All my children’s birthdays are special. But, there’s just something about my first born’s birthday that makes it extra special.

On his birthday, 11 years ago, I became a mom. Life changed. I changed.

I could no longer hide behind the verbiage of selfless living. I was instantly confronted with my own flesh, my desire to serve myself and maintain control. All the sudden, I had a magnifying glass to my heart in the form of a just under 8 lb. baby.

My labor and delivery was nothing like I imagined it to be. My first week home was not what I imagined it to be. My mother came to stay with me during that first week; I remember standing at the door of our townhouse in tears as she left with this little baby in my arms. I looked down at him as he slept and thought, “Now what?”

Those first months were not what I imagined them to be. I had no idea the depth of feeling I could experience in mothering an infant. I had never known joy so strong to make my heart spill over or fear and worry and anxiety and insecurity so strong to make my heart ache even while I slept.

Everyday, God used this child to sanctify me, show me my own heart and then show me His. And, just when I started to feel like I could take a deep breath and could keep on with this thing called mothering, another little magnifying glass was on the way.

So, yeah, we are celebrating Evan on his birthday. He gets his door decorated, and he gets to open cards and unwrap gifts. Family members call and quickly ask for him; I’m just a conduit. Maybe he’ll never know that while I’m taking pictures of him and giving him the “You Are Special” plate, I’m also celebrating something us—what God has done in my life, in me and how he was the original conduit.

Once upon a time, I spent most of my day managing a little man who struggled with a lot of things. I worried. I tried hard to make things easier for him and often felt I wasn’t able. I cried. a lot. Evaluations and IEP meetings ended in at least one of us crying. I wondered what life would be like years later–like in 2013.

And, here we are.

We tried soccer. No, I tried soccer–an attempt that ended in us dragging the boy to a field where he’d hover on the side lines and cry, begging to go home. He finally announced to his super attuned parents, “I don’t like team sports!” And, that was it.

I never would have guessed that his niche would be on the stage. I should have. I should have guessed when as a preschooler, he’d interact with people as long as he had a costume on. But, I never thought that the boy who still can’t remember his own phone number would be able to memorize lines and stand in front of an auditorium full of strangers and come alive as a character. And, I mean come alive.

He loves it. He loved the practices. He loved the set building. He loved the backstage prep. My boy with sensory issues abounding even loved the makeup and costume with a collared shirt no less.

Once upon a time, this mama doubted and feared and made assumptions about a little boy based on my own experience and expectations.