Tomorrow is delivery day.

And I’ve found myself sitting in the weight of what that really means.

For 231 days, God has given me the incredible privilege of carrying you, Ethan. Of helping sustain you. Of giving you the nutrients you needed to grow into exactly who God created you to be.

What a gift that has been.

This road has looked so different than what we prayed for… different than what we hoped for. But none of it has ever been outside of God’s hands.

He is the giver of life.

And long before transfer day… Long before I heard the words that you had implanted… Long before I heard your heartbeat… Long before we saw you move on the ultrasound… God had already written every one of your days in His book. Every single one.

And while I have to work really hard to not see tomorrow as a day of loss… I’m choosing to see it as a day of celebration. A day where we may get the chance to meet you this side of heaven. A day where we also celebrate your homegoing to be with Jesus. Both can be true at the same time.

This has been, and will continue to be, a testing of my faith. Not in whether I believe… But in the quiet prayer of: “Lord, I believe, help me in my unbelief.” Because even when this doesn’t feel good… God is still good. He is still faithful.

These would not have been my plans for you, Ethan. But they are His. And His plans are not just for you… They are shaping us. Shaping our family. Shaping tomorrow.

So today, my prayer is simple:

Lord, when I feel weak, help me lean into You. When the enemy whispers, “this is the last time,” the last ultrasound, the last kick, the last moment, help me to turn those thoughts around. Help me see through Your grace. Through Your mercy. Through Your eyes. Help me embrace the time we have… and hold tightly to the promise of eternity with You.

Because the truth is, Ethan and Austin were never ours to begin with. God entrusted them to us for a season. Some seasons are longer than others… but only He knows the number of our days.

So for now, we will continue to pray the prayer we’ve prayed every night: “Thank You, God, for another day with Ethan. Thank You for another day together as a family.”

Because the reality is… none of us know when our last day will come. In our case, we’ve been given a glimpse of what that might look like for Ethan. But for the rest of us, our husbands, our wives, our children, we simply don’t know what tomorrow holds.

And so my prayer for you as a reader today is this:

Lean into the time you’ve been given. Hold your people close. Be present in the ordinary moments. And don’t take a single day for granted.

Because every day is a gift.