There is a baby coming. We don’t know his name or the color of his eyes, but I bet it’ll be Wyatt and his eyes deep blue.
We’re in the waiting room. The grandparents-to-be are lounging in leather chairs after a long eventful night spent between excitement and exhaustion. One of them has nodded off and the other three are close to.
They’ve been waiting here for hours, but in a way, they’ve been waiting for years. Waiting in line, watching their friends become Nanas and Papas, celebrating with them at showers and dedications. Stomping with impatience at home.
And it’s my first time being an uncle. And I am absurdly excited and terrified. At the very edge of falling apart.
And now he’s about to cross over, come out, breathe air for the very first time. He’s going to cry out loud, like a baby does, and my brother will too. They are my family and if there is anything anyone knows about this family it is that we will cry at the opening of our town’s Walmart. We are sensitive, sentimental, always at the edge of tears, and not a bit ashamed about it.
A tear cried happy is like an act of justice. Like a small offset to the sadder times. They come in those moments where you are so filled with joy and bliss and delight that it all becomes too much and spills over in laughter and hugs and so much kleenex.
I’m dreaming about this little nephew of mine. Thinking about how fast this world is changing and wondering what kind it will be when he charges all in. Where he’s going to land. What wild colors he will paint it with. What his very first memory will be. The places his boots might take him.
My mom reminded me that even after this boy is born, brother and sister-in-law are going to want some privacy with him. I looked at her, with feigned shock and replied, “this baby belongs to all of us. I know my Uncle rights.” And obviously, a joke, but in a way, this baby does belong to all of us.
He’s pushing his way into this family and we all have our roles to play here. We share a responsibility to serve his childhood well. Prepare him for this life. Encourage him to dream dumb, impractical dreams. Take him out for joy rides. Take him fishing. Take him seriously when we need to. Let him play when we don’t.
Teach him about a Jesus-God that loves him more than any of us ever could.
And that’s all for now, This kid is going to be the subject of so many more posts and while I would like to wrap this up sweetly, with some sort of cathartic last line, I won’t. These are just my continuing thoughts as I wait in the waiting room.
And we’re still waiting for him. Anxious and smiling and flipping our heads to the door every time the handle turns.
We’re waiting for you buddy. Hurry up please.
To be continued.