Unto Us

As I write, Anna has our baby boy cradled on her right arm. He is sleeping after enjoying a satisfying meal. I’m looking at him right now … in awe really. It is such a beautiful gift to receive a child, to have him serve as a constant reminder of God’s love for us.

Wyatt Addison Kendall was born on April 7, 2006 – arriving a mere 26 minutes after the turn of a new day. He came quickly, stunning both mother and father with his haste. In fact, after months of preparing for a long labor and preparing to endure a marathon of spirit and strength, Anna and I found ourselves looking in disbelief at the nurse when she confidently told us that it was time for Anna to push – to bring forth this new life.

There are so many things that come to mind when I think back upon the last three days, unending avenues to pursue and ponder. I am mindful of how beautiful and yet also extremely earthy the delivery was: the strains and deep cries arising from Anna’s core when every contraction came, the surrender of her energy that seemed to drain her of life, the emergence of a new life followed by elation in Anna. I think back upon how deep was the affection – the attraction – towards this baby that was only a promised gift until his birth. I found myself looking at him and sensing his image falling into my heart and mind – engraving itself in a way I never knew possible.

I am also mindful that such a radical shift in our family has reduced us to essentials. When Wyatt arrived, everything seemed drastically reduced: food, shelter, care, sleep – and not just for him. Anna and I also, wearied from the emotional investment and taxation, were stripped down to a simple, yet enjoyable pattern of life. We still seem nestled in this new place – taking life at a much slower place, observing and learning again rhythms of nourishment and work.

I’ve discovered a confidence I was afraid I would always lack when it came to caring for my son: his head naturally dropping into my open palm, his cries being silenced by swaddling a blanket around his torso and legs. And, I also discovered how painful it is to hear my child cry a ripping cry that pierces my heart more than it does my ears. There was a moment early, early Saturday morning when Wyatt was struggling to pass his first bowl movement and nothing could console him. There in the dark, tired hours of a foreign room I found myself at a loss. For all my genuine goodwill, I was clueless, which was frustrating and exhausting. Then and there I felt tired, immeasurably so.

Wyatt is his first name, a name that means water. It is meant to remind him of the gift of life, often represented by water. It is meant as an allusion to the fact that God saves us through water, just as God did with the Israelites fleeing Pharaoh and just as God does with the waters of baptism. It is also meant to remind us that although he is our child, he is not ours to guide. Water has never been mastered by man. This humbles me. But, the encouragement comes again by remembering that God controls the waters. God will control Wyatt.

Addison is his middle name, a name that means the son of Adam - Adam as in the original father of humanity, the source of our great family tree, the source also of our fallen nature. This is to remind Wyatt that, yes, he too is only human after all. It is meant to remind him that he will stumble, but that invariably and always he is God’s creation. And, most importantly, it is to remind him that God does not forget us. No, instead, God has worked our brokenness into redemption. The children of Adam can still be the children of God. Thanks be to God through the work of Christ Jesus.

Wes