Oh my! Sevens!

Dear Emelyn,
Oh my heavens, dear girl, you are seven! Seven! Sniff. Sniff. Wipe. I'm so proud of you. I hope you know that. In the crazy, mixed up world of being the oldest sister to A and K, I hope you know every day how proud we are of you. How much we bask in the sunshine of your zest for life.

A, 3 mos. E, 2.5 yrs.

Smart. Silly. Creative. Thoughtful. Kind. Quiet. Brave. Athletic. Persevering. You love God. You love your family. You love having friends and going to school and being big. You went out tonight with a friend. First. time. ever. Oh, of course you've had play dates and day dates. But you've never left after dinner, with the sky already growing dark, to go do something with a friend. I gave you a hug at the bottom of the front steps. "Have fun!" I told you, trying not to show how big a moment I thought this was. Casual mom. Goes with the flow. It's cool my seven year old daughter is going out and coming back after bed time. I'm totally cool with only seeing her for an hour and a half today. Totally. My inner pep talk mostly worked.

Until you turned around half way down the walk and looked at me with those big brown eyes and you had the shy girl look, the one that let me know you knew this was a big deal, too. And you felt a little uncertain about it--either about leaving me behind or about venturing out. Or both.

Because you are still little. Even though you're so big.  Yesterday you came home from school and told me that you miss me every day. And you want to be with me more. I loved that. I ate it up. So I was naturally surprised when you jumped at the chance to go out tonight. Your explanation? "That was yesterday, Mom. I don't feel that way today." I couldn't help but smile. Because that's seven. That's growing wings and stretching them out a bit, but still coming back to the nest for extra snuggles, time to connect. I love that time. I wait for it. But I don't push it. I know you well enough now to know that your independent spirit needs space to stretch itself out. But your sweet heart still needs nurture and love. It still needs a mama bird.

In seven more years, you'll be fourteen, and it recently dawned on me that I have just a little over a decade left to keep you under our roof. Eleven years. The same amount of time Daddy and I have been married. And it shocks me to look at him and look at you three littles and see how time has marched steadily ahead. If that's so, then I fear I will blink and you'll be grown. I hope you know you can always come back. My arms are open and ready because moms are moms and daughters are daughters: For life.

For your birthday, you got two big surprises: a puppy and an American Girl doll. Two firsts. Which is fitting for my girl in first grade, completing all kinds of firsts like reading fluently and memorizing math facts and learning how to be a serious student at school. I can see that you wish the puppy were smaller, that you were hoping for one you could hold, and I feel bad that the experience isn't quite what you imagined. But you're such a good sport. Every day you come home and praise his good looks and his antics and you stretch your hand out to pat him. But you do it all from a pretty safe distance. That dog makes you a little nervous. I know. On the other hand, when we took our trip to the American Girl Doll store, you knew right away which doll you wanted. You humored me and looked at all the other dolls, too, but you went right back to the starting point. You're decisive about things in a way I've never been (Daddy either.). I love that you always know what you want and usually have the spirit to go for it. On the rare occasion I catch you being cautious, I know it's because you're giving yourself space and time to grow the confidence you need to plunge forward.

That's how you learned to ride a two wheeler this year. Daddy and I have asked you for two years on and off if you wanted to learn. One time, you said "Yes." Daddy especially, was thrilled. I think you were about five and a half then. He took your training wheels off and the two of you zoomed up and down the street together until finally you got it. But then you fell. And that was that. No more two wheeler. We knew you knew how. But you needed to know that, too. So you waited until you were sure. And just this summer, a year and a half later, you decided it was time. You plunked your big-little self on the hand-me-down bike our neighbors gave you and decided you were going to ride it. Your training wheels didn't fit on it, but it was your new bike and you would ride it. So you did. Just like that. It was as if you'd been riding a two wheeler for years, and I realized you probably had been. Just not on the pavement. In the landscape of your head. Taking notes when other kids rode. Figuring it all out. So when you were ready, you'd soar. I have no doubt you and the pup will bond that way, too.

Right now, on this day, and just lately in general, there are three more things I am discovering [and love!] about who you are. The first is this: You are very forgiving. You forgive me my flaws time and time again. You forgive your sister and brother every day. And you do it in such a simple, unassuming way. No drama (though you're very good at that in other situations), no airs, no holding grudges. Just full of grace. Full of understanding. A strong and quiet love.

The second: You are protective. You do your best to protect our feelings. To protect your brother and sister. I can't quite explain it. But I often know that you are saying or doing or responding to something because you feel it is the best thing for one of us. But you never ever draw attention to that either. You just do it with an open hand. I hope that sometimes you choose for just you, too--especially as you grow up and chart your own path in life.

The third: You are an amazing storyteller. Amazing. You retell Bible stories and recite poems and recount picture books you read in school with the most amazing gift to draw us all into plot and character and conflict. Daddy will probably grin when he reads this, because he knows how much I love this about you.  Last night after dinner while we were still gathered around the table, you "read" us the story of Abraham from a little book you cut out, colored and stapled together in school. I couldn't see the words from where I was sitting, and so I assumed you were really reading it. It was so good. So good in fact, I found myself wrapped up in the story itself, forgetting that you were the one telling it, that you are only seven. At breakfast your sister handed me the book. "Read it again, Mommy," she asked. So I did. I was shocked. Every page had one line on it. And the pages made little sense in sequence because the ten-page book covered years and years of Abraham's story. It was awful and it was boring and A quickly lost interest. I realized in that moment that you hadn't been reading at all. You were telling. From memory. And it was fantastic. Rich with detail, adventure, conflict, and a happy ending. And it was completely accurate. Completely. This storytelling thing? It's a real gift, daughter.

Emelyn, I am so grateful that you are my daughter. The Lord chose you to be the one girl in all the world who made me a mother. You are OUR daughter. Daddy's and mine. And if you put our two hearts together, they are still not big enough to hold all the love and admiration we have for you. It overflows. You make our cup overflow. You are your heavenly Father's daughter. If you know that, then there isn't anything you'll ever lack: you'll never have to wonder if you're good enough, smart enough, pretty enough. Because he lovingly crafted you to be just who you already are. Miraculously, wonderfully, beautifully made in his image. A good and perfect gift.

I confess, a part of me will always miss the baby you. But I love watching you grow. Ride on, sweet girl. Capture all life has to offer. Happy, happy Birthday to my little big girl. Pookie doo, Love Bug, Miss E--I love you as big as the sky. Bigger, actually.