When Audrey was a newborn, I’d wake up each morning, so surprised and excited that I had a baby, and that there she still was, beside me. I wondered, though, if one day, maybe months, or years from then, I would forget that she was new, and hadn’t been here before. Would what seemed miraculous now become just commonplace? Would I just nag the tween or teen version of her, “Hurry up…we have to go” or “Pick up your clothes and put them in the hamper?”
When Dan died less than two years after her birth, I would often find myself staring at our bedroom door late at night, imagining what a miracle it would be if, despite being dead, he just walked in through that door. I would go so far as to imagine how I would jump up, drop down to my knees, cry, scream, and hold him so tight. One night while writing about that, I realized that he, just like Audrey as a newborn, his existence, was just as miraculous every day when he was alive. Being here now, being alive is just as miraculous as coming back from the dead.
Each day when I wake up and say good morning to my now newly minted double digit daughter, I try to remember that thought I had when she was lying beside me as a newborn. She, being the hyper aware child that she is, is afraid she’s growing old and things will never be as exciting as they were when she was younger and the whole world was brand new. So, I wrote this song for her birthday to remind her that she is still brand new to me, and to encourage her never to let the world seem old. It’s called “Brand New.” This recording is just me in our dining room, nothing fancy. But I hope it reminds you today of all of the people in your lives, whose very existence is miraculous. May they never become commonplace.