Hearty greetings from Daddy! How is this girl doing? I may not understand just how it must feel to be in the dark of the confine that is mummy’s tummy, which has been your God-given abode for the past many moons. I believe the Doctor, though, when he tells us you are fine. And chiefly, I trust God when He re-assures us of the same each time we pray for you. Mummy and I are well and blessed.
As I type this, there’s something like a line of gold thread running through these words when I concede them for you daughter, and gradually over the years it will grow long enough for you to pick it up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. That gold-like thing is the first word I will introduce you to at the end of this letter.
Child, let’s dispense with this first. Your gender has remained a sweet mystery to your mummy and daddy – not that the 21st Century technology has failed, but because we like it that way. However, with the insane tendencies of this wandering-wanderoo generation aptly foretold in the closing verses of Romans 1 – lustfully lost and incorrigibly irksome – mummy and I feel safer thinking of you only as male or female. But mummy loves to think of you more as female than male hence my addressing you as ‘Daughter’. Mummy is more creative and insightful than I am, so she has gone ahead and given you a lovely heavenly name which will only be unveiled when you let out your first cry. I love it. I can’t wait to refer to you by it. But I have always loved everything about mummy. Let’s talk about her later.
Pretty Daughty, you must be a very playful and irresistible piece of human! Whenever mummy is enjoying an afternoon siesta in the cool breeze under a twig’s shadow in the backyard, she occasionally lets out an excited scream. Are you okay Love? I ask. It’s her again, she asserts. She complains you’re kicking her. Sometimes she says you’re just moving around as if backstroking in a swimming pool (do you even understand what a swimming pool is?). She gives me an expectant look. But I’m not sure you can kick that hard or even backstroke. So I don’t know whether to tell her sorry or to urge you on. I love you both so terribly, I tremble at the thought of my affection for you two. So I smile first – because my daughter is growing in grace. Kicking, even. That smile is usually for you Pretty. The I say a silent ‘oops!’ and tell mummy, ‘I’m so sorry Your Majesty, she is soon coming out’. But your mama is super intelligent, just like you. She knows I’m on your side so she frowns. I peck her dimple, rub her back till she smiles back. We are sorted.
But that’s not all, mummy has some incredible claims too. She says you are able to recognise my voice! Imagine that. She says when I get home and we’re just saying a prayer, you leap for joy because daddy is finally here! I laugh at these claims hysterically. But I also become so humbled at the remotest imagination that such a claim could be true. Many times when I sing for you ‘Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world…’ I pause to think, you are not a child of this world, you’re a heavenly gift. Then you give me a high five on mummy’s tummy, perhaps to remind me to sing on you’re still listening. The I continue; ‘…red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world.’ My moments with you afford me the divinest of experiences under the golden sun. Makes me wonder when I shall see you and hold you in my very arms. When that time shall come, my little angel… I want you to look up to me. I want us to build a great relationship. I want to be your oracle, your hero, your first love.
Sorry Pretty Little One, I can sense your concentration span is getting used up. I didn’t mean to bother you with these vain utterances. Had I enough space and ink, I would have told you the nuances of this generation including the slay queen phenomenon. But allow me to wrap this piece by introducing you to your first vocabulary.
Daughter, as you grow older both in your humble confine and when by God’s grace you shall see the sun, never forget the word LOVE. Say it with me again baby, L O V E. The sages of ages and the linguists of lands have defined this word variously. But they have afforded generations nothing but confusion. For now, Pretty, I wanna give you something to look up to. When you come of age, daddy will make this word clearer. I pray already that then, you be able to both discover and discern. For now, it will help you to know that you are a product of pure, unadulterated heavenly love. Mark my word.
Mummy says hi.