8:48 P.M. . . .

Yo, Josiah.

Welcome to your life. It's going to be pretty nuts. Your dad is a spazz who has big hair and likes to discuss religious philosophy. Your mom is a creative woman with a hearty laugh and a soulful voice and a penchant for cooking really spicy foods.

Your aunts are chatty as all heck, bizarre beyond all reason and full of affection and gut-busting giggles. Your uncles love fantasy sports (they think it's real), buffet food and the Lord. Your pastor is an interesting dude who loves tweed and John Piper and his guitar and us, and now you too. Your church is growing slowly but surely ... in the right direction. We will all be shoving our faces really close to yours and speaking nonsense to you as if you understand us. Maybe you will. But be warned. We're weird.

Your state ... well, there's nothing we can do about that unfortunate circumstance, but when you reach the age of majority, you make sure you get out of Joisey as soon as possible. Your country ... I hope you'll be proud of it, even after taking into account all the good and the bad. We are a special breed of people, especially us hyphenated folk. You take this nation and make it your own, ok? Your world ... what a crazy place it is, Josiah. You're not going to like some of it; we're trying to change it so you hopefully won't even know those icky parts existed. But you'll also like a lot of it; there's lots of books and music and movies and nature and innovation and discussion and food and action out here. Perhaps one day, you'll get to see it all and realize what a Creation you've entered into, and Who brought you here to be satisfied by it.

You did a good job today, you and your Omma and your Appa. Get some rest before the weirdos descend upon you. Once we happen to you, ain't no turning back, and that's the truth!

Smooches, for I love you already.