Happy Birthday Judah

An Open Letter to My Non-Verbal Son

Judah, happy birthday.

I hope you come back years from now and read this.

You changed my life forever. The moment I held you for the first time, I knew—deep down—why God had placed me on this earth. Through you, I began to understand the love of God in ways I never could have imagined.

These past seven years have been an adventure. And like any true adventure, there have been battles, dragons, pain, heartache, and unimaginable joy.

You have autism, but it does not define you. You are sweet, kind, hilarious, smart, stubborn, and so much more. You are made in the image of God, and He knew exactly who you would be. You can say with the psalmist, “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13).

My prayers for you are many. I pray that one day we can sit and talk, and that I can hear with words all that you already say so clearly in other ways. I pray that the world grows more patient, more understanding, and more loving toward you and others like you. I pray that I would always be a faithful advocate for you—in the small moments and the big ones. And I pray that the Church would grow in its love, seeing and valuing people just like you.

I also pray that, even now, you would know that Christ loves you and cares for you deeply. And I pray that I would be a faithful voice—an example and a witness—speaking truth and love on your behalf.

I know others may not always understand you, but I want you to know that I do. I often feel like a translator between you and the world—and I am grateful for that role. You are my little buddy, and I see so much of myself in you. You bring me a kind of joy I can hardly put into words.

This life is not the one I once imagined. Many parents of seven-year-olds are heading to baseball practice, while you and I are on a different kind of adventure. I grieve what you miss. I grieve how the world sometimes sees you. But the joy we have in you is greater than anything I ever could have imagined.

I know the path we are walking is one our heavenly Father has led us down, and we get to walk it side by side. Whether you grow up, move away, and build a life of your own—or whether you stay with me for all my days—I will be joyful and grateful to have you as my son and my buddy.

Happy birthday, Judah.

I love you. -

Daddy

Non-Verbal Boys

I am so glad to be your dad today.
I look and see and long—what will you say?
Just noise, just joy—for now, that will be enough.
My heart’s in pain; it’s small, but still it’s rough.

I want to hear them sing and scream at me.
I want to talk and hear their fears and pleas—
respond, and give some hope, answers for them,
for them to know it will be good again.