April and May are birthday months in my house. Emerson turned 8 in April and Amelia just hit 11 in May. We celebrate the little beings that they are, eat cake, do presents, have family dinner and friend-family dinner and just our family dinner. We go on little outings or they get to pick something special. We hug and kiss and sing and celebrate heir milestones.
This year I found myself maybe shedding some tears. Where exactly do all the minutes and hours go? I have flipped the calendar 11 times to get Amelia to this birthday. It seems like just yesterday I was holding her in my arms, kissing her baby nose and cradling her chubby little baby body against my chest. I was singing my best rendition of “Girl at the Rock Show” while I would change her diaper. She would stop what she was doing and run to the living room to sing Little Big Town or Kenny Chesney. She hated shoes and loved spicy salsa. She was wicked smart and said the best stuff. I often posted her Ameliaisms to Facebook several times a day.
Suddenly she’s eleven. She is tall and slender. She has an athletic body with strong legs that I envy. She gets embarrassed when I sing to her, even in the privacy of our own home. Her phone is full of songs that I listen to carefully because I know what lyrics my music contained. She rarely asks me to help her with her hair in the morning and if she does it’s usually for recital or production or because she can’t control her amazing, beautiful curls. I look at the beautiful creature that walks through my house and feel a surge of pride, but also pangs of sadness. Five years and she’ll have her license. Seven years and she’ll be graduating from high school. Before I know it she’ll have an amazing job and be married and have babies. I know it’s my job to raise them I just wish I could stop time and freeze these moments forever.
Emerson was born eight years ago. She came into the world born ready. She was feisty and fierce. She preferred to be held when she slept and didn’t want me to put her down. She was super picky with her eating. She had her own ideas and her own plans. She was strong and graceful and powerful all in one compact little body. Being that she is only eight, she still has most of these qualities. But I am starting to see glimpses of losing my baby to growing up too. She rarely asks me to do her hair anymore either, preferring it to be long down her back. She has picked out her own clothes forever. She likes to do things herself. She is growing up too and I see those little moments. Again, I know it’s my job to raise them. I just wish I could pause time.
I’m in this weird place where people find themselves, stuck in the middle. My kids are growing up. My parents are aging. And I’m getting older too. I dyed my very gray hair just a few weeks ago. My joints get a little stiffer each day. I look in the mirror and see new wrinkles and new age spots and new pieces of me that look older.
I often find myself reminiscing and thinking back to when I was little. Laying in the middle of the tall grass in the field and watching the clouds. Chasing butterflies in the garden at my grandpa’s. Riding my bike with my sister. Hours of playing Barbies. I couldn’t wait to grow up. I couldn’t wait to get older. And I like where I am right now. And my babies are talking of the future and getting older and I’m excited to see where their futures lead. But I also wish they’d never grow up.
In the quiet of the night when I’m thinking about my precious girls growing up, Father God reminds me of Matthew 18:3 “Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.” We all get the chance to be little children again. Father God beckons us to His presence as little children. Trusting Him completely. Leaning into His presence. Relying on His plan and His path for our lives. Being weak in His presence so that He can make us strong. Coming to Him with wide-eyed innocence. Helpless and needing a Father to guard and guide and protect.
God doesn’t want us to grow up either. Just as I yearn to stop time and hold my girls as little children, God also wants us to enter His presence as little children. We are to come to Him as children. Never grow up.
So, as we all walk His journey for each of us, another day closer to the finish line to eternal victory, we should all close our eyes and picture our children when they were little. Picture ourselves as little children. And know that this is how our Heavenly Father sees us. Little children. He loves us as little children, holding us close to Him always.
Never grow up.
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