five years

Dear Morgan,

My precious Morgan. You are five years old today. Five! It seems like such a milestone birthday and yet this year has passed as quickly as all the others with just a few more layers added to your already existing personality.

Your loves have grown stronger this year. And although I've mentioned your connection with all things musical in nearly every birthday letter thus far, I'd be remiss if I didn't note the relationship you have with this creative side of yourself. In so many ways you are drawn to structure, instruction, and direction, however when it comes to music, you are incredibly imaginative. Singing your prayers, substituting lyrics, and finding a beat in everything - this is your outlet to originality. I love that you feel the freedom to express yourself in this way. And I'd be lying if I didn't say that I hope you and music continue to have this special bond.

As for the newness of the year, Daddy and I have noticed your shell starting to crack a bit. On a warm day in May, you insisted on keeping your van window down so the breeze could run across your face and mess up your hair. You run and jump and explore so much more spontaneously. I loved watching you play last summer, pumping yourself on the swing and letting it take you higher. Jumping, conquering, discovering. And then there's the inflatable bounce houses. We are still amazed that you enter and jump without reservation, giggling and laughing, your hairline sweaty and cheeks so rosy. With time on your side, it seems as though you are much more able to ease into these adventures.

Not only are you continuing to gain courage to try new things, but also the desire to test the boundaries more than ever before. As a girl who's always been so compliant, this has been difficult for me to accept from you. But I am also learning that a little defiance is a good indicator that when your parents aren't around, you won't be a door mat. That instead, you might speak up when your standards are questioned, share your beliefs when the opportunity presents itself, and rise to the occasion when given the choice between right and wrong.

For now, Andrew is the one you practice on. I watch as you navigate your role as big sister, figuring out how much of the mile you can take if Andrew gives up only an inch, wondering how many of his buttons can be pushed. And yet you thrive as his guide, explaining to him the mechanics of certain toys, helping him with the pronunciation of difficult words, and leading the way through our daily routines. I am certain you will continue to show your love effortlessly to your newest sibling later this year.

Your growth spurts are much more obvious to me now. In one meal, you polished off more than Daddy, and after dessert, asked for something else to fill your belly. While you've become more selective in your choices, you are definitely still a celebrated eater, putting away berries and melon, pineapple and pears, just like candy. It's no wonder that in this year alone, you've grown nearly three inches.

The transformations haven't just been physical. The rate at which your brain is absorbing information is astonishing, although I'm not surprised considering how aware you are of your surroundings. I think that goes hand-in-hand with your cautiousness - you're not so quick to jump into conversations, but instead sitting back to make incredible observations. If I remember correctly, on the second day of preschool you shared that another girl's socks were the same as the pair you had at home in the dresser. Just last week as we were buckling into the van, you noticed a new bag of fertilizer in the corner of our cluttered garage. The questions are constant, always noticing something new, out of place, or different than usual.

Even though the day is nearly over, and another year is in the books, those memories from five years ago still come easy. The phone call to your Grandma M, the anticipation in the hospital, the quick delivery, the feeling of a new life. Recently someone used the image of a baby in the womb as a metaphor for the ultimate way to abide in another person, specifically how Christ would love for us to abide in Him. That picture has stuck with me all week as something to strive towards. And that is my desire for you, Morgan. That this Jesus you are constantly learning about remains central in your world. That you abide in and depend on Him throughout your lifetime.

Soon after your birth, a friend burned a copy of Sara Groves' album Station Wagon for me to enjoy. I listened to it endlessly for the first year of your life, and now that music is forever etched into me, just as you will forever have a home in my heart. Someday you, too, will appreciate the sentiments sung in that album, the passion for motherhood, the love for your child and the realization that while precious and new, she will grow, change and become her own person.

The baby, toddler, and preschool years are officially behind us. There will come a time, Morgan, when more often than not, you and I will not be looking at the same map. You may see a path that's more appealing while I'll see one that seems more sensible. But I want you to know, I will do my best to accept that you might choose a different route than what I had dreamed for you. You will let go of my hand. When that happens, don't forget to turn and look over your shoulder - I will always be there in the distance. Waving, doing my best to smile, and whispering a prayer.

God has matched you with Daddy and I. And while your dependence on us is still quite necessary, we realize that this won't always be the case. You are flourishing. We are grateful. And we love you dearly.

Happy birthday, Morgan Grace.

All my love,
Mom