into your crib. I tell you that we love you, that a lot of people love you, that you are precious and special. You are smart and kind. You bring us joy and laughter. We are so thankful you were born three years ago. I think we will be a little sad when you get older.

Love, 

Ma-Ma

Arrived

I remember being shocked in college at having just midterms and finals, instead of the quizzes, tests, and projects of high school (that, and using spiral notebooks in place of three-ring binders because there never were any handouts). As time went on, the tests got spaced farther apart, and more expensive: just one test per semester. Then per year. I finally passed the last one this year, and the next one won’t be for ten years.

It’s strange how there are pretty much no more external motivating events in my life. No deadlines, major tests, competitions or performances. No milestones, like getting married or having kids (except having more kids, but we’re not able to imagine that yet). If I ever anticipated a point of arrival, then I’m here. I’ve accomplished my training and established a career, have a family, bought a house, am investing in community and near family. I’ve regained my figure, become financially stable, and when I have free time it really is free time: for once in my life, I don’t have to be studying.

The strange thing is, I’m not automatically happier. Instead of my better self emerging now that my external life has plateaued, my worse self is showing up: my selfishness, my laziness, basically my belief that I can live life on my own effort. I am more consistent about seeking entertainment than about my spiritual life. I’ve read novels, gotten addicted to television shows, but I can’t say I’ve grown much spiritually. The entertainment starts as a way of combating the exhaustion of twelve hours of non-stop childcare followed by non-stop work, then develops into a way of escaping from the weariness and mundaneness of life, then just becomes habit. I’ve always thought that Satan doesn’t need to scare us or shock us; he just needs to distract us.

I go through cycles where I realize I need to be more spiritually consistent, and then I am for a while before my natural self takes over once again. But I think what I lose out on most is the big picture: what we are here for, what matters. A clear picture of the larger mission and purpose, and enough awareness of it to take me through the daily grind with purpose and joy. I get too deadened by the prosaic things that life seems to have boiled down to: counting the hours until their naps, counting down the patients until clinic ends. A constant succession of washing dishes, cleaning spills, changing diapers, wiping drool. My only goals to get enough sleep (which never seems to happen), to read this or watch that.

In a sense, life is purer now. It is more obviously about what it has always been about: the struggle to give up myself, to know Christ, to be him to the people I see every day. My natural inclinations are more obvious. The absence of purpose is more obvious. My struggle with habitual sins, my pride and selfishness are more clear. Before, all that external stuff made it seem like I was going somewhere, like I knew myself and had it together. Now, it’s just me, and the drool-wiping and the twentieth cataract. I either know what I’m about, or it becomes clear very quickly that I don’t. I either live out what I believe, or it becomes clear very quickly that I’m not.