it's a(nother) boy and some related thoughts from my race

"The thoughts that occur to me while I'm running are like clouds in the sky. Clouds of all different sizes. They come and they go ... pass away and vanish, leaving behind the sky."
-- Haruki Murakami, Japanese author

Dear Luke Taylor,

I ran a race this morning, this day you decided to show up early, like your big brother did three-and-a-half years ago. (On a side note -- a merciful one for your mom -- you did not show up early because you were nine-and-a-half pounds. Only seven pounds and ten ounces. A true baby brother you are.)

For six point two miles, my thoughts were random, but not. They flowed in a stream of consciousness, all related to this business of your birthday.

I listened to the fragmented chatter of other runners. One talked about her job transition. Another shared about some land his father had gifted to him. I heard one young lady say that running was her therapy after a particularly hard time in her life.

I thought about how, if those runners could somehow eavesdrop on my thoughts, they'd know that I'd become an aunt again, on this very day. About how you broke into this world in the middle of the night before, and how there was all kinds of group texting happening when I should have been sleeping, resting up for the race.

But oh, Littlest, I couldn't imagine missing out on the real-time updates.

Along the course, locals gathered in pockets to cheer on the runners visiting their town. I'm always touched by that. The clapping and yelling and high-fiving from total strangers. I thought about the encouragers you'll have in your life, and they'll naturally mean so much more to you, because they'll know your story, and where you come from.

Your family will be at the front of the line, for every mile. Trust me in this.

I reflected on your name a little bit. I haven't yet heard the backstory, but it's interesting that in the Bible, the disciple Luke is believed to be have been a physician. His account of the Gospel is often said to be precise and detailed, carefully recorded with the accuracy of a scientist. Maybe you'll be like that? Or maybe you'll be free-spirited and an abstract thinker.

We don't know, and it doesn't even matter. The Lord's design of you is perfect, and as it should be.

At about mile five, when my knees screamed at me for pounding them so, I gave thanks for a body that was strong enough to run this far without breaking down. (Forced gratitude is my go-to strategy to distract myself from the pain.) Not all bodies are built to do so, but they are all miraculous, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude for all of your fingers and toes and eyes and nose and mouth, and for the way you have grown strong and healthy thus far.

I prayed that would be so for a long time.

When your big brother was born, circumstances were such that I was there later that day. It was so wonderful. And it was bittersweet to not be there today with you. But my goodness, I have thought of you all day, and the thrill of it all is remarkably the same.

Your place in this family is sure and beautifully orchestrated by a wondrous Author of Life.

We are simply beside ourselves over you, Littlest. Welcome.

And happy birthday.