Little by little, inch by inch
We built a yard with a garden in the middle of it
It ain’t much but it’s a start
You got me swaying right along to the song in your heart
And a face to call home
A face to call home
You got a face to call home . . . .

So good you didn’t see
The nervous wreck I used to be
You’d never know a man could feel so small
And you never look at me
Like I’m a liability
I bet you think I’ve never been at all

Little by little, inch by inch
We built a yard with a garden in the middle of it
And it ain’t much, but it’s a start
You got me swaying right along to the song in your heart

And a face to call home
A face to call home
You got a face to call home

A face to call home
A face to call home
You got a face to call home

Maybe I could stay a while,
Maybe I could stay a while,
Maybe I could stay a while,
I’m talkin’ like all of the time” (John Mayer).

Here I am again, writing you another letter instead of holding you in my arms. A verse in Proverbs says that a hope deferred makes a heart sick, but a hope deferred is still better than no hope at all. And my hopes are alive, even if the monitors would barely pick up a heartbeat. I still have hope.

I’m seeing more and more of what you’re like and I’m loving it. You have a beauty that’s all your own and you’re probably not even aware of it. It’ll be my job to show you and tell you every single day how beautiful you are and to bring that radiance out of you. You have a smile that makes me weak in the knees and a laugh that warms my heart. I don’t deserve that way you look at me and only me.

If I were to say that I’m up to the task of being a husband and a father, I’d be proving once and for all that I’m not ready. I can say for certain that I’m not up to it– not nearly– but I’ll be calling on all the power of Christ in me if I have any hopes of making us work.

So yet again. I’m praying that you hold on to hope. I’m praying you don’t listen to anyone who tells you how to become their idea of beautiful. Don’t let any man (even me. Especially me) treat you like anything less than a Princess, Child of the King, Beloved, the one Christ thought was to die for. Don’t settle. Don’t compromise. Don’t quit.

I love what I heard while you search for the perfect man, you could be missing the one who’s imperfect but would do anything to make you perfectly happy. I’m praying when the time comes that will be me.

Until then, I love you already and I can’t wait to meet you.

Your future husband (and still another Ragamuffin who’s living his miracle).

Greg