My son.

You have an awareness of the world, a burden in your heart for the hurting and broken, and you are only 4 years old.

Ever since you were a tiny baby, people would tell me that you had peace and light in your eyes. Knowing eyes. Gentle eyes. Kind eyes.

You came into our world when we were our most broken. You were the laughter and peace in our home through many months of pain and dissension.

My prayer is that you never lose your love for and trust in people. All people.

That your first instinct is to always hug the stranger, and that you never stop asking why when you see people without a home or a family.

Sometimes we are called to be loud and to speak boldly, and sometimes strength comes in silence. Though I know you are capable of both, I pray that you're never tempted to be something you're not in an attempt to please others.

The world will want to define your manhood. Convince you that who you are isn't enough. Trust your gut. Lean into Jesus and let his voice be louder than the rest. You are enough. Your gentleness is a gift. Your ability to find the good in anyone and every situation is not ignorance, it's grace.

You're only 4 years old, but in that short time you've taught me so much. I get excited when I think about your future and when I contemplate the plans that the Lord has for you.

My son. My sweet boy. May you always be a safe place for those around you. May you always love big, despite disappointments. And may the light in your eyes never dim, but only burn brighter.