Sarah means Princess. That was how we named you almost 22 years ago.
I still remember the day when we took you home from St. Peter's Hospital. On that day, I became chauffeur for my little princess. As I crossed the bridge from the side of New Brunswick and entered into Highland Park and continued to Edison, I made sure that my one-year old Camry was traveling as smoothly as possible on the Lincoln Highway, with the gentlest slowing down and speeding up. You were lying peacefully in the car seat, next to your mom sitting in the back seat. The two grandmas who came just over two months before your birth were waiting for you at the Hidden Valley Apartment. Without a doubt, you instantly became our family's new focus and joy.
You were colicky for the first year. We tried our best to minimize your discomfort but had to accept your loud crying as a part of the growing pain. One unforgettable night, you repeatedly knocked on our bedroom door and cried into sleep. We found you the next morning. You were leaning against our door and sucking your thumb. That was a brutal and overdone experiment by two sleep-deprived parents. You enjoyed the most when I hauled you around the apartment in an empty bike box. That was also the highlight of my day after work.
Before you turned two, we moved to our new house. The very first project I did in the backyard was erecting two swing sets for you and, later, your younger brother and sister. When you were about three years old, I sent you to a daycare near my company. You never wanted to go there and cried every time when I dropped you off. Whenever we passed my company on our way to the daycare, you instinctively stopped singing along with me and expressed your plea to go to work with me instead of staying in the daycare center. Two weeks later, we switched you to another daycare near our home, so that mom and I took turns to drop off and pick up. You quickly adapted to the new environment and grew up a cheerful preschooler.
Mom and I decided to send you to Timothy Christian School from kindergarten to elementary school, before switching to public school. It involved a small and worthy cost. It is there as well as at home and church that helped to shape your faith outlook. Your most memorable line is that of imminent eschatology: I will do this or that only if Jesus has not come back yet. When you were only eight or nine years old, you gave me a cross-studded tie. I wear it every time I preach, hundreds of times over the last decade. It is a constant reminder of Christ-honoring, God-glorifying, childlike faith.
You were the lucky charm to your softball team that won Edison township Recreational tournament championship three years in a row. To this day, your coach Mr. Fuentes graciously credits the consecutive wins of the Blue Devils to you. But your greater passion was in cross-country running. You were a good varsity captain, gentle and sensitive to your teammates. You were a good trumpeter too. You have always been a big sister cheering on for Samuel and Stephanie.
My parental immaturity also reared its ugly head more than I now wish. As the elder child, you bore the brunt of the emotional hurt inflicted upon my children. I wish I could travel back in time to undo the damages. The only option for me is asking you for forgiveness. And you have given me that time and again. For that, I am forever grateful to your godly spirit. In a real way, you have reverse-parented me, guiding me out of the dark night of my soul and teaching me to be a better dad.
Being our firstborn, you impressed both mom and me with your steely perseverance and extraordinary hard work. I have frequently cherished the thought that you will turn out to be a leader, as is true for a lion's share of all firstborns. Your inaugural International Justice Mission at Rutgers is just one telling example of that prospect. You impressed mom and me more than worried us when you drove our minivan for your first long distance travel of over four hours in transporting six other schoolmates to an IVCF retreat in upstate New York. You wanted to be in the driver seat while serving others. When you transferred out of NYU after your freshman year, we supported your decision, not the least of which was based on welcome relief to our family financial burden. More importantly, we want you to find your own career passion.
You more than survived the college years, you thrived. Your sacrifice of numerous hours (including many sleepless nights) has rightfully earned you the highest honor of undergraduate thesis. You bring home an enviably perfect 4.0 GPA. Congratulations, our princess and graduate of summa cum laude.
Upon your graduation, mom and I have only one wish for you: chase your dream and live a life full of faith, hope and love, a life befitting that of a princess.
