Today you are seventeen, and even though it was seventeen
years ago, I still remember the details.
I remember calling mom from school every day for a week to
see if you were coming.
I remember my teacher running into the classroom and screaming,
“Yes!”
I remember shouting “My mom’s having the baby!” and my
classmates singing the “Hallelujah” chorus (your arrival was welcomed with
music).
I remember Mama Bebe picking me up on the way to the
hospital, waiting in the lobby for two hours, and waiting for Papa Ole to
finally bring me a cheeseburger.
I remember the first time we met. I had this yellow paper gown
and a blue hair cover as I walked in the nursery. They asked me if I wanted to
hold you, and I was scared I would drop you, so a nurse helped me. It was only
for a few moments. I remember being excited because you were born with lots of
hair, like me.
I remember wanting to name you Jasmine, but I was quickly
vetoed.
In many ways, you were my first baby… the first baby I
dressed (I was so excited one day when I could do everything but your socks…
you kicked). The first baby I really helped take care of, the first little one
I loved.
We call you the baby, and as the fourth of the 4 J’s, you
have been raised with four mothers (and one day you will call it a blessing).
But now, you are anything but a baby.
As cheesy or as silly as this may sound, when I think about
you, I always think of how impressed I am by you. There is so much that you do
that I never could.
I could never get on a horse and actually ride it. I’ve
always been too afraid. But you get on the horse, tell it to run, jump over
things, fall off, and then do it again.
I could never catch a basketball. But you can catch,
dribble, fight for it, and make others genuinely afraid of you.
I could never sing karaoke… but you can belt out tunes with
the best of them.
You have always had this confidence, this fearlessness, I
have never had. You are so cool.
And you are one of the funniest people I know. You keep a
lot of things to yourself, saving your ammunition for the right moment, when
all of the sudden you just come up with these comments that are so funny and
can just cut people in half.
And I wish you could see your beauty… the beauty that goes
far beyond makeup, clothes, skin and hair. I wish you could see your heart.
I wish you could hear
every time my little girls see your picture or ask where you are, because they
still remember you. You let them cover you in make up, spent time with them,
and even though it was uncomfortable for you… to them it said “You’re worth my
time”.
I wish you could see how your whole face lights up when you
laugh.
I wish you could see yourself… what you look like when you
are completely focused on others, whether it’s playing with a little kid before
a basketball game, walking through a slum, listening to the words of your
friends. Because it is beautiful.
And on the outside you are gorgeous with your green eyes,
long legs, and huge smile. But, honestly, it’s your heart that makes you so
wonderful.
And I can’t wait to see what He does… how He changes your
heart, shapes it, and lets it grow this year. I can’t wait to see the
challenges, the dreams, the way He pushes you.
And I can’t wait to see how you respond to the calling He
puts on your heart… how you struggle with Him when it seems impossible (because
the struggles are ok), how you fail and seek grace (because you will fail, and
that’s ok), how you will run harder and faster to Him, how you will snuggle
closer to His heart and listen and breathe.
I wish I could be there in person. I wish that saying yes
didn’t mean that I would have to miss so much of you.
But I love you so much sweet girl. My prayer for you this
year is that you would taste and see that He is good. My prayer is that you
would gain a deeper understanding of His heart. My prayer is that you would see
yourself through His eyes... broken and hurting, yes, but redeemed, restored,
full of possibility.
I am always here for you. You are my heart.
Happy Birthday!
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