The time has come, yet again, to write a Happy Birthday letter to one of my children. 

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You see, we’re all clumped together as far as birthdays go, starting with me in early August and ending with Travis on September 27th.  Henry and Clara are sandwiched in the middle.  It’s a perfectly fine arrangement, as there is enough space between them to make it not TOO much to have parties and make grand plans for every birthday.  This year, with the house remodel and extra money floating around being a laughable thing, Henry’s party (which was last night) consisted of banana splits and a round of “Happy Birthday to You.” 

He didn’t mind one bit.

Much like me, if there are sweets involved, a sugar coma can erase any high expectations one might have going in and result in a future memory of candy-coated love.  <-the best kind.

So it works. 

Here’s my letter to you, Henry.  Happy 4th Birthday, my handsome man!

Dear Henry,

Oh my darling boy.

When I look at you, I see your father.

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Like God knew that I needed to see him throughout the day.  A reminder to be more patient and to breath when Travis isn’t around.

But you are so much more than a clone.

You are unique.

You are super smart.

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You can quote Star Wars and The Princess Bride.  And you’ve memorized more Psalms than I have.

Right now, your favorite color is blue.  Your favorite food is “Cheerios on a plate.”  And you like things to be the way you like them to be. 

We are very much the same person.

Henry,

As you grow older, I pray that you will be a valiant warrior for God.

A champion for what is right.

A protector for Clara.

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An eager pursuer of your future wife.

And a handyman of all different sorts.

Those things are more important than you now know.

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I pray that you will always keep your quirky personality.

There are far too many “normal” people these days.

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I ask that you trust us with your discipline and trust God with your heart.

Your mind, well you can control that.  Just do it carefully.

Henry,

You shine so brightly.

And you make me smile every single day.

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I’m lucky to call you my son.

Even luckier to call you my friend.

love – mom

QUESTION:  Tell me about your favorite birthday party!  <- I had SEVERAL at McDonalds in the 80’s.  One of the party games was that you got to stack up empty Big Mac boxes and knock them down with a ball.  And the cake was half cake/half icing!  Great memories.

splendid…lindsay

  1. Erin @ Girl Gone Veggie says:

    Omg this was too sweet! I’ve always wanted a little girl but this post made me see the benefits of having a little boy!

  2. Jess says:

    Oh friend, this is just so beautiful. Written with such love and affection and adoration. I LOVE your passion and enthusiasm for your children, you are a beautiful, wonderful, amazing mom! Happy birthday Henry :)

  3. Shannon says:

    My favorite party was by far my sweet 16 on a dinner cruise. So fun to dress up with my friends and let loose (but not too loose) I also loved a camping themed party I had when I was about 9

  4. Katie @ Talk Less, Say More says:

    So beautifully written. I love that picture of Henry with Travis; it’s absolutely precious.

    I had some awesome birthday parties as a kid. There was always a lot of dress up, crazy singing and dancing, and a Barbie doll birthday cake made by my grandparents. :)

  5. Chelsie @ Balance, Not Scale says:

    My goodness — way to bring tears to my eyes! Happy birthday, Henry!! All the best wishes to him on his special day!!
    My favourite birthday was one where I had 5 friends over for my first large sleepover party. We made up a dance to “Rockafeller Skank”, each decorated our own giant cupcakes very extravagantly, and stayed up the majority of the night. It was in middle school, before everyone became catty and gossip queens. I have never, ever laughed as hard as I did that night.

  6. Beccalou says:

    Oh, tears. What a beautiful letter. Thank you for sharing. It’s a great reminder to celebrate my unique, quirky, oh-so-smart, beautiful daughter every day and that my ultimate goal in life is not measured by muscles or miles, but by the child of God that I am raising.

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