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Our Oldest Turned Four

Writer's picture: AveryAvery

It's true what they say, that time is a thief. My mind has not caught up with the reality of time that tells me I have a four year old. It's a odd feeling looking at her and thinking, "where has the time gone?" but then also thinking, "I don't remember a time without you." Maybe that's because the person I was before the Lord began sanctifying me with motherhood is long gone and by his grace out of reach. I like to write to my girls. I started with Fern shortly after she was born and I filled one small journal with milestones, letters and prayers. I started my second one for her a few months ago and I although it's getting harder to keep up with I still find myself putting words together here and there in my notes app, my everyday prayer journal, random scratch papers or the disorganized files of my mind. What I wrote for her fourth birthday was one of those times.


As the day gained momentum, getting closer and closer I remember thinking, "instead of putting her face out there for the world to see and celebrate, I want to celebrate her with words." Almost like, creating a visual for those who sit down to read it. Admittedly, we've been trying to limit the exposure of our girls faces on social media so this was the perfect way to open up a celebration of her life on social media while also guarding her.


I worked on this for several days and quite honestly, there is still so much more still in rough draft form. But as October 8th rolled around, this small portion was the part that felt finished. These one hundred and ninety-one words so simply describe Fern while simultaneously describing the paradox of time in motherhood; that time flys and crawls at the same time, that it is in fact a thief.


It is my hope that one day she reads this and can feel the tears running down my face as I wrote it and her heart is warmed by the gratitude that leaps from the words that consumes me. That whether it's her fingers or arms, she can always wrap them around me as I watch her grow into who God made her to be, always remembering who she was when she turned four.


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