To the Life Growing Inside of Me …You Are Not My Own

To the life growing inside of me,

You are not my own. 

I knew it from the moment we saw your heartbeat flicker on that screen at 7 weeks. You weren’t mine. There’s no way you could be. Because if you were mine and somehow I had created you, I wouldn’t have known where to begin. I wouldn’t have known that your heart would begin beating before your brain ever formed — that no triggers or synapses or brainwaves even existed to tell your chest to pound. 

Yet still somehow, one day, you were Divinely spoken into life. And the rhythm of your journey began. 

No, you are not my own. 

I knew it as I read how your arms and legs have grown. How your face has formed and your organs have taken shape and your fingerprints have curled around the tips of hands I’ll one day hold. 

I knew it as we listened to your heart beat at 12 weeks. And we heard the random whoosh whoosh that interrupted the steady readings. And when the nurse’s mouth curled into a grin and said, “Wow! You have a VERY active baby!” I laid back and stared up in wonder and was reminded that your life and personality were already so unique. I pictured you dancing in there — just like your parents do around the kitchen for no good reason some mornings. How I dream of the day you’ll join in.


But you are not my own.

I dream of the day you call me mom. And I dream of the day you call him daddy. But above all else, I dream of the day you call God Father and you realize this earth is just your temporary home. That you have simply been given to us for the time we’re here to raise you and rear you and direct you in the way you should go. So in those times when your Heavenly Father calls you to live boldly, I hope you’ll remind me that you are not my own. 

I hope when I try to take credit for you — for your strengths, your successes, your opportunities and plans, you’ll remind me of Psalm 139:13-16 and I’ll remember you are not my own.

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

And I hope when the world is distracting and confusing, and I question how we should lead you and where we should compromise and what will protect you from persecution and criticism and hardship, someone will remind me that before I’m called to shield you, I am called to surrender you. And that you are not my own. 

And I hope when my love for you has grown so fierce and I want to hold onto you and never let go, you’ll remind me that you are an arrow in our quiver, and that God’s entrusted us to release you from our bow. (Psalm 127:3-5)

Because you were made to serve a King. A King Who already lived for you. And died for you. And surrendered everything for you. Far more than mommy can do. The reason for your very first heartbeat, the reason for your persecution and suffering, the reason for your strengths and your successes and your victories, is for the Glory of the One Who is waiting for you in eternity. The One Who gifted you to us — the One Who’s knitting you together within me.

He has plans for you, sweet baby. He has purpose for your days and vision for your journey. He has gone before you to make a way. He is orchestrating, even now, your story. He will never leave you, never forsake you and always meet your needs. 

And I will love you. Oh I will love you deeply. But one day, you will have to trust the calling God has placed within you. And I will have to trust it, too. Because before you are called to put your faith in me, or your daddy, or anyone and anything, you are called to put your faith in the Word and life of Jesus, our King. I pray you walk in His truth, and that somehow we do our best to disciple you. Because in the end, you’re just on loan …

You, my love, are not my own.

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