Letters to Eli

photo credit: Captured by Emily

Letters to Eli

These blogs began as a collection of letters I’ve been writing to my son since he was one of three embryos to grace my uterus and the only one who survived. My miracle baby. I wrote some letters, like birthday letters, on fine stationary. I scribbled others on napkins or scraps of construction paper. Our home houses a lot of construction paper!

I wrote letters in the forms of texts, emails, and social media posts. For those of you who know me well, let’s face it: my Facebook page is really Eli’s baby book.

My intent was to organize and share letters from Eli’s early years here: in a safe space where, God willing, Eli would see the letters when he was older. No matter what happened. No matter where I was. He would feel his mother’s pulse in every word: my life blood for him.

I had hoped these love letters would affirm that my devotion to Eli was (and is) bone-deep and steadfast–even (and especially) during a season of parental alienation, legal posturing, and soul hurt that undid his peace and pulled from his spirit some of its spark, whimsy, and magic.

Then God changed my story. Each time I went to post a letter, I stopped because of a whisper. An instinct. A tug on my mama’s heart. These early letters–especially the ones not already posted on my personal social media sites–felt too sacred for my blog. They still do. Ultimately I realized that the whole of my blog is really my “great letter” to Eli. My Letter to my son is my life.

What began as a series of past letters became this series of present-day letters: not so much about young Eli, but about the man I hope he will become.

I pray Eli knows his worth. I hope he lives his life as the Godly treasure he is versus the legal pawn a perverse legal system pushed him to be for one hollow season. Even amicable divorces take emotional prisoners. The consequences of this divorce threatened my son’s life. My concern was not hyperbole.

So I send these newer, “hope letters” with love and light into a vast virtual universe and pray that Eli’s future self knows his worth–that he grasps in that big, open heart of his that he was loved harder and held tighter in the cruelest moments of his tender childhood. In the darkness, prayers poured in from everywhere. Light. Just for him.

Perhaps my words to Eli will become God’s words to us all; perhaps my simple blogs will do a mighty work and breathe healing into Eli’s wounds and yours. After the ashes of divorce scatter into a forgiving adult wind, a child stands alone in his parents’ rubble. Maybe that child is yours. Maybe you were that child.

In my letters to Eli and in all of my blogs, I write to heal, and I heal to help a hurting world. I write to spill love into our broken.