Tomorrow is your 21st birthday. Yet when I look back over two decades ago, I remember your birth as if it was yesterday. I remember waking up the night before and hearing Dad give the neighbor instructions before he and Mom went to the hospital. I remember waking up the next morning and Dad telling us we had a new little sister. And I remember wearing my favorite outfit to school (a blue skirt with a plaid edge and a red sweater with a Scottie dog on it) so I could brag about you to my friends and teachers.
Nearly a year later, I can clearly laugh at your first Christmas. You liked nothing better than standing by the tree, the ball to a "Jumping Jack" ornament in your mouth. Or the following Christmas in Connecticut when you tumbled down the stairs after your bath you were so excited about putting on your new outfit. A few years later, you gave us the scare of our lives when you banged through the glass of the back door in Massachusetts because the others wouldn't let you outside to play with them. To this day, seventeen years later, you are the only one of us eight to have stitches.
Growing up, you were the bouncy, enthusiastic, cute little girl. You couldn't sit still, wiggling all about your Bible as you read the large KJV words you had memorized, but couldn't sound out the small ones. We called you the little cheerleader. Every Christmas you'd count off the days, and lay awake waiting for the morning to open presents, and then count off the next two weeks with heightened excitement until your birthday. And then...you'd collapse.
You have been my exercise partner, riding the neighborhood on our bikes. You were there during the hardest time of my life, walking around that lake at camp as I told you what had happened back home. And yet camp was also one of the most special times in my life, a time I got to share with you. Whether is was tending bleeding kids, learning all about how odd guys of all ages are or sitting in the laundry room on the washer and dryers folding mounds and mounds of clothes. You have suffered me many cemeteries, battlefields and the homes of people you didn't even know. None of my other sisters have walked those paths with me: trampled all over Charleston, climbed rocks and waterfalls in the Blue Ridge Mountains, or eaten chocolate in Hershey. I will never forget those days. Thank you.
As your oldest sister with nearly ten years on you, there is ever the desire to give you wise advice for the days ahead. But I don't know what those days hold for you. I pray they hold your heart's desire. I hope they lead you back to those children in Africa. But know this: your God will see you through them all. The wait may be long. It will be hard. And it will be worth it all.
Don't give up. Persist, persist, persist - a quality you have had since you were young. I know the days seem long. I know the wondering of why God has me doing this when isn't what I desire just as good? I know the walls that seem to stand in the way and the absence of the doors. But I also know God sees all that. He knows your desires better than you know them - and the fulfillment of them will be better than you can ever imagine.
Have a wonderful birthday, Gracie. And I can't wait to see you next week!
Our Gracie, age 2.
Nearly a year later, I can clearly laugh at your first Christmas. You liked nothing better than standing by the tree, the ball to a "Jumping Jack" ornament in your mouth. Or the following Christmas in Connecticut when you tumbled down the stairs after your bath you were so excited about putting on your new outfit. A few years later, you gave us the scare of our lives when you banged through the glass of the back door in Massachusetts because the others wouldn't let you outside to play with them. To this day, seventeen years later, you are the only one of us eight to have stitches.
Growing up, you were the bouncy, enthusiastic, cute little girl. You couldn't sit still, wiggling all about your Bible as you read the large KJV words you had memorized, but couldn't sound out the small ones. We called you the little cheerleader. Every Christmas you'd count off the days, and lay awake waiting for the morning to open presents, and then count off the next two weeks with heightened excitement until your birthday. And then...you'd collapse.
You have been my exercise partner, riding the neighborhood on our bikes. You were there during the hardest time of my life, walking around that lake at camp as I told you what had happened back home. And yet camp was also one of the most special times in my life, a time I got to share with you. Whether is was tending bleeding kids, learning all about how odd guys of all ages are or sitting in the laundry room on the washer and dryers folding mounds and mounds of clothes. You have suffered me many cemeteries, battlefields and the homes of people you didn't even know. None of my other sisters have walked those paths with me: trampled all over Charleston, climbed rocks and waterfalls in the Blue Ridge Mountains, or eaten chocolate in Hershey. I will never forget those days. Thank you.
As your oldest sister with nearly ten years on you, there is ever the desire to give you wise advice for the days ahead. But I don't know what those days hold for you. I pray they hold your heart's desire. I hope they lead you back to those children in Africa. But know this: your God will see you through them all. The wait may be long. It will be hard. And it will be worth it all.
Don't give up. Persist, persist, persist - a quality you have had since you were young. I know the days seem long. I know the wondering of why God has me doing this when isn't what I desire just as good? I know the walls that seem to stand in the way and the absence of the doors. But I also know God sees all that. He knows your desires better than you know them - and the fulfillment of them will be better than you can ever imagine.
Have a wonderful birthday, Gracie. And I can't wait to see you next week!
Our Gracie, age 2.
Grace, almost 21, with her best friends Salem and Keats.
No comments:
Post a Comment