She turned five today. Five.
Five whole years loving a miracle. Five whole years of so much joy. Five whole years of being a mama.
Five feels hard. I say this every year, but for real. She might as well be driving. Hold me, Jesus. She’ll go to KINDERGARTEN next year. I can’t take it.
When I look at her sometimes I still see this itty bitty baby. When I brought her home, I thought to myself how kindergarten felt like a lifetime away. But then I blinked, and this little baby has grown into a beautiful little girl.
I’m certain there’s no greater job in the world than being a parent. It’s both terrifying and rewarding. The responsibility to shepherd a little heart is weighty. And it’s something we don’t take lightly. But when I rocked her tonight I was thinking of this tiny baby, and how proud I am of the little girl she has become. She is kind. And so sweet. She has the most tender heart and she’s always making new friends. She loves big and has big feelings. She’s smart and creative. And she still will dance her heart out. She likes rules and structure and she likes following them. She needs a plan and likes to be prepared. She hears from God and she reminds us of His promises. She is joy. She is an absolute joy.
There’s a part of me that wants desperately to keep her in a bubble, keeping her tender heart completely protected from the world. But she has never been mine to begin with. My husband said it so perfectly today, “She’s a miracle. And miracles were meant to be shared.”
The long story before she came. What happened when we said “yes” to adoption. The way we met her birth mama. The story of her name. The way she came home. So many stories of a miracle.
When I see her round the corner of our living room, I see a literal miracle. And God whispers in my heart, “I did it then, and I’ll do it again.” Her very story is a sermon. A walking, talking reminder of the faithfulness of God.
She’s crazy about Shopkins and a Barbie Dream House is her biggest Christmas wish. She can drink chocolate milk by the carton and would eat only cake and donuts if we let her. She loves to write and draw and that just makes this Mama so happy.
She loves her brothers. But they both know she’s the princess. She went from the oldest to the middle this past year, and it was hard. But she did it with such grace. Although no one has ever said it, it’s like she knows her big brother is there to help and protect her. And I think she likes that. Micah is her best friend. They do everything together. One day we were running errands and she had to call her Daddy on the phone because she missed Micah. They’re two peas in a pod, you can’t find one without the other. But she really wants a sister. We keep telling her to tell Jesus.
And she does. Because she knows a thing or two about miracles.
When I look at her I just ache. I love her so much it just hurts. And if this is a fraction of how Papa God loves me, it wrecks me.
She is our miracle girl. And we have so many things we pray and hope over her. But the one thing, is that she always knows that.
That she’s a miracle and she’s loved more than she’ll ever know.
Whatever your story looks like today, look at hers. Think of her rounding the corner of the living room and hear the Father whisper to you, “I did it once, and I’ll do it again.”
Happy Birthday, Sweet Selah! You’ve wrecked us in all the best ways. Knowing you is loving you and we’ll never get over the honor of calling you ours.