Dear sweet, sweet girl,
It may seem odd for me to write to you on Mother’s day but there’s nothing I’d rather be doing. You see, you made me a mother. There were two before you and of course they really made me a mother, but I got to hold you in my arms and kiss your sweet little face.
I get to mother you.
On Friday we spent our day turning millions of circles in endless games of “Ring around the Rosie.” It was your first time really understanding the game and by bedtime you were spinning your own circles singing “ashes, ashes, fall down,” complete with a dramatic fall of course.
And in the morning when you woke up, hair all a scatter and holding your blankies in your slowly thinning fingers, you called out “mommy, mommy.” And in I came and we caught each others eye and smiles took over.
I love each and every moment with you.
Even those times during the week when you flail your little arms and shake you little head back and forth and scream no. Even when mommy has to buckle your seatbelt and you get so frustrated that I didn’t wait just a few more minutes. And even when you purposefully disobey.
I love being your mama.
Sounds a little cliché maybe, like a hallmark card. I mean, how could I really enjoy most every moment with you. Most moms can’t wait to have a break and I’ll admit sometimes I do need a break but not because you’ve done anything wrong, mainly just because it’s a healthy thing for mommies and daddies to take a break. But I hope you know it’s really not a cliché to me. I truly look at you as a precious, precious gift.
I truly delight in living life with and alongside you.
I don’t know what the days or months or years hold in front of us Elizabeth. I don’t know how long I will live or how long you will live. But I do know that I will strive to point you to Jesus every single day and shower you with grace. And I will love you, in tangible and heartfelt ways, as lavishly as I can. It’s my promise.
You know firsthand that I am not a perfect mommy and I delight in that. Because it’s painting a bigger picture for you that we are not perfect and in every fiber of my being I pray you will see that the antidote to our brokenness is Jesus.
It’s like when we dance in the kitchen in the afternoon sunlight and David Crowder’s “How He Loves Us” streams out of my phone as loud as can be and every time you see mommy’s eyes fill with tears. Sweet girl it’s because my heart is overcome with love and joy. And I hold your little cheeks and look you in the eyes and repeat, “Elizabeth, Jesus love you so very much. Don’t ever forget that.” And you look at me and giggle.
I pray that He will overcome your heart.
He loves you with a love mommy will never come close to.
But I love you as close to that as I possibly can.
Elizabeth, my lizzy-lou, I’m so very blessed to be your mommy.
You’re making parenting my very most favorite job ever.