My favorite time of the day is actually not during the day. It happens at night. Usually around 10pm, Kara and I go downstairs to read, get ready for the next day of work. Lucas has been asleep for a few hours by this point. We can’t help ourselves.

We tip-toe into his room and peer over the crib partly to check on him, partly to look at his beautiful face, partly to behold. Every time we do this, a profound feeling of possibility runs through my bones. His room becomes holy ground.

As I’ve been glued to the death and destruction consuming Haiti, I know that God loves the people of Haiti more than I love Lucas. My hands almost refuse to let me type the previous. My heart wins out. I know it’s true. If it isn’t, I don’t believe in truth.

Lucas’ future is wide open. Who knows what stories God will write with him.

On this MLK day while pundits debate his influence, strategy, and overall identity (remembering that many don’t want to recognize the MLK’s of today), I recall a story from early in Martin Luther King’s life.

Martin was actually born “Michael” King. Different versions of the story still circulate. From what we can tell, “Daddy King” (a remarkable, self-made preacher himself) felt Michael had unbridled potential. The kind of potential that did not come around often.

So, he changed his name to Martin in honor of the Protestant reformer, Martin Luther. MLK would be as significant, if not more, in his time, as Martin Luther was in his own context. “Daddy King” had a feeling about his son.

Little boys and little girls can change the world. As long as I believe that, I’ll sneak into  Lucas’ room and pray that God would plant dreams in his heart; dreams that will take root, slowly over time, blooming into something that blesses the world.

When Lucas entered our world eight months ago, I could barely make sense of it. Too many emotions, new fears, and responsibilities came all at once. Now I’m slowly beginning to realize the significance of a child–it’s like God is writing a new character into our story. I’ll never be the same. Neither will Kara.

Possibility wakes us each morning. It’s important to name the possibility for what is and go after it with every ounce of energy we can muster.