Allow me to introduce you to my son, Luke Mahnke Burkhart. Tomorrow he is getting baptized, so naturally it got me reflecting on these past three amazing, joy-filled, life-changing months.

Yes, all the cliches hold true: he’s unlocked depths of love I did not know I had; I’ve had all manner of bodily fluids deposited on me with nary a care rising within me; so many things I thought were so important have faded (oh wait–there’s an election going on?).

But there’s more to this new experience than I’ve seen plastered across cards, mugs, baby books, and shirts. He’s embedded himself into my heart in a way that haunts and follows me through my day. He’s re-oriented my affections, intentions, sensitivities, and practices. He’s changed the way I see my wife, our home, and our life together.

Luke means “light” or “light bringer”. But when we chose the name, we were mainly looking for a biblical name that captured both the sensitivity and strength we want for our son. Additionally, the biblical Luke is a thinker, artist, and writer (he wrote more of the New Testament than anyone else–including Paul), and these are gifts and skills we wish for our son (though we’ll still love him if he ends up being a sports bro).

So the “light” part of his name was beautiful, but not a main driver of our choice. However, as he has grown, this aspect to his given identity has struck me as more and more fitting.

Luke has given a charge and brightness to the world that I had not seen before. The world hums with possibility and grandeur that must have been there all along but I had become so dulled to it. I see trees, foods, and bits of art and light in new ways as I imagine Luke enjoying them the first time and I get to see the delight on his face. He smiles at such unexpected things and I get to peer more deeply into the mundane, finding the joy he is seeing in it.

We’re just now hanging up our art throughout our new house, and with each new addition, Luke loves to stare and take in the new piece. Art seems to calm, delight, and transfix him–and I couldn’t be happier. We’ve gone to some arboretums and gardens, and each new tree or flower or color seems to fascinate and intrigue him. The world is so alive to him and it’s infectious.

But there’s also a deeper, more reflective edge to his light, for it puts my soul in starker relief and heightens the shadows within.

I always take the late night feedings, and I adore our quiet, still nights alone staring into each other’s faces and deepening our connection. In these moments, I often feel a call to repentance rise up within me. I feel the sting of what haunts me and the regrets and sadnesses I carry. And I confess to Luke I am not the man I wish I was. I apologize for the sins that cling to me which he’ll never know. I ask his forgiveness for the many ways I will fall short and hurt him and not truly see him. And I pray that God takes care of my boy in the ways I’ll never be able to.

His light reminds me that, for all my time connected to the God of grace and unconditional love, I still struggle to rest in and receive love and light, far too often defaulting to shame and distraction when I feel exposed. And yet he loves me still. This little boy really does love his daddy even though I feel so, so unworthy of it. It is a discipline and point of growth both to give and receive such love.

In his newness and immediacy to all things, he shows me what being-in-becoming looks like, and how his absolute and complete presentness to all things and all people is one of the truest glimpses into the divine I think I’ll ever get. I find myself over and over again wanting to be more like my three month old son, for he shows me God–and in so doing, he is showing me myself. And I admit, I’m learning to love the man he’s revealing in me.

Each month he and I are reading through all the Psalms, using a different translation each time. This month I’m using a lesser-known (but stunningly beautiful) translation called The Voice (I reviewed their Psalms collection many years ago). Last week, during one of our late nights, we got to Psalm 16 and it took my breath away:

You, Eternal One, are my sustenance and my life-giving cup.
    In that cup, You hold my future and my eternal riches.
My home is surrounded in beauty;
    You have gifted me with abundance and a rich legacy.

I will bless the Eternal, whose wise teaching orchestrates my days
    and centers my mind at night.
He is ever present with me;
    at all times He goes before me.
I will not live in fear or abandon my calling
    because He stands at my right hand.

This is a good life—my heart is glad, my soul is full of joy,
    and my body is at rest.
    Who could want for more?
You will not abandon me to experience death and the grave
    or leave me to rot alone.

Instead, You direct me on the path that leads to a beautiful life.
    As I walk with You, the pleasures are never-ending,
    and I know true joy and contentment.

At this, I started crying, looking at my son as I read these words, feeling their weight as I held in my arms this gift, this joy, this delight, this light–our son. We love you, Luke. You are ours, and we are yours. Now and forever.