To My Future Children: Love, Mom.

If there’s one thing that traveling God’s big world has taught me, it’s that children everywhere are pretty much the exact same. They all crave hugs, love to play a lot, poop a lot, and cry and become over-dramatic in public. 

{This is actually a relief to me, otherwise, I wouldn’t know how to interact with them at all.}

While kids in Tanzania and Kenya often shout “Mzungu” at me {“pure white man”}, or in Central America, “Gringo!”, I know they are just curious like all children are. I can almost hear them asking, “…but mama, why is that lady so white?!”

It’s endearing, really, and because of their "kid-isms", I realized I’ve learned a few things I hope to encorporate into my own children’s lives one day.

I will pick you up and hug you as many times a day as I can. I promise to dance with you and read to you. I will let you run around barefoot in the dirt and grass, because it's liberating. I'll do my best not to worry about what could possibly wound you as you run around barefoot, thankful that you actually have shoes. I will sing to you every chance I get, especially when you’re sleepy. I will hold your hand and walk {very slowly} beside you, realizing your legs are much, much shorter than my own. I will let {some} decent strangers hold you and swoon over you, because I too have done that to more babies than I can count. I will let you run around naked and bare it all, because apparently you take pride in that. I will let you ride the dog, or the goat, or the horse, or the cow, or run with the chickens, because that’s just plain fun. {Maybe even while you're naked}. I will let you run around in dirty clothes sometimes, because honestly, it just doesn’t matter like society thinks it does. I will make forts and race-cars out of cardboard boxes with you, knowing your imagination totally rocks. I will laugh when you pee or poop all over me and consider it an honor to clean you up. I will probably make silly smoochy faces at you, and make that dumb airplane noise when I spoon-feed you. Sorry? If you want to cut a chicken's head off–fine, but I won't be helping or watching. Go be savage. I’ll let you be you, and smile as you wear your hair and clothes however you desire—britches on backwards, hair a mess, whatever; be unique or be the norm, but simply be you. If you have any "disability" at all, I'll consider it God's greatest ABILITY through you. I will adore the little gifts you bring me, gifts like mice and frogs and bugs and dandelions {which are, in fact, weeds}, and I’ll take photos instead of standing on a chair, screaming. I’ll do my best to protect you and vaccinate you against all of the scary diseases in the world, but I’ll remember there’s a chance you still might get them, and our big God will heal you like He’s healing me. If you’re a little African, Asian, Hispanic, Indian, Antarctic baby, and people stare at us together in public, I’ll allow you to shout “Gringo!” at them. {Just once, then you’re done.} If you’re from some other great country in the world, I’ll try to adapt some of that culture into our lives—so you’ll always feel at home. {I’ll teach you, though, that home is where the heart is, and wherever you lay your head}. If you’re from me, I’ll poke at you for 9 months, anxious to meet ya! I promise to absolutely not breast-feed you in public settings without  a covering—that’s almost never culturally relevant. Most of all, I will pray God’s best over you daily, that you would come to know and trust Him in the same ways I have, and that you’ll never stop needing us as your parents {because Lord knows I couldn’t have made it this far through the Race or life without my own folks}.