Dear sweet girl,
Your birthday was yesterday, and we spent it doing life together. You don’t like me on the computer or my phone. I don’t blame you. So, I am writing you a day late. Daddy has you now. He started taking you and brother on Fridays so I could have a few hours to work.
It’s been really good for me. I need the time, really the quiet, to plan and think and study and write. I know you don’t mind. You love your daddy and he adores you. And, you get to go to the office to see all the people. The more people you can talk to, the happier you are.
I’ve never met someone who loves to be with people more than you. You have no problem going up to a person, whether they be an adult nearly three times your size, or another child your same size. You’re like your daddy in that way. No one is a stranger. I marvel how you march right up, look into their eyes and say, “Hi! I’m Ava!”
And when you have their attention, you come alive, spouting out ideas and favorites and inviting them into your amazing world. I love your world.
Your world is filled with wonder and joy and discovery. You’ve taught me so much about living life. Each day, each moment is a new adventure you are determined to live. I want you to.
So, it seems like I spend most of my days being there to catch you as you climb, and climb higher still.
You demonstrate to me a fearlessness that I crave. One that challenges me to keep pressing forward, no matter what. I don’t ever want to be the one to instill fear in you. I try and find a way to say yes. Every. Time. I want you to be safe, of course. But I don’t want to be the one to hold you back, because of my own fear and trepidation.
God has designed you perfectly for whatever call He has for you. I cannot wait to see how He will use the zealousness and passion and boundless energy for life and people that you have. I wish I had half as much as you do.
You keep me running, but I love it. I love you.
Four. Years. I find it so hard to believe it’s been four years since you were born. I don’t lament the years behind. I celebrate them. I’ve lived them with you, purposing to choose you and the other kids over any other temporal thing.
I know you are all growing up so quickly. I will never regret the time I give you. Only the time I don’t. But still…Four. Years. Old.
You couldn’t tell it by talking to you, except for the darling sound of your voice, and your pint-sized stature. Your vocabulary puts you beyond your years. You use words like “impressed” and “talented” as easily as breathing, and you use them correctly. You’ve been using “actually” since before you were 2, and you say it with sass.
I’ve been thinking a lot about before you were born. There are nearly eight years between you and your brother. And, sixteen between you and your oldest sister. But all those years you weren’t here, I knew your were coming.
I saved all the baby stuff from your brother and sisters; swings, bouncers, car seats, a highchair, toys, baby blankets, and clothes. I even saved my maternity clothes, clothes mamas wear when their bellies stretch and grow with new life. They were out of style by the time you were growing in mine, but still. I just knew.
And, you fit perfectly into our family. There was an empty space without you. An empty space at the table, in the car, in our bed, in our hearts, in our lives. It was like life couldn’t really begin until you came. And when you came, the party started and has never ended. Speaking of party, yours is tonight. That party I didn’t know we were having until you started inviting everyone to it. It’s perfectly okay. It’s time for one. We are celebrating your life.
But truly, you have brought the laughter, lightheartedness, and light into our lives we all so desperately needed. You have captivated all of us with your joy, beauty, animation, sunshine, creativity, ingenuity, intelligence, and courage. And you have the most perfect pouty eyes ever. You win us over every time.
I’m writing you this birthday letter, Daughter, because I want to remember, and I want you to know how much I love everything about you. I love how you love the dirt between your toes, and your pink princess shoes. I love how you run brave into the woods, and call back telling me it’s going to be okay. “You don’t have to be afraid, Mama! We are adventurers!” you urge me on.
I love how you have the ability to sit still and listen quietly to me read book after book to you, and have the energy to hop on your bike and race after your brother, until I think you might fly. I love how everything is a possibility to you. I hope and pray you never lose that kind of faith.
“No you can’t,” is met with a “Why not?” And not in a defiant, disobedient way. But in a way that makes me wonder also, “Yeah, why not?”
Don’t ever stop asking that. Ever.
Run free, but stay submitted under the hand of God. Don’t ever believe that means bondage, because a life surrendered to God is the most liberated and free life anyone could ever live.
There, you have God’s blessing and favor and protection and the promise the enemy of your soul must flee when you resist him.
And, God is an adventurer who will run with you! He is a zealous and passionate and fearless Savior, who loves you recklessly. He risked it all when He left heaven. He gave up everything, including His own safety, comfort, and life, to rescue you.
He is a kind and loving and generous and good Father who will always be there to catch you when I cannot, though not always the way you think. But, always in a way that works for your good and His purpose.
And He is a powerful and fiery and gentle Spirit, who will do more than you can ever imagine through you, and will lead you into all truth. Free fall into Him. You can trust Him with your whole self, in unabashed abandon. Always remember that.
And, that you are loved fierce.
Happy, happy birthday to you, my sweet baby girl.