Dear Cade,

Two decades ago, when you first entered the world, I wasn’t much older than you are now. I was young, naïve, and full of hopes, dreams, and expectations of the kind of man you’d become one day! Slowly but surely, you’ve blow every one of those hopes, dreams, and expectations to bits!

When you still weren’t talking by two and half, I had your development tested and hired a language therapist. Not only did you bust out in full sentences a couple months later, you also suddenly started reading a couple months after that. By the time you started real school, you knew every planet’s composition and revolution schedule, and you had a well-articulated argument about why Pluto should still be considered a planet.

No surprise when you requested the sports memorabilia adorning your nursery be replaced with posters of planets and glow in the dark star stickers. You still can’t catch any of the balls that filled that first bedroom, but even then you were starting to calculate the distance of the stars based on the speed of light.

I’m so thankful we didn’t end up holding you back in kindergarten due to your delayed social and motor skills. What we know now is that you did not need held back as much as you needed a different educational paradigm altogether. It was quite difficult helping you navigate the cookie-cutter education system that is so deeply rooted in our American culture. It took me far too long to realize there was nothing wrong with you, but rather it was the system we were so desperately trying to fit you in that was wrong for you.

During the first decade of your life, I was often tempted to measure your success based on milestone charts, sports statistics, report cards, and birthday party invitations. Of course, in my naive foolishness, I also believed these measures said something about me as a parent. Once I finally laid down my initial hopes and expectations, I discovered a world of amazing opportunities for you to explore and pursue. Eventually recognizing that alongside your exceptionally unique struggles, are some exceptionally unique gifts.

So, during your second decade on this earth I became hyper-focused on maximizing your gifts and giving you chances to showcase your strengths. And then for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why our relationship was strained at times.  Little did I know then, highlighting your abilities made you feel just as isolated from others as your outwardly visible weaknesses. I’d hoped the more others recognized your gifts, the more confident and comfortable you’d become in your own skin. Unfortunately, the opposite happened. It bothered you more being noticed for your abnormal abilities than the times your unusual social quirks or attentional weaknesses ended up accidentally on display. In part, because you prefer being overlooked to being singled out, but also you’ve always hated other’s expectations for you to do something amazing.  It gives you no pleasure to perform mental gymnastics for an audience, and all the pressure that came with each comment suggesting you’d someday cure cancer did nothing except pile up and weigh you down. You finally explained to me that you’d much rather belong somewhere than impress someone.

I’ll be forever grateful to my friend who suggested I try to deeply engage with you apart from your strengths, weaknesses, successes, and failures. I always knew you were the most loyal, kind, curious, affectionate, fun-loving, imaginative child I’d ever known. But I also knew how often you were misunderstood by others. In my determination to make sure the rest of the world understood you, I’d sometimes forget to just enjoy you. You already had more than enough impossible expectations and reminders that you were different when you were outside of our home, so the last thing you needed from your mom was more of the same. I began to consider what it would look like for your home to be a place where you belonged no matter what. Like everyone else, you needed freedom to fail, play, grow, and rest– even if your version of failure, play, growth, and rest looked completely different than everyone else.

Initially, I believed your ability to learn more in a day than most people will learn in a lifetime, obligated me as your mother, to help you find your unique path to success. I was convinced there was just too much at stake! But then, I was challenged to question my definition of success by asking myself the million-dollar question: “What was actually at stake?” After some soul-searching of my own, the answer became crystal clear. Your soul. A beautiful kind soul that needed to be seen and known without regard to anything you’d ever accomplished or were capable of accomplishing.

This December, you’ll graduate with your Bachelor’s degree in Mathematics and Computer Science from Trinity University in San Antonio. I can’t help but wish your preschool and first-grade teachers could see you now! The preschool teacher who gave you an “Unacceptable” mark in Math because you could not yet write your numbers. And your first-grade teacher who gave you an F in math because you could not cut out a picture of a dime, glue it, and label it legibly.

Of course, my sentiment here is just evidence of the lingering value I place on the American definition of success– as if a college diploma proves anything about your mathematics or intellectual abilities. Let’s be honest, many of your professors have learned as much math from you as you have from them, and in many ways this college degree you will earn is just another box to check on your way to taking a bite out of the American dream. A dream that has never been yours, but a reality that you are slowly and surely learning to exist in.

Next week, you will be 20 years old! Then come December, you’ll have a piece of paper in your hand that says “Congratulations, you are ready for life!” But as your 20s and graduation draw near, many of the same reasons to despise your gifts have resurfaced. The pressure to do something amazing. The fear you will let others down. A longing for meaning in this thing called life. And a desire to figure out where you belong.  Well, let’s be honest, your momma has learned as much about this thing called life from you as you have from her. So as you enter your 3^rd decade of living, let me offer back to you just a few of the lessons I have learned from being your mom.

1. Like time and gravity, success is completely relative! The family you did not choose, the resources you did not ask for, the neighborhood you grew up in, the school where you were zoned, the time in history you were born, and the current political climate where you reside have all helped determine the world outside of our home’s definition of success. And in this productivity-driven, performance-obsessed, politically divisive American culture, you may always be tempted to feel like a failure. Not because you do not have the potential to perform or produce things others would find amazing, but because you are much more interested in passively exploring the complex mysteries of the unseen world than aggressively climbing any ladder or living the American dream. The world’s expectations for what it means to be a successful man are often at odds with your own preferences or quietly passionate pursuits. You are hungry for what is real. You long for knowledge, truth, love, justice, and beauty that exists beyond what can be attained by sheer effort or bought with mere money. So, next time you begin to feel like a failure, I challenge you to consider Paul. Best known for writing most of our New Testament, Paul never married, had no plans for retirement, and spent most of his adult life in and out of prison or sleeping on other people’s couches. He did have a successful career as a leather worker and tent maker which allowed him to do the work God called him to do without being a burden on those he served. But by the American standard, I don’t think he would have been considered a success. I challenge you to stop and consider what success might mean for you apart from doing anything amazing in the eyes of anyone else, even your parents. Especially apart from whatever pay grade, property ownership, charitable donations, or marital status you will soon be claiming when you file your taxes.
2. Your story has only just begun! In this American culture that demands the appearance of perfection at every age and stage of life, we must be intentional about giving ourselves and others space to fail, learn, grow, and become. I certainly have had to be intentional about giving each of my children the freedom to escape the world’s expectations of success. You may be all grown-up by societal standards, but you are not done growing. I am certainly not done growing. I am also not done failing, learning, and becoming! So, next time you feel the pressure to do something great in the eyes of someone else, consider Moses– a pivotal character in the Old Testament known primarily for leading God’s people out of slavery through the wilderness and into the promised land. We forget Moses grew up in a palace with every privilege and resource at his disposal. His early life was marked by status and success, but this was only the beginning of his story. Suddenly, after standing firm in what he believed was right and just, he found himself isolated and rejected by his own. Even the very people he always meant to protect and lead well. He was forty when he disappeared into exile being forced to work harder than he’d ever worked while raising a family among strangers in a strange land. The first two-thirds of Moses’ life are largely left untold in Scripture. We certainly read nothing about notable awards, accomplishments, and accolades achieved on his way to greatness. I hope your story is a lot more straightforward and boring than Moses’ story, but regardless, it is God who will equip, call, and sustain you through every chapter. In the meantime, get to know the characters he’s put in your life, be faithful in the little things, stand up for what is good and just even if it costs you everything, and trust Him through every chapter. This includes the chapters of privilege and plenty, of exile and wilderness, of confusion and insecurity, and of monotony and miracles.
3. Instead of trying to find a place where you belong, continue to be a place where everyone is welcome to belong– exactly as they are. Our home has always had an open-door policy when it comes to neighbors and friends. You had far fewer friends over than any of your sisters throughout the years, but everyone who’s ever been in our home has come to expect and appreciate your warm welcoming presence.You are not easy to know, but for those of us who have had the pleasure of really knowing you, you are certainly easy to love. Very easy to love! I suspect the same would have been said about John the Baptist who wore strange clothes, had strange food preferences, spent lots of time walking around the woods alone, and who seemed to live on the fringes of society more concerned with the unseen world than modern social expectations. Despite his quirks, he was deeply loved, and he loved others deeply. He had a uniquely intimate relationship with Christ, and he spent his short but meaningful life helping others set their minds and hearts on all the things that matter most this side of eternity.

Ultimately what matters infinitely more than the amazing things you might accomplish in this life, who you might impress along the way, or where you belong, is who you belong to. Cade, you have been bought with the blood of Christ, and you belong to the One who has not only fearfully and wonderfully created you with a purpose, but the One who is writing every chapter of your story. What tremendous joy it is to be the mom in your story, and what an amazing privilege to get to watch your story unfold as you continue to blow every one of my hopes, dreams, and expectations to bits!

Happy 20th Birthday, son! I love you more!

Mom