Dear Kevers,

Your first Sunday at church found you dangling from Dad's arm in a baby carrier.  I'm relatively certain that Dad let not one guest or regular attendee leave that service without acknowledging you with at least a friendly glance. Beaming from ear to ear he would literally shove the carrier in front of women making their ways to seats or men gathering their own children before the morning welcome.  He was so proud of his first born son!  He still is.  And so am I. 

What a help you have become in our home.  Whether it's repairing a broken fence, fixing a computer problem, locking up the house at night, putting your hand on my arm when you sense I might need a little encouragement, reading the Word in Dad's absence, shoveling gravel, or folding loads of laundry, you have become an uncomplaining, Godly young man.  

Dad and I are both first borns and understand the unique challenge of shouldering a bit more responsibility, the desire to please, and the blessings and curses of being the guinea pig.   And yet, we've often forgotten these challenges when parenting you.  Too often we expect much and praise little.  Frequently we talk excessively and listen in moderation. 

But I will not let today go by without telling you that I delight in seeing Jesus in you.  As you grow more in love with the Lord I marvel at the joy of being both your earthly mother and your eternal sister in Christ.  I am proud of who the Lord has created you to be and I can't wait to see your continued spiritual growth as you serve Him. 

Never forget for Whom you live.  This life is not your own, dear son.  I love you.  Lots.

Dear Heather,

Most people don't expect to be the mother of a sixteen year old when they're thirty-something: I was no exception.  And yet, just months after my thirtieth-first birthday, God radically changed my expectations...He gave us you.

When we adopted you--I never use that term legally; as far as I'm concerned, you became our daughter in April of 2001 not a year and a half later when the courts signed official papers--I didn't expect the myriad emotions that would run rampage in my mind.  Love, fear, concern, worry, and protectiveness seemed to mingle in a jumbled confusion as I learned to be your mother. 

I loved you before we adopted you, and yet differently than I would grow to love you.  Unlike most moms, I knew my little girl before she was "mine".  I'd come to care about you while Dad was your pastor, not your father, and I had grown to love you as we sang silly songs together in a tiny back room of our little church when I was your youth leader, not "Mommas".   Once you came into our home, I found myself growing to love you more and more.  Perhaps as I learned to sacrifice my own desires and began serving your needs better, I learned to love you more richly.  Perhaps as you allowed your protective barrier to inch its way down further and further, I loved you more deeply.  More likely, I believe that I loved you more and more as God knit the six of us into the Walker unit.  You were chosen as a member of our family before the foundation of the earth.  God had finally brought us together.

But I still had much to learn.  I was still so self-centered in much of my thinking. I was afraid of making mistakes. I'd never parented a girl before, let alone one who was already a teenager.  Would you love me back?  Would I earn the title "Mom"?  Would you wish you'd never become a part of our family?  Would you rather live with your biological mother?  Would...would...would?  Each night I found myself questioning, wondering, and crying out to God.  I was concerned that you wouldn't understand our desires for you and would rebel at our principles.  I was afraid that we wouldn't capture your heart.  I was concerned for your well-being at a public school when we were against everything that it represented.  I was fearful for your spiritual health--worried that we wouldn't have enough time to teach you Godly principles.  But God is faithful.

One tool that he used to grow us as mother and daughter was our journaling.  I'm so thankful that we began writing to one another. Those letters were the beginnings of my love letters to you, my dear.  As I wrote, I began to understand God's plan for me as your mother.   I prayed for you before penning many of those notes and through those prayer times God began to grow a love deeper than I could have imagined possible.  Slowly, my fears began to dissipate.  Oh sure, I still worried about you, and still do, for that matter, (that's a mother's perogative, isn't it?) but it became the natural fears of motherhood, not the irrational fears of a floundering woman learning her role.  My worries were gradually replaced by great joy in our relationship.  My heart was filled with wonder at the blessings of God.

Six years later, I find myself changed again.  You've been married for three years now, and our role has metamorphosed into a new delight; we've become friends.  How good God is.  How very, very, GOOD. 

My daughter and friend, may you always know how very thankful I am for the blessing of you.

Dear Corey,

If Dad and I had named you as the Old Testament prophets named their children, we might have called you "Son-of-Many-Faces".  You love to entertain!  Your clownish facial contortions make us smile and you've always delighted in bringing laughter through wiggling ears and alternating eyebrow lifts.  Of course, your myriad faces haven't always served you well.  I'll never forget a night many years ago: the night of the fearsome monster.

When you were about two and a half or three you realized that if you raised clawed hands, stomped your feet slowly across the living room, raised your eye brows high, and growled through half-smiling, snarled lips at your older brother, he would squeal hysterically, laugh uncontrollably, and run circles around the house.  That of course, was just the payment "Son-of-Many-Faces" desired.  So, one night when sweet-little-you came stomp-growling into our bedroom, Dad and I clung to one another with feigned terror while I cried, "Oh no!  It's a monster!  Help!"  To this day, I shudder to remember your frightened face. The cute wide-eyed "beast" became once again, our sensitive Corey as you ran, panic on your face, full-speed into our arms.  Never imagining yourself as a monster, you assumed that there was imminent danger from a prowling creature right on your heels.   

You will find Corey, as you mature, many times when you will fail to recognize the monster that is you.  What I mean is this: humans commonly fear the unknown--dark places, uncertain futures, big moves, rejection.  But what we often fail to realize is that the biggest danger typically lurks much closer to home: right in our own flesh.  Even as redeemed believers we face daily battles against ugly "self". If you can become a man who examines his heart on a daily basis, confesses his sinfulness, studies God's Word, abides by Scriptural principles, holds himself accountable to others, and prays for his Father's will rather than his own, you will become less and less "monster-like" and more and more Christ-like. 

Last, dear son, remember the refuge you found in arms of your loving parents; your heavenly Father loves you infinitely more.  He's there when the "monsters" really are at your heels and He's there when the struggles are a bit closer to home.  At all times, even when the monster is you, find comfort in His arms. 

With Love,

Mom