Dear Chloe,

There is sometimes a quality in a mother's voice which conveys a message much stronger than the words which are being said. I hear this sometimes when I am working in the emergency room when a mother tells me about the changes she has seen in her child. There is a subtle but absolute clarity in the tone, something that quietly conveys an unmistakable urgency and purpose...like a radio signal cutting through a dark, foggy night, a crystalline communique from some unseen center of intelligence, and most of the time I don't think those mothers realize what is happening. But it is often an intangible part of the diagnostic process, and experienced doctors can hear the signal. I heard it in your Mother's voice Saturday night when she called me. She calmly described what might be early labor; I heard the tone of a woman who had just begun one of the most dangerous and mysterious journeys of her life. Then a contraction came, and she softly said "I gotta go, Dad, bye." I could tell from her voice where she was, and knew you were almost here.

I thought I might not hear from her again for many hours; first deliveries can be protracted affairs. I waited, and prayed, giving you both to God, as I have done so many times with your mother and her siblings, and we casually spoke to our friends about a miracle unfolding in a small house back in Moscow, Idaho.

The next morning, Sunday, we woke ourselves up early wondering what June 13th would bring. We were driving home on the highway just east of Hood River, in that part of the Columbia River Gorge where one experiences the changes from the deep greens of mosses and ferns and wet forests to those dry browns of burnt basalt and struggling grasses; the wind was hot and dry, but it came from behind us and pushed us along toward home. Then the cellphone buzzed and I picked it up, hoping it was your Mom. It was. She told me you were here, whole and sound and enfolded in the safety of your home.

The sagebrush along the side of the highway looked the same as it had a few miles back, but it wasn't the same. The world had changed. She's here. Here in this place, this divine composition of evenings and mornings, and here was the morning of a soul, a person's strong-cried beginning, protesting and seeking. Now, at last, after many long weeks of feeling your growth and struggle we would greet you face to face.

I made some calculations and told your mom we would detour and could be there in about five hours... and then the miles went by, one by one, and I prayed my prayers of gratitude for your healthy arrival, and wondered mile by mile: who is this Chloe? Who is this small person I am about to meet?