Hello again, there, my girl.
(Did you know I love the excuse to write you a big long letter? To put together many of the words that I think about you all at once? This is fun.)
Happy birthday, baby. Did you know you’re beautiful? Seriously. Inside and out, regardless of whether or not you have a twirly dress on. Your sparkling eyes, your magical smile, your lovely hair. (“Does she have a natural ombre??” Did I, the mom who only makes my children wear socks when we’re going to play at McDonald’s, spend time and money getting that done at a salon? Um, no. Yeah. Totally natural.) Your kind attitude. Your amazing sense of humor. Your sweet words. I could go on forever.
It’s been a fun year, hasn’t it? I just read last year’s letter to you, and some of the things I was looking forward to didn’t happen. The swim lessons (sorry- I can’t adequately convey my frustration with the system of swim lesson signups here), the schooly stuff (you’re learning some letters and words and can write stuff if I spell it, but… yeah. Formal schoolwork at home didn’t happen much this year. You were busy learning to be a person and I was too busy teaching you and the others how to be little people. We’ll get there.)
You know what did happen, though? You now understand God’s grace in all its truth. Maybe a month after your last birthday, you told me, on a three-minute drive, “Mom? The other night, I asked Jesus to be my leader! I told him I was sorry for my sins and he rescued me! And then K prayed after me!” I was amused that the very first thing you did after accepting Jesus’ gift was try to evangelize your sister. Also? I was a little skeptical. I mean, I wasn’t there. But as the months wore on, it became pretty obvious… You love Jesus and His Spirit is living in you.
Beautiful.
You’re growing up so nicely. I love your heart. I love seeing you become who you’re made to be. I love seeing you grow in grace. And, can I be honest? I really enjoy the hard parts of that becoming, too. You have my your daddy’s stubbornness and sometimes you just get defiant and mad. But those are golden opportunities. Oh, they’re no fun at the time, but it is so cool to me to see you really get it. You’re learning, slowly, painfully slowly sometimes, to adjust your own attitude. And you’re learning, just a little at a time, that adjusting your own attitude isn’t always fully within your grasp, but you do know Someone who can help you with it, and now and again you remember to cry out to Him.
I love you, child. I love that you’re mine. I love discovering who you’re becoming. I pray for another year of that.
grace enough 