By Peter DeHaan
For years
I prayed for you before you were,
not that God would hasten your arrival,
but that when you did, your life would be significant for him.
I prayed God would bless you and you would adore him,
that you would love reading his Word and pray diligently,
that you would give generously,
and that missions would be important to you.
I prayed you would be kind and loving,
would remain pure and have self-control,
pursue justice and offer mercy.
I prayed you would have peace and godly contentment,
perseverance, compassion, humility, faith, and a servant’s heart,
honesty, integrity, courage, purity, and respect for others.
When your parents announced your creation,
my anticipation grew.
I knew you would be a girl
before anyone else did,
a granddaughter,
the first of a new generation.
I even prayed for the man
you would one day marry,
only to now release him for another.
When they called you Peanut in utero,
I began praying for you by name.
In a way God answered most of these prayers,
but not how I expected,
not how I wanted.
You arrived too soon,
your young body, frail and needing more time,
not ready for our world and life outside you mother’s womb.
I will never get to hold you or give you a bottle.
I will never hug you, kiss you, and say I love you.
And don’t tell your grandma, but I will never even be able to change your diaper.
I will never read you stories,
the way my dad did to your mom –
“just one more, please, Grandpa”
until she fell asleep.
I won’t see you go to school,
learn about music, play sports, and love life.
I won’t see you off to college or fall in love –
and I’ll never meet the husband I prayed for you to have.
There is much to lament,
but I refuse to mourn over what will not be,
rather to rejoice for what was.
Praying for you gave me much delight.
Anticipating you gave me even more.
Seeing the extent your parents were willing to go
to bring you into this world filled me with awe.
Knowing that your sacrifice
informed doctors what needs to be done
to usher your brothers and sisters into this world
gives me much to anticipate.
Seeing your 10-inch, 14-ounce perfectly formed body,
while the saddest day of my life,
gives me hope for a perfect tomorrow.
You are with Jesus now
and with my dad, your great grandpa, too.
That gives me peace.
And they are with you, enjoying your presence
in a place lacking pain and without sorrow,
waiting for the rest of us to join you –
that’s my greatest expectation of all.
And tomorrow my prayers will resume for your siblings,
but today I will cry for you.
I love you Peanut.
Peter DeHaan writes about biblical Christianity to confront status quo religion and live a life that matters. He seeks a fresh approach to following Jesus through the lens of Scripture, without the baggage of made-up traditions and meaningless practices.
Read more in his books, blog, and weekly email updates.