Josiah turned four today. It just seems like yesterday that he was born. We were painting most of the inside of our house in a mad rush to get it done before he came. Finally, we were done. We sat down to a celebratory meal with friends, and Charlene said, “I think I’m going into labor.” I said, “No, you’re not.” Everybody laughed at my inability to face reality, and a few hours later, Josiah entered our lives. He was the son that almost never was. He was a transverse breech. We didn’t know it at the time, but that hardly ever turns out well. By God’s grace, it did with him. We had a rough start. I thought he was grumpy or colicky. It was easier than that – he’s lactose intolerant. Once we figured that out, life got a lot easier. He’s got force of personality. He can make the sourest face I’ve ever seen, but he can also melt the hardest heart. He’s small for his age, but he carries a big punch. Playing with him and watching him play, carrying him the odd time (yes, he’s getting too heavy, but how much longer will he want to be picked up by me? How much longer will I be able?), learning his likes and his dislikes, and marvelling at the created-by-God personality that emerged intact and ready to take on the world – I don’t know many joys or privileges that surpass that of being a dad. Happy birthday, kid.