She Sees Beauty

She sees beauty in this world and in the worlds her mind begets.
Her eyes spot gems among a driveway of gravel. To her, holey leaves are amazing…not damaged. If you ask her why, she’ll say it is because those are the leaves that shared with the caterpillars.  When it rains, she pulls on her pink and leopard printed boots and dances through puddles.  Should a ray of sun cut into a cloud, she searches for a rainbow… if we find one, she is the first to proclaim it beautiful.

She sees beauty in people.
Everyone she encounters is, in her eyes, a new friend.  Age, gender, cultural differences and physical maladies are not discriminating factors she employs. Instead, she chooses her friends based on their smile…or sometimes their lack of a smile.  She climbs up her great-grandfather’s lap and envelops his neck in her arms.  His wheelchair does not bother her…nor does his paralysis, or lack of speech.  She sees him with the eyes of her heart. She sees that he is beautiful.

She sees beauty in her flawed mother.
I love her. I have always loved her. I wanted her before she was made and I wanted her even more when I watched the image of her peanut-sized body fluttering on a monitor.  When her first cries rang louder than my tired moans and her pink and perfect body squirmed in my arms, I felt as though my heart would expire from sheer exhilaration. I love her…yet sometimes I fail her. But when I ask for her forgiveness, she never hesitates. Instead, she hugs me. She says that she has the best mommy in the world. She tells me I am beautiful.

She sees beauty in giving.
Money slipped out from the birthday cards that arrived in the mail. With excitement she gasped, “This is so wonderful! I can use this money to help others…maybe I can buy food or toys for children who do not have anything.”  Sometimes, the simplest gifts from others bring her the most joy…a drawing from a friend, a paper star from her teacher, and a “moon rock” she found with a classmate are among her most cherished possessions because they are from people she loves. They mean something. She thinks they are beautiful.

She sees beauty, because she is beautiful.

Today marks the beginning of the sixth year that I am invited to revel in her beauty. Happy Birthday to my daughter…the owner of a most beautiful soul.

"How beautiful on the mountains 

       are the feet of those who bring good news, 

       who proclaim peace, 

       who bring good tidings, 

       who proclaim salvation, 

       who say to Zion, 

       'Your God reigns!'"

-Isaiah 52:7 NIV-

In the Name of Love

Direct your children onto the right path,and when they are older, they will not leave it. Proverbs 22:6 NLT.

She placed her hand on the small of my back and leaned her head against my side.

“Mommy,” she said softly, “Does that little baby with the sick heart live in Heaven now?”

When I explained that he was alive on earth but still very ill, she asked if we could pray for him. Before we prayed for Stellan, I suggested that we also pray for Miss Brenda's son, Ryan.

I wrestle with how detailed I should be when answering her many questions about the gritty experiences that accompany life. I want her to stay innocent and not lift burdens heavy enough to strain her young emotions that she just now is beginning to understand. At the same time, I know the importance of teaching her to place those heaved burdens at the feet of Jesus.

And that's what we did. We held hands and we prayed for two people whom we've never met. In a squeaky, yet reverent tone she asked Jesus to “make Baby Stellan and Big Boy Ryan healthy and strong.”

And then we prayed for those we have met and for our dog and her goldfish to remain healthy---because she's five. Because it is never too early to learn that God cares about our every need and concern. Because I want her to feel safe in the truth that all burdens means every last one of them. I am not so good at remembering this, so I want her to have a head start.

After praying, the heavy look in her eyes confused me and I asked her if something was still bothering her.

“No, I'm fine,” she said. “I'm just wondering how we can show love to the sick little baby and the other guy.”

I stifled a giggle. She's almost my carbon copy, but she inherited her ability to quickly forget names from her daddy. Before I could make a suggestion, probably because her last comment amused me, she exclaimed, “I know! We can show them love with a craft. Everyone loves crafts.”

So we crafted...in the name of love.

Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law. Romans 13:8 NIV

When You Were Four

(This post was written for my daughter in honor of her fifth birthday, which is today, Jan. 25)

Dear Pumpkindoodle,

Last night, I crept into your bedroom to catch a final glimpse of my four-year-old girl. I did not want to disturb you, but on the eve of your fifth birthday nostalgia propelled me closer. Kneeling beside your bed, I gently brushed your cheek with the tips of my fingers. When I leaned forward to kiss you, as I did when first we met, your reaction evoked a wide smile from my lips. You nestled your head on my collarbone and sighed... and for just a twinkling, you my precious firstborn, became my newborn once again.

My mind then fast-forwarded to the events of this past year. The details of your birth and infancy are well recorded, so today I want to tell you about who you were when you were four-years-old.

When you were four, you were an artist. You viewed the world in full color and differentiated between aqua and blue...violet and purple...fuchsia and pink. While painting was your favorite medium of artistic expression, you also created masterpieces with chalk, crayons, beads, construction paper, paper plates, ribbon, and even remnants of fabric.

When you were four, you were a diplomat. During a parent-teacher conference I learned that you helped your classmates settle squabbles and negotiated many truces between peers who struggled with sharing.

When you were four, you were a trooper. Six months after your fourth birthday, we moved from South Carolina to Georgia. It was the you r fourth move to different state...the second move you remember. Although you missed your friends, church, and playground, you adapted well to your new surroundings. Yes, there were times of sadness and tears rolled down your sweet rosy cheeks, but you...without mommy's prodding, were quick to remind yourself that those friends you longed for would always live in your heart.

When you were four, you were a cheerleader. When your little brother took his first steps, you clapped so loud that he fell on his startled bottom. Whenever a friend needed encouragement, you responded enthusiastically. If you caught daddy in a rare moment of grumpiness, your hug and words of affirmation brightened his spirits. And when frustration loomed around me, you'd lift me up with a tender pep talk such as, “It's O.K. Mommy, sometimes things like washing machines just break, but you will always be a beautiful and wonderful mommy.”

When you were four, you were an ambassador of goodwill. Most children are bashful when entering a room full of strangers, but when you encountered such situations, you would smile and shout, “Look at all these new friends!” You enjoyed delivering homemade treats to our neighbors, and confidently greeted everyone you met with a gregarious grin.

When you were four, you were a little girl after the heart of God. I will never forget the day we sat together in your daddy's recliner and you asked Jesus to be first place in your life. You joined Awanas club at Life Church and learned your memory verses weekly. You openly shared your love of Jesus with others and without prompting prayed for those in need.

When you were four, you were deeply loved...just as you are today my precious girl, no mater where you are or how old you are. So now, I'm going to end my letter to you with borrowed words...words you once spoke to me...

“I love you all the way up to God and back...and you cannot love more than that.”