Miranda Grace Ballou


Your hands and feet… your eyes and brain… they are all more than fresh; they are still being knit together.

As I sit here, there you are across the room in your mother, your heart striking a tattoo of potential to future joys and woes. When I think about all that I am, all that your mom is, all that our people are, all that our world is, I am caught short of breath… not really overwhelmed, but overawed.

Overawed because I know that, in major ways (foreseen and unforeseen), I will be part of the way you access all that has been. This great world, this great universe of experience and time and sensation and being – each facet part of your inheritance as a human being – is going to be presented to you by my faltering, limited, frail hands and voice.

And I am moved by all of this, partly because I know that being alive is hard and I don’t want you to hurt. But I am more moved by it because I know how much the miracle of being conscious has inundated me, made me, transformed me. The glories and wonders of the things you’ll know and see and touch and hear and be flood me; I, too, know them, and know that you’ll know them so much differently than I have. But we’ll have that knowing to share.

Part of that knowing is a realization that the dignity of what you are is because of a Story that transcends space, time, personality, individuality, and being itself. That’s the place I want to start, even as we explore everything else, because everything else is embedded in that Story. You are in that Story.

You are the precious thoughts of the Author of that Story. You are the manifestation of the articulated structures of Story rippling through all things. You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!

9 thoughts on “Miranda Grace Ballou

  1. Amazing, wonderful, beautiful, child to be… I am so over come with joy at what She will be and see and do… I cant wait to see her!!!

    And Matt: stop making me cry! (;

  2. Wow
    I love the contemplation…I was very surprised when my eyes got watery reading.. You two will be wonderful parents–I am SO excited for you :)

  3. Thanks for sharing those thoughts. You’re going to be a great Dad! Miranda Grace is a wonderful name… can’t wait to meet her.

  4. Very beautiful, both the words and the little one within. Your thoughts recorded here for her are sweet papa words. This is a papa that is going to hold her hand as she learns to walk, hold her hand across the street, and take her on dates, and then maybe one day walk her down the aisle. You and Alison are going to be very loving parents as you teach Miranda how to fear the Lord.

  5. Two memories come to mind when I read your thoughts. One was holding Alison a couple hours after her birth, all cleaned up and wrapped up warm, and rocking with her, looking into her dark black eyes, feeling at peace with her, and marveling at the wonder she was.

    The other was carrying her around outside in a big field out in back of our apartment with her facing outward, and trying to tell her about what she was seeing, hoping to help her make sense of it all.

    Miranda Grace is a beautiful name. I hope your daughter is as wonderful as mine has been.

  6. Pingback: Atticus Garrett Ballou | eikonktizo

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s