I don’t think I blinked. I think I savored every moment I had space for, wrote down as many memories as my eyes could take in and my hand could record. I ignored the dishes and set aside my phone and sat, stared, soaked it in.

And yet.

My boy is almost one.

This morning I stood over his crib, saying good morning and listening to his babbling like it was a conversation, because it was. It is. I almost cried for how big he seemed. Like a boy and not a baby.

It’s all cliche, I know.

I think the passage of time is both a reminder of this fallen world and evidence of grace. It is the now and the not yet. I wish for early Friday mornings on the floor of my friend Becky’s house, praying for our college small group and talking through the ways Jesus was transforming us. I can smell the chlorine from my grandfather’s smiling pool, feel the smooth fiberglass bottom against the soles of my feet, taste the togetherness of family in the summertime. And I ache for my baby boy, small and light, red and wrinkled and brand spanking new against my chest.

But what is life with Jesus if not a constant journey forward, a path full of transformation and change? Faith is manifested in the heart-change, of course, but I think it can also be found in the physical change. With every lengthening muscle, every wrinkle of the skin, every day’s truth absorbed, I am being made into His image. I am being transformed into the person I was created to be. Even Ian, though he is small, is growing into a man, already fully-realized in the eyes of God.

It is the now and the not yet.

Brokenness and longing, redemption and grace.

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