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You know how some houseguests come and stay for a while? And then they make themselves at home, eating what they want, staying up all night, completely throwing off your schedule without regard to your routine? Well, I’ve got one of those. This article was embarrassingly late to our editorial team, of which I am a part. The irony is that it is exactly the reality of welcoming a stranger that caused the tardiness of my piece on welcoming the stranger. 

You see, I just welcomed my firstborn into the world. A lot goes into preparing hearts and homes for any stranger (as the articles in this issue attest)—but this is especially true for one that will be here for at least eighteen years. My story of welcoming, anticipating, hospitality encompasses more than just the usual nine months of preparation for our precious daughter. And by preparation I don’t mean painting the nursery and taking a childbirth class. My story of welcoming the stranger is like all good stories; one where God’s hand of redemption is flipping the pages of the book. They don’t all have a “happily ever after” conclusion. While we don’t know what happens next in our story, we are ever so grateful to God for how he’s shown us his love through the planning for and arrival of our baby girl. 

My husband and I kept a journal during my pregnancy—letters to our child. When she reads it one day, we hope she understands just how much we love her, and what a miracle she is. We wrote about everything—including how she is her daddy’s daughter because I craved junk food during the pregnancy. We told her about family members that she won’t have the blessing to know in this life, and we wrote down our hopes and prayers for her. Writing these things down made preparing for her arrival more of a reality. It allowed me to express emotions that were a real part of this journey of welcoming, but I was apprehensive to admit. 

As I said earlier, our story involved much more than nine months of preparation. I’m quite confident that God was preparing us to become parents longer than we actually realized, but the journey that lead to Mason’s arrival comprised more than two years of hopes, tears, longing, celebrations—as well as terrible heartbreak, loss, and a lot of prayer. I wouldn’t have written our story this way, but then again, I think most people would say the same thing about how the story of their life plays out. Often, offering hospitality means losing control. Pain has a way of interrupting our lives and forcing us to come to grips with the lack of control we really have. 

Here are a few excerpts from the letters we wrote as we prepared to welcome a ‘stranger’ into our world: 

 

June 3, 2011 

Dear Precious Baby, 

I’ve wanted to do this for a long time—write you letters to tell you how much I already love you—but I’ve been nervous, and I let my fear prevent me. You have two precious siblings in heaven already… your Dad and I won’t meet them until we are there one day. But I’m comforted in the thought that they are being loved with a perfect love that we could never understand or provide… and that God himself is caring for them just as he is caring for you while you are still in my womb. You are already such a blessing and a gift! 

I celebrate sixteen weeks of pregnancy today! Every day is a milestone with you, my sweet child. I sometimes get scared because of what’s happened before—but God pulls me back to the present and reminds me that you are growing and thriving inside of me. It’s such an unexplainable privilege to be able to nurture a life. When we first saw the little yolk sac that was you—we were instantly in love and in awe of this miracle God created through our love. Every visit to the doctor I get so excited to catch a glimpse of you and hear the most beautiful sound in the world—the sound of your heart beating. 

We pray for you all the time, little one. I ask God to keep his hands around you and help you grow and develop as he designed. I pray that my body continues to cooperate with pregnancy and provide a nurturing environment for you for the next five months until we can hold you in our arms. More importantly, I pray that you already know love. I pray you know God’s love and our love for you even now. 

Always, Mom 

 

We found out today that I have a healthy growing girl inside of me! Your Dad’s suspicion was right! We are going to have so much fun together, and I can’t wait to see who you look like! We have a few names picked out . . . but not sure who you will be just yet. You made our day by delivering a few noticeable kicks that your Daddy even got to feel! It’s the most amazing and reassuring feeling in the world to have you moving inside of me. I won’t complain I promise! Keep growing and thriving. We are so blessed by the joy you bring us each day by being our daughter. 

Happy twenty-four weeks little one! You’ve been moving around a lot more, and sometimes I can even see you move! You love to hear the sound of your Dad’s voice! And Chick-Fil-A lemonade! Everyone is so excited to meet you in November, and lots of preparations are underway for your arrival. Your “Mimi” and great grandmother are already busy sewing sweet little dresses for you! Friends and family are hosting showers for us . . . and plans are already underway for “Camp Sadler” with your cousins. Tonight I have my support group at church called Embrace, for women struggling with loss and infertility. Even though I’m pregnant now, it’s good to have the support and prayers of others who understand my fears and my grief. 

I love you so much sweet baby! 

 

November 15, 2011 

Dearest Mason Elizabeth, 

Welcome to the world baby girl! You are our perfect angel and we are so overwhelmed with love for you already. There is so much to tell you about the days and hours leading up to your birth, but for now I just sit and stare and fall more in love with you every second. I cannot believe you were just inside of me, and now you are here and in our arms. It’s surreal. 

You. Are. Beautiful. Everyone keeps saying that, and we think so, too! You’re a petite little thing, and perfect in every way. You have a full head of dark brown hair—guess the heartburn paid off! 

Your name is special to me because it represents my family; the people who helped shape who I am. Elizabeth means “God’s Promise”—and you certainly are that. Your name also honors the most influential man in my life besides your Dad—my Dad. I can’t believe you won’t get to know him, sweet girl. He should be here, in the hospital—gushing over you and singing you sweet songs like he did with me. I know that he would have been an amazing and loving Grandfather. Speaking of grandparents . . . you’re one lucky little lady! Those folks, plus your aunt and uncle camped out all night at the hospital waiting on your entrance into the world! You are loved baby girl! 

I realized just how connected I was to you on the night you were born. You were just over twelve hours new, and your Dad and I decided to send you to the nursery so that we could all get some sleep. (Remember, labor began on Sunday evening and you were born on Tuesday morning. So we hadn’t had real sleep since Saturday night!) Well, I still couldn’t sleep. I missed you. You were no longer inside of me. I couldn’t rest my hands on my belly and feel you move. Each time a nurse wheeled a bassinet down the hallway and the sound got closer to our door, I hoped it was you. I cried when it was the baby belonging to the new parents in the next room. The nurse eventually brought you to me . . . we both needed each other it seemed. Your Dad has never had problems sleeping, even on that uncomfortable hospital couch with you crying a few feet away. I hope you take after him. 

Over the past few weeks as I’ve watched you change and grow and begin to look even more like me— something that I already knew has become so profound; the gift of God’s creation has become a little life that grew inside of me, and now rests in my arms. This little person that I hold is so familiar. You are me. You are your Dad. You are made in the image of God. So, my darling daughter, even though you resembled an alien in those first beautiful ultrasound pictures, you were never a stranger after all. 

 

Becoming a parent—welcoming a stranger—has been the most joyful experience of my life. It’s also been one of the most challenging. There are so many decisions to make daily about the care of this child—all while sleep deprived. I know this is just a season, though, and one that is fleeting. The decisions will probably get more difficult, and (hopefully) the joys more tangible on this journey. One thing I do know; God has been more “tangible” to me lately. I’ve felt delight in his presence in a much deeper way than I have in a really long time. It’s not that I didn’t experience him in the valleys of grief and infertility—at times I did. It’s because of those hardships that I have a more authentic faith. I’m just enjoying His presence again, finally. My daughter isn’t the only “stranger” in this story. It’s happiness. It’s thanksgiving. It’s deep abiding joy. It’s Jesus appearing to me in different seasons of my life and waiting, patiently waiting, even if I don’t readily welcome him in. 

God has used this little stranger to make me realize how selfish I am. Oh yes, he’s used marriage to teach me that too, but I’m a slow learner. For the moment, my prayers aren’t all about me and my wants/hurts/ failings, etc. Welcoming another forces us to put aside our own agenda and attend to the present moment. The “stranger” might be a visitor at church, a neighbor in need, or a child crying in the middle of the night. The lesson of hospitality is an important one— to love another as you love yourself. Sounds familiar.