A Letter to My Future Children

April 10, 2013

Dear kids,

I know you can’t read this yet.  You’re not old enough.  In fact, you don’t exist yet.  The only place you have been conceived is in our minds and in God’s mind.  And really, God knows way more about you than we do.

So it’s going to be a while before you get this.

But I just want you to know that your mother and I are thinking about you.  We’ve been thinking about you for quite a while now.  We’ve been praying for you.  We don’t know when you’re going to show up.  It could be very soon.  It could be a long time from now.  It’s all in God’s good time.

We know that you’re going to be younger than most of our friends’ children.  We didn’t plan for that to happen.  We had planned on you showing up by now.  But don’t worry about that.  It’s gonna be fun when you get here.

Listen up, kiddos.  This is what I want to say to you, right now.


There’s a saying that babies are miracles; that life is a miracle.

It’s really true.  In fact, waiting for you has made me realize it more than ever.

As you mom and I walk this journey, we are learning just how many things must happen correctly for you to get here.  I know they’ll tell you some of this stuff in school.  But the pamphlet can’t really encompass the sheerly miraculous nature of it.  There are not just one or two, but hundreds of little things that have to go right for any of us to become even a little clump of cells.  And then a bunch more stuff has to happen right so that we can grow from a microscopic cluster of cells to a baby ready to be born.  And then some more stuff has to go just right so that each of us can emerge into the world.

And once we’re in the world, it doesn’t stop.  See, at nearly any other time in history, there’d be a 50-50 chance that your mom or I would not have lived past our own childhoods.  Some little disease would have easily wiped us out.

The odds of any of us being here are so very very small.  When you do show up, it really will be a miracle.


Kids, there will be times that you will be mad with your mom and me.  Like really mad.  Stomping, screaming, crying mad.  And we might be frustrated with you too.  I don’t know how we’re going to handle that yet, but the day will come.

But I want you to know something.  Even when we have to punish you.  Even when we have to do something that you hate.  Even when we are your least favorite people in the world, I want you to know this:

You mom and I worked to bring you here.  You were not an accident.  You were not a mistake.  We talked about you.  We made plans for you.  When those plans didn’t work, we made new plans, and new plans again.  Bottom line: we wanted you.  We wanted you enough to keep trying, to keep praying.  Waiting for you has only made you more wanted.  We haven’t forgotten about you just because you’re not here yet.  You are loved.  And you are wanted.  


Despite the prayers and the patience, your mom and I are still scared.  We’re scared to be your parents.  And the fear is a little different because we are not just waiting for you to show up or hoping you show up.  We are trying to help you show up, coaxing you along on your quest toward existence.  Any day, you could change our lives forever.  And that’s a scary thing.

But despite that fear, we keep persisting, keeping our hearts open for the day you show up.  It’s a fearful persistence.  We’re not angry or sad that other kids got to be born first.  They are beautiful little miracles too.  How could we be mad about those miracles?

But whenever God decides the time is right, we’ll be ready for you.


Mom and Dad

7 responses to A Letter to My Future Children

  1. Wishing you sweet blessings in God’s timing!

  2. Matt, I usually expect some kind of snark or tongue-in-cheek in your posts to keep things lighthearted. I appreciate your sincerity in this post- it deeply moved me. I’m going to share this with a couple of my friends- one couple expecting, the other trying and losing hope. And I’ll pray for you and your wife, that God hears and answers your prayers with abundant blessing.

  3. Dear Matt
    I just know you are going to be a great father. Definitely not a perfect parent, but a great one. May our Pappa bless you and your wife with all those litlle ones that are already in your heart!

  4. This was sweet. It’s too bad the sweet stuff doesn’t generate the comments that the not-so-sweet stuff does. It still needs to be said, though.

  5. Matt, though we’re new friends, I know you’ll be a great dad when the time comes. God’s timing is nothing like our own. Sometimes you get thrown into something in a hurry, and sometimes you wait. Neither one is easy. I’ll be praying for your family.

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