Happy 4th Birthday Mira
My beautiful sweet blessing, deeply loved and treasured.
I adore you…and love you to pieces!!! Now, as your mama, there are some things I’d like to tell you…My child, my first born, but let me start with knowing the truth of who you are. Like fine china, my darling daughter, you are made beautiful by your creator, the God of the universe, the King of all, and the savior of my soul. He is so good to have given you to me.
You are joy. You are beauty. You are woven together by God in a perfectly fashioned, unique personality that sprinkles my life with happiness and fun. I eagerly await getting to know the depth of your inmost being – all of who you are and who you will be.
Today you turned four years old. For months you’ve been talking about your birthday. You’ve been telling everyone everywhere we go that it’s your birthday soon; at school, at the store, in the restaurant, and even at the airport you happily exclaimed to the TSA, “December 24 is my birthday, I’ll be four years old!” He and I both laughed at your exuberance. Your excitement about your big day was pretty charming.
You’ve done a lot of growing up this year. You’re leaving the shell of your toddler years behind and you’re headed straight into kid territory. It’s kind of terrifying and exciting all at once.
As a mom, there’s this small side of me tangled up in emotions about the reality that most of your life lived so far you’ll never remember when you’re my age. And that’s kind of sad when I think about it. All the cuddles we’ve shared and giggles we’ve delighted in, you won’t remember when you’re older. Some of the best moments of my life shared with you, won’t really be a part of your memories.
On the other hand, a few moments when I’ve really blown it, you may not remember those either. Like the time you attacked my makeup and used my brand new RED lip stick all over the 2nd floor, we went to town with it!
I should’ve laughed and grabbed a camera for one unforgettable picture, but instead I was frustrated and ticked-off. It was such a huge mess the red color was on the carper, the bed sheets, all over the wall, your clothes, your hair, the list goes on. Truly, that was not one of my finer moments in parenting: cleaning the rooms while you cried your eyes out. I’ve found comfort in thinking and hoping that maybe you’ll never remember that moment.
But now you’re four, and you’re bound to remember things. After all, I remember a lot of things when I was four: I remember playing outside with my brothers on our little bicycles; it was a huge balcony with high walls that we could barely reach. And it was so much fun.
I remember going to my grandfather’s farm, a huge one, that all I remember is just running to an endless road.
I remember going with my mom to the mall, and how pretty she looked, tall, thin, with amazing hair, and the most amazing smile, and I remember how fascinating it was to look at her choose clothes, everything she picked looked amazing on her. I wish I can as pretty as her in her age.
Which makes me think, Mira, that you’re about to do the same. At four years old, you’re going to remember some of these memories that we’re making right now – you’ll be able to recall details, like what you were wearing when you took a fall, or if I told you the snow was made out of diamonds or if I responded in a way that made you feel loved and cared for.
Of course, there are memories that you and I have shared that are already impacting your world view, and they will continue to do so for the rest of your life, but it is unlikely that you’ll be able to recall the tiny details of those memories. Instead, like small candles, they cast a glow over your view of self and the world.
I hope I’ve been a good steward of your heart, so far, little one. I hope I’ve lit good candles in your life. It’s my prayer. I breathe it out with a sigh every time I see you sleeping soundly in your bed. The remnants of the tiny cherub-baby I held in my arms for the first time when I gave birth to you, me – overcome with love and crying uncontrollably till someone asked me if I was okay. That baby is still there in my arms. I see her in the corners of your mouth, in the tips of your fingers, in the way your arms fold around your face when you sleep.
The other night, when I was pondering all of this: the memories I’m leaving on the hearts of my children. I was absent mindedly bathing you, and thinking about this coming of age that you’re in, I was thinking about how much I hope to do you right. Exactly as I was thinking those thoughts, you leaned over to me, put your hand over my heart and said, “I know. I know.”
I gasped audibly and looked at you like a ghost had just spoken.
Leave it to you to speak to me like a prophet about my own mothering.
Someday, when you’re a mother, you’ll know this to be true: the child is the prophet and the mother is the disciple.
I promise you, it is true.
But you’re not a mother just yet. At four years old, you’re in the cradle of childhood; I hope you enjoy it all. I hope I can help you gather up each carefree lesson of the day, and that you’ll enjoy the innocent happiness of your youth. I hope I will help fill your years with insightful and beautiful memories.
I pray I’m a good steward of your love, of your childhood, of your innocence. I pray this for you; I pray this for myself, on your fourth birthday, sweet Mira girl.
With all the love a heart can hold,
December 24th, 2013 at 12:15 PM
December 25th, 2013 at 4:44 AM