Do you ever feel alone, like no one truly sees you? Like you have no value or nothing to offer those around you? I have been there many times; in fact, I am experiencing one of those moments as I write these words in the school pick up line waiting to scoop up my daughter after a day of learning.
As I sit here, I am reminded of a piece I wrote almost 6 months ago about my daughter. When I crafted these words, I zoomed in on her, trying to capture her whole being, exactly as she was. This is how God gazes at us; He focuses in on exactly who we are. He crafted each of us uniquely, loves us because we are His children, and has a plan for each of us.
I invite you to read what I wrote about my daughter and then take a minute to reflect on what God would write about you. How would the loving Creator God describe you? I hope you can see yourself the way God does and lovingly embrace who God created you to be.
Six months ago: The memories of you are like bubbles, floating through the air on a warm, blue sky, cotton candy cloud, spring day. You catch an iridescent bubble and say, “Mommy, look!” I rush across the yard, toes sinking in to the lush green grass, and I arrive just in time to see the rainbow of colors stretched across the soapy bubble. I pause, trying to freeze this moment, trying to remember exactly what that perfectly balanced bubble looks like. As quickly as I memorize it, it’s gone—the memory disappearing before me like the “pop” of the soapy dome. Gone too quickly, I will always cradle these soapy glass ball memories in my heart, balanced and ready to cherish.
I hear your light steps coming down the stairs. It’s too early for me, but for you, you are right on time. Your braided hair is tousled after a night full of dreams about princesses, mermaids, and fairies. Your thick brown eyelashes flutter as your hand instinctively comes up to cover your eyes. The day has barely begun and you are ready to pretend, stuffed animals tucked close to your body. You slide under the pink fluffy blanket and we sit together in the stillness of the morning.
“I can do it!” you triumphantly declare into your kingdom of the kitchen. Your brown eyes dance as you get out your own bread, tossing it onto a plate picked just by you. You plunge the knife into the thick peanut butter and paint the gooey goodness onto the paper of your bread. “I did it!” you pronounce as your mouth spreads into a smile revealing your baby teeth and spreading pure joy from your chin to your cheeks.
Your face darkens. Your brown eyes dishearten as your bottom lip protrudes. You yearn for the book your brother is flipping through, but it’s not your turn. “Remember, you need to find something else to do until your brother is done,” I remind you. You relentlessly trudge to the front room to find another story. This is so difficult for you.
In an instant, you are swept into another show, this time you are a dancer. You and your brother twirl, spin, and leap from the fireplace to the carpet, awaiting the applause from the audience of Mommy. “That was wonderful! Thanks for including your brother this time,” I commend you. Your face beams as you grab Simeon’s hand, ready for a bow. Simeon gazes at you in awe. You are his world; he is happiest with you as the leader.
“Can I have a sucker, Mommy?” you ask with a hopeful look on your face. “Sure, sweetie,” I reply. You pop the blue lollipop in your mouth, lips closing, and eyes round as you fully enjoy this sweet treat. You live every moment to its fullest, savoring each experience; your outlook is contagious, spreading even to me.
Bubbles surround your legs, covering your toys in the warm soapy tub. You plunge mermaids into the deep bathtub sea. A bubble flicks up and perches on your nose. I savor this moment, remembering you will not always want me around. Here we are, together again, cradling bubble memories in our palms.
The lights turn off, immersing us in the purple glow from your unicorn nightlight. Your hair is pulled back in a damp braid, your body stretched out atop your princess sheets. “Rub me, Mommy,” you request into the darkness of your room, music drifting a melody through the air. I lightly rub your arms and legs, as your body settles. I pray over you, reminding you that you are truly God’s creation, His precious daughter, and He has beautiful plans for your life. “Please don’t leave, Mommy,” you beg, pleading for me to stay for one more minute. So I do, breathing in the truth of scripture set to music unfolding before us. I plant a kiss on your forehead, touch the tip of your nose, and whisper, “I love you, Reese.” I love you, too, Mommy,” you whisper. These words are enough to fuel me through the night and into the next day.
As I pass your bathroom, I peer into the bathtub. The bubbles from mermaid adventures are gone, but the bubble memories of you are stored up in my heart and in these words, so we can both savor them forever.
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