My precious Abby Girl,
You’ve always known Him.
Before you could talk in full sentences. Before you ever heard a sermon or sat in a Sunday school chair. Before anyone could explain “Jesus loves you” — you were already smiling up at the ceiling, babbling to someone I couldn’t see.
And I see it now.
You weren’t talking to yourself.
You weren’t playing pretend.
You were talking to your Friend. To your Healer. To your Savior.
To Jesus.
Do you Remember that day — you were laughing, having a full-blown conversation with nobody in the room, and Don asked you who you were talking to, and without hesitation, you said:
“My friend. He asked you what your friends name was, and you said, “His name is Jesus.”
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t question. You just knew.
And as your mama, I used to think I was the one teaching you about Him — but the truth is, you were the one showing me what faith in our Heavenly father looks like.
When I was crying on the drive home from the hospital — thinking about seizures and labels and pain you didn’t deserve — it was you who grabbed my hand and said:
“Don’t worry, Mama. Jesus is going to heal my brain. I won’t be different anymore. Nobody will cry. Jesus is going to make us happy again.” The smile on your face as you comforted me, more than you know.
I believed you.
Because your faith wasn’t something you had to find again —
you never let it go.
Even when they tried to cover it in rules and rituals.
Even when they told you your worth came from obedience.
Even when they tried to steal your precious voice and told you to serve instead of speak —
You still held onto Him.
Not the version they preached.
Not the God of guilt and performance.
But the One who was already yours —
The One who sat with you in silence, laughed with you when no one else was there,
The One you knew long before anyone else thought to teach you His name.
And in the pressure, your faith didn’t break — it deepened.
When I was taken from you…
When you were locked out, unheard, unseen, abused, and traumatized…
When the world failed you…
He didn’t.
And today, your baptism isn’t a beginning. It’s a celebration of a friendship that’s been there from the very start. You know Him. In your own unique way. In the way only your heart understands. And it’s more real than most people ever get to touch.
You don’t need a theology degree.
You don’t need to explain Him like everyone else.
You just needed to be you.
And He met you there.
You, with your wide-eyed wonder.
You, with your belly laughs and sacred babble.
You, with faith unshaken by trauma because it was never taught by man — it was given directly by God.
Today, you say “yes” to a Friend who’s never once said no to you.
And I — your mother, your witness, your warrior — will never stop praising the One who walked with you in the dark until I could get back to you.
I am so grateful to be able to witness you being raised a brand new daughter of Christ and finally able to fully walk in his light and on the path he chose for you!
This baptism is not proof of understanding.
It is proof of presence.
He was there.
And so were you.
Love always,
Momma
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Letters From the Edge 