Keilani's a Third Grader

The sun beat down upon our heads as we walked slightly uphill towards the elephants. I peered over at Keilani and saw the beads of sweat pop up on her forehead. We were at the Fort Worth Zoo for the "last day of school field trip" and it was hot. We were the last of the pack and I was enjoying some one on one time with Keilani. She smiled up at me when she realized I was staring at her.

"You don't have school tomorrow."

Keilani answered cheerfully, "Nope."

"Guess what that means?"

"Uh.... what..."

"You're a third grader!"

Just then she smiled that smile that completely melts my heart. She smiled that smile that makes being a mom worth it all. And abruptly, in some sentimental "mom" moment, my eyes filled with tears.

"When did you get so big?"

Entertaining my emotional moment, Keilani softly answered, "I dunno..."

Feeling a little silly, I smiled at her then wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

A wide eyed, feeling-big Keilani immediately perked up, "Can I wipe your tears for you?"

We both sort of giggled sheepishly at the humor in the moment, not because it was awkward, but because I’m just TOO sentimental. I mean, it isn’t like she's entering Kindergarten! It is just the last day of second grade!

Keilani reached up to wipe my tears and I snuck a kiss on the top of her sun beaten head. It was one of those sweet moments that can't be duplicated and words can't accurately describe.

I simply love being a mom.

Here are some pictures of the day's events.

Keilani's class.


Look at the...

Gorillas!!



North Cities Christian Academy 2006-07

Who can...

...wipe a tear that does not fall?

I have been sorting through the "not-sure-if-I-will-ever-need-this-again-so-I-better-save-it-for-later" piles that have accumulated in, on, and around my desk over the last two semesters. It is absolutely amazing, and I'm talking nearly Guinness World Record kind of amazing, how much paper can be tucked away in this little desk!

While attempting to condense the piles, I ran across a devotional book, A Sensational Life, by Paula White, I had impulsively bought off the clearance table at the North American Ladies Conference last August. Instantly, a smile plastered across my face as I easily accessed the memories of laughter and friendships strengthened at that life changing, mind altering conference. It was just what I needed, when I needed it.

As I leaned back in my chair smiling at the memories, almost as if they happened yesterday, I opened up the book and glimpsed through its pages. Honestly, I have only read a few pages of this book, but every page seems to be just what I need, when I need it.

Today I read, "Who can wipe a tear that does not fall?"

It isn't that I feel like crying today, that certainly would not be the case. But on a day when everything feels "okay" it feels good to be reminded that I need my friends. I need my friends when I'm up, and I need my friends when I'm down.

But as I read and my memories took me back to that time with my friends, I wasn't thinking of tears of sorrow. I was thinking of tears of laughter... intense laughter. Belly aching, side piercing, can’t breathe kind of laughter. Those memories can that still makes me laugh - even if I am all. by. myself.

I love that kind of laughter.

So go ahead and laugh... laugh until it hurts. Laugh until you cry! But don't worry about wiping those tears away... those are the kind of tears to enjoy.

Keilani - the Bible Quizzer

Words cannot express the intense pride I feel as I look at this picture taken last night as my seven-year-old "baby girl" stood and quoted from the book of Ruth in front of the church.

She has memorized 158 verses. That's right. 158 verses. She has 9 more to go before she has memorized all of her material for the year.

People have asked me, "Is she a good quizzer?" I sweetly answer, "Well.... she freezes at the buzzer. But she knows her stuff."

And she really does know her stuff. She can reference almost all of her material correctly - on the first try. She can quote her material forward and backward. Literally. Without help. Without any "hints" she can rattle off over 100 verses without getting stuck. And whether or not she ever steps up at the buzzer, she has truly hidden the Word of God in her heart. And isn't that what it is all about?

When she fights a Goliath in her life, she can quote, "...thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of Lord of hosts..."

Or if she struggles with loyalty she can quote from Ruth, "Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me."

Or if she struggles with faithfulness or obedience she can quote scriptures about Noah, or Joseph, or Moses...

The Word of God is powerful, and my "baby girl" has memorized more of it than I ever have, and probably ever will.

She won a second place trophy at this year's retreat. They were quizzed in an individual manner so she didn't feel the pressure of sitting behind a buzzer and in front of a crowd of nervous parents and coaches. That trophy has sat on her desk at school ever since. It means so much to her in a "game" that she thinks she's "not any good at." But she is measuring her talent in trophies and ribbons and man's applause. It is my job, and Kevin's job, and those who love her most of all, to teach her that our worth cannot be measured by the things we see, but that our worth can only come from God. And He is proud of her. When the trophies and ribbons of this world get shoved into a box and placed in an attic, God's love will be still be "hidden" in her heart.

She has won a first place trophy in my heart. She has worked hard. Harder than I ever imagined she would.

My "baby girl" is not a baby any more. And as tears stream down my cheeks and pride grows in my heart, I realize that she is carving out a path for herself as another chapter in her life is not closing, but beginning.

She is a Bible Quizzer. She might not have brought home a hand full of trophies and ribbons, but she has placed in her heart the Word that will one day be her anchor.

APB on the Sock Monster

Dear Blog World,

Has anyone seen the Sock Monster?

I mean, we are all logical people here, right? Well, maybe I should only speak for myself, but the last time I checked, socks are not people. Socks, simply put, are not alive. They are after all, just that, socks. They may cover feet, but they do not own feet. They can not get up and walk away. Right?

So where do they go?

And why do they go alone?

I believe it just may very well be a conspiracy created by Walmart to get us to buy more socks.

Apparently, the Sock Monster lives in my neighborhood and frequently stops by my daughter's room. Or perhaps the Sock Monster is a bit like Santa - every where watching everything. Oh wait... that's Jesus.

Well, y'all know what I mean.

Frankly, I find the Sock Monster to be quite rude.

If anybody knows who the Sock Monster is, please slap it upside the head and ask it to return my daughter's socks. Thank you very much.


Sincerely,

A Concerned Mother

P.S. All the socks shown are clean. The pink and blue sock was used on the trampoline. Keilani has designated trampoline socks but maybe she forgot. Maybe it’s all a part of the Walmart conspiracy, or perhaps they were simply eaten by the Sock Monster. Either way, I think I’m going to buy my daughter some Crocs. I hope there is not a Croc Monster!

Alone in Paris

Fifty-eight days from now, I will find myself alone… for two days… in Paris.

For two days I will be in a country in which I speak maybe 20 words of the language. For two days I will do whatever it is that I want to do. Selfishness will be 100% permitted. I will eat where I want and see what I want. For two days... in a place where nobody will know me. Or even care to know me. I can talk, or not talk. I will have no cell phone. No computer. No connection to the world in which I know.

At first I didn’t want to go, but when I asked my friends in a panic stricken decision mode, “What should I do? Should I go to Paris?”

Dumbfounded, they screamed, “Uh…Yes!”
And they are right, how could I pass an opportunity to go to Paris, even if I will be all. by. my. self. So I extended my layover on my flight home from Casablanca and will spend 2 days and 2 nights in Paris.

Initially, my nerves shook like an unbalanced load of towels during the spin cycle of a washing machine at the thought of being alone in a country that is unfamiliar in sight, sound, and culture. I don’t do “alone” well in America, why would I want to do “alone” in France? I never even had a desire to go to Paris. My dreams always took me to some ocean with warm water and a sunset to die for. I could, and have, and continually desire to do “alone” on some beach, any beach. It is a comfort when faced with a cold and heartless world. And I will have that - our apartment in Morocco is moments away from the shores of the Atlantic. But of course, I’m not crazy, I wouldn’t mind going to Paris, it just hasn’t been my top destination of choice.

Especially alone.

Let me reiterate. I don’t do alone. Ever. Not shopping. Not eating. Not even sitting in church. I don’t like being alone. Alone is loneliness to me.

But the more I thought about it, the more I began to buy into the concept of being alone. Especially in Paris.

For two days I will be where nobody knows me. Nobody. I can disappear within myself for those two days. Disappear within my thoughts. Hide away from my insecurities. Nobody will know my fears. There will be nobody to impress. I can be who I want to be, when I want to be, how I want to be. I can be confident, and outgoing. Or I can be quiet and inward.

Maybe alone doesn’t have to be lonely after all. Maybe I need to be alone. Maybe I can take those two days and reacquaint myself… with myself. For two days I want to be the person I wish I could be. Confident. Assured. I don’t want to care what people think. Whether they like me, or not. And why should I care. Nobody will know me. They certainly won't see me again. I will have no responsibilities except to make it on the flight back home… in two days.

Two days alone in Paris.

I can’t wait.

Wordless Wednesday

Toothless, Chubby Rolls...

I know I seem to be stuck on the "toofless" topic, but I just have one more thing to say before I lay it to rest.

My friend, Staci, just sent me an adorable picture of her niece, who like Keilani, lost a top front tooth. My first reaction was, "Awwwwwww..." Then it hit me, smack dab in the middle of my "Awwwwwww..." I think I may have even wondered aloud, "What is it that makes loosing teeth so cute, and at what age does it stop being cute?"

A little background for you. I moved from the beautiful island paradise of Hawaii to the corn fields of Indiana. The second thing I noticed when I moved to Brookville, population 2,500, which I still honestly believe includes the cows, was that too many people walked around missing teeth, and seemingly happy about it. (The first thing I noticed was how incredibly cold it was for the month of October!) I remember thinking, "It's either the water or all this corn!" My biggest fear was this - never meeting a man who had his own teeth!" (By the way, Kevin has all his own teeth. Thank you very much.)

I can also still remember, like it was yesterday, doing a puppet show with our church at the local nursing home. A very elderly man stood, approached the puppet stand, took Lambchop by the neck and gave her a big smooch. In doing so, his teeth flew to ground like a runaway denture nightmare! And I distinctly remember that I did NOT say, "Awwwwwww, how sweet is that!"

And what about chubby thighs? Keilani had some chubby thighs. Oh, how I loved to pinch those legs! And all her rolls! She was a fat little thing, and the cutest baby I have ever seen! But when I look in the mirror, and I see my thighs, and my rolls, my first thought is NOT, "Oh how cute am I!"

What about balding? Seriously. A bald baby is a cute baby. And sure there are some men who may look good bald, but honestly, the only women who think that are the women who don’t want to narrow their options! And are the same ones who are doing all they can keep their teeth, and to loose those chubby thighs and rolls!

I usually try to end these posts on a spiritual note. But I just don’t think that’s possible. Not one saintly thought comes to mind, except, “Come and dine, the Master’s calling, come and dine.” Notice - cute or not, you need teeth to dine (well, it's very helpful anyway). And this thought also promotes fat thighs and rolls. So instead I’ll end with this - may you always have your own teeth and keep all your own hair. And may the only fat thighs and rolls you own be on your dinner plate.

What The Tooth Fairy Left Behind

My morning started out quite normal. I rolled over and moved a pillow out of my line of sight so I could see the red lights of the digital clock tell me it was 6:18. I had another 5 minutes or so before I had to crawl out of bed, make my way down the hall, peek through the window of Keilani's "house" and wake her up. She was quite easy to awaken today. "Did the tooth fairy visit?"

Typical for my non-morning child, she sloooowly turned her head to face the ceiling. With a pile of gorgeous brown hair completely covering her face, she reached up with her left hand to create breathing space. Then she slooooowly, without opening her eyes, felt beneath her pillow. Devoid of sound, she pulled out an envelope and held it high in the air. Still somewhat resembling Cousin It with hair strewn about her face, she shook her head left to right indicating that the tooth fairy did not come.

"Look inside the envelope, Keilani."

Slooooowly, she opened the envelope, still sealed (the tooth fairy switched envelopes of course), and she located two dollar bills. Still no noise. But I could somewhat make out a huge grin beneath that heap of hair that silently screamed, "Yay!"

The sweetest part about the story is this - After Keilani finally got moving and peeled her night gown off and slipped her uniform on, she wallowed her way toward me and handed over one of her dollars.

Inquisitively I asked, "What’s this for?"

She smiled with that "toofless" grin which earned her the two dollars to begin with, and quietly spilled, "Me and you can buy an ice cream together."

One dollar doesn't seem like much, but that moment was priceless.

She continually wins me over with her sincerity, and her innocence makes just about every wall within me begin to crumble. These are the moments that make being a mom feel good.

We'll be listening for the Ice Cream Man today as he rounds the corner in his big white truck, music blaring for all to hear. I'll get something chocolate, and she'll get something vanilla. And then we'll enjoy each other's company. She'll enjoy the ice cream and how good it feels to share. And I'll enjoy another moment of making memories with the sweetest child I know.

Sometimes the Tooth Fairy merely leaves behind money for the one who lost the tooth. This time the Tooth Fairy left behind a beautiful memory.

Toofless...

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

Happy Mother's Day

Look closely at the detail of a last minute note from my daughter on our way out the door for church this morning. This reminds me of my grandmother's favorite song. We sang it for her every Mother's Day.

Handful of Weeds

Four years old, with dirt on my face

I've been out in the yard picking dandelions all day

I burst through the front door when I gathered enough

To give to my mom to show her my love

And when I held out my hand, she looked down at me

She said, "I've never seen flowers as beautiful as these."

She's the one who told me about Jesus

She's the one that taught me to sing

She deserves an armful of roses

But she's satisfied with a handful of weeds

Now that I'm older and out on my own

I wish I could find more time to make it back home

I could have done better, I know in my heart

Than to scribble a note on a last minute card

And then she calls on the phone and the first thing she says,

"I've read this card over and over again"

She's the one who told me about Jesus

She's the one who taught me sing

She deserves an armful of roses

But she's satisfied with a handful of weeds

Inang (my grandma), Me, Keilani, and my mom.

Mother’s Day on Friday

For so long, Mother’s Day was the hardest day of the year for me. Desperately wanting to be a mom, I was painfully reminded (at least) once a year that I was a failure (that's how I felt anyway). I wanted so badly to be a mom.
We did eventually adopt and God has blessed us with the gift and responsibility of parenthood. And now, after being a mom for seven and a half years, with Mother's Day just around the corner, I can still easily remember the heart wrenching agony of not being a mom.

Although Mother’s Day is not until tomorrow, yesterday felt like Mother’s Day to me. When I picked up Keilani from school, she excitedly handed me a gift bag and a card. I wanted to wait for Sunday but she would have no part in that and insisted profusely until I began to remove the white tissue paper from the bag. In it was a bottle of perfume and a card written with beautiful cursive saying, “I love you mom.” It melted my heart and I could see the anticipation of my reaction in her eyes. I held her tight and told be I loved her too.

Upon arriving home, I saw a long box sitting in my door way. I parked the car and Keilani scurried to see who it was from. I carried the box in the house and proceeded to open it. Twelve beautiful roses and a box of chocolates stared back at me. I opened up the card and a lump immediately appeared in my throat. It was from my pastor and his wife thanking and recognizing me for being a minister’s wife. Humbled, and surprised, I just stood there and stared at their beauty. Keilani’s voice brought me back to the present, “Well, that was sweet of them!” I simply replied, “Yes, it most certainly was.”

We go to a large church, and I absolutely love it. (It would take God coming back to earth, standing before me in the flesh, telling us to be missionaries to Hawaii for me to want to move again). And although I love our church, and we have the best pastor and pastor’s wife anyone could ever ask for, I must admit, because of its size, I feel a bit lost at times. My husband is on the ministry team, but he is a quiet man. He does some of the work that nobody else wants to do and doesn’t complain. He doesn’t ask for or want recognition, and he doesn’t brag. Most people don’t know what he does, other than the fact that he works a lot of hours. He doesn’t ask for pulpit time, or to be put in charge of anything. He just does anything and everything his pastor and any other minister asks him to do. He truly has a servant’s heart, and I love him for that. But where that puts us is in the back ground, not noticed very often. So when I opened up these gorgeous roses, it reminded me that they know who I am. If I was ever won over by my pastor and his wife, it was in that very moment. Not because they bought me flowers, but because I know they also bought flowers for all the other minister’s wives who are mom's, who I am sure, at least from time to time, must feel the same way as I do.

I placed the flowers next to Keilani’s gift bag and card, and we began “construction” in her room. A few hours later, Kevin came home and stepped under Keilani’s door frame smiling, holding a vase filled with a dozen beautiful red roses and a card.

Needless to say, I felt very spoiled. It was Mother’s Day on Friday. Three presents from some of the people who mean the most to me. My daughter, who without her I could not celebrate being a mom. My pastor and his wife, in whom I respect without barriers - they teach far beyond the titles in their names, but with the actions of their love. And from my hard-working, handsome husband, who I just can’t possibly brag enough about.

And how could a Mother's Day post be complete without talking about my mom. My mom raised me and my older brother as a single parent, working two jobs to make sure we never went without anything. To this day she would give the "shirt off her back" not just for us, but anyone in need. When Keilani was born, my mom moved from California to Indiana so she could be close to her only grandchild. And I know our move to Texas away from her has been difficult for her. The thing that stands out the most to me about my mom is that I know, I truly know, she loves me. I wish I could spend tomorrow with you, Mom. I love you, too.

Although I am now a mom, my heart still breaks for those who aren’t, but desporately want to be, and also for those who no longer have their mom with them to celebrate on Mother's Day. And I am still amazed by the emotions a single day can bring. For all of you who are mothers, Happy Mother’s Day. And for all of you who aren’t but want to be, and for those who will celebrate this day without your mom, I won’t minimize your pain, and I’m praying for you.

Progress

“The House” is coming along just fine. I carefully drew in a window and door while Keilani supervised. And then Keilani took a picture of me using a knife to cut out the window. Next, Keilani traced over my pencil lines with a black Crayola marker, and adorned the front of the house with dark green grass and colorful flowers.

We placed some self adhesive hooks on the inside of the window to hold up a curtain rod (which is actually a stick borrowed from the Canadian flag we bought the last time we were in Toronto.) Then we picked out some purple and white gingham material from my fabric stash. The curtains are not sewn as of yet, but they are in place for the night.

Next we constructed the roof. We alternated black and brown construction paper held in place by Elmer’s. Keilani let me know that it “looks like checkers, but that’s okay.”

Tomorrow we will build a chimney and place the mail box in its proper location. We will also do a little wall papering (“contact papering” to be exact). We also need to create rooms – like a bathroom and a living room. Keilani suggested drawing them on construction paper and cutting them out. Seems logical to me.

So far, it has been a fun project. I don’t know how long the house will be draped over her bed, perhaps all summer. As Staci so eloquently stated, this may very well be the “Summer of the Box.” But regardless of how long the house remains in place, these memories have been forever etched into our minds.

Keilani thinks I’m cool for helping her build a house. And I think she’s inventive for turning ordinary boxes into an imaginary world. Truly my child is a day dreamer. Some days those dreams get her trouble. Like in the middle of a school day! It’s so hard to concentrate when her mind runs rampant with creative juices! But I can count on one hand how many times she has said, “I’m bored.” She can almost always find something to do.

Whether she is making up a song on the piano, building a city with her toys, or some rocks and a pile of leaves for that matter, or creating a home out of a box, her imagination runs untamed. There are many things I love about Keilani, but this may be one of the things I admire the most. The ability to get lost in a world of make believe. The ability to be a child is beautiful to me…

I’ll take more pictures when construction is finished. I'm not sure I’ll be able to look at a cardboard box the same again! And I’ll be sure that the next time I declutter, this box will be safe and sound.

What we have done so far.

The Box

The look on her face said it all. Guilt rushed over me like water at Niagra Falls. She approached me choking back tears, fingers nervously intertwined, fearing my words. She steadied her voice and politely inquired, "Mom, have you seen the brown box?"

How could I have not seen the brown box? That was the point! She had a big cardboard box, almost half the size of her bed, sitting on the floor right as you entered her room! Okay, it was artistically converted into her "house" but still, there was a BOX... that was getting on my nerves!

She had adorned it with a mail box, flowers, a living room, and yes, even a bathroom. When she brought me into her room to see her creation, she proudly exclaimed, "Every house needs a bathroom, Mom!" She can be pretty imaginative with a box of Crayola markers and some pencils.

Earlier that day, during a spurt of decluttering, I threw out the box. I knew she would be upset, but I thought, "Really, how upset could she be? It's just a box!" I know, I know. What harm was that box really doing? It wasn't in my room!

Keilani had somehow grown attached to her box. It wasn't just any old box, well, at least it wasn't after Keilani’s inventive imagination took hold of it. She made that cardboard box “home” for an untamed imagination, which is something all parents crave, isn't it?

Well, that was a few weeks ago... fast forward to today...

My friends, Mike and Staci, just moved into their new house (which is gorgeous by the way) and bought a new refrigerator. After a lengthy explanation of how I felt terrible for throwing away the box, Staci kindly agreed that Keilani could have the box their new fridge would come it.

Here it is.
It is HUGE.

Her other box was not nearly this big. You have to understand, Keilani had been sleeping half in/half out of the other box, and one of the reasons why I finally threw it out was because she was laying on the floor in her sleeping bag night after night, right next to a perfectly good bed!

And now, I have traded in a small box (all things relative) for a HUGE box.

As you can see I have draped it over her bed, so now she can sleep in her "house" and still be on her mattress. She can redraw the bathroom and the living room on the inside. And the blue prints this time are calling for a roof, a window with curtains, and perhaps shutters and some wall paper too.

Yes, folks. This is what guilt can do for a seven-year-old.

I have a feeling I know what we'll be working on this weekend...

My Beloved

A Beautiful Guam Sunset

I sat down in the office and rolled the little red ball on my mouse to fade away the screen saver. I wasn’t really sure why I sat down, habit I suppose. I hadn’t planned on emailing anyone, and I wasn’t in the mood to blog. What I was really craving was some quiet time with God. I felt drawn to sit in the dark and shut out the distractions of the day. But I didn’t do anything but maneuver that little red ball on my mouse.

Within a few moments I stumbled across a link to an artist, Kari Jobe, and the song, My Beloved. Both name and title were unfamiliar, and curiosity caused me to follow the link. Within the first few words, I knew He was speaking to me. His presence swept through the room and I sat very still and listened to these words…

You’re my beloved, you’re my bride
To sing over you is my delight
Come away with me my love

Under my mercy come and wait
‘til we are standing face to face
I see no stain on you my child

You’re beautiful to me
So beautiful to me
I sing over you my song of peace
Cast all your cares down at my feet
Come and find your rest in me

I’ll breathe my life inside of you
I’ll bear you up on eagle’s wings
And hide you in the shadow of my strength
I’ll take you to my quiet quarters
I’ll restore your soul
Come rest in me and be made whole

You’re my beloved
You’re my bride
To sing over you is my delight
Come away with me my love

Come away with me my love

The melancholy in me craves music when I pray. And this song spoke to my spirit.

We really do serve an awesome God who knows exactly where we are and exactly how we feel. Truly, He is a faithful Friend, and I love Him.

Just In Case You Ever Wonder

I sat in my cozy black leather chair in the used-to-be school room and dissected the evening. I was wishing to have done things a little differently, wishing to have had more patience, and silently praying for wisdom as a mom. It was just one of those times when being “mom” wasn’t fun.

Keilani slipped into the room and stared at me. We smiled at each other. She busted out with a “Hi!” She, just like a seven-year-old, had already tucked the day’s events away deep within her mind, not forgotten, but filed away. She took a few steps into the room and hugged me. Over my shoulder she eyed a tall blue children’s book nestled within some papers on a bookshelf I mainly reserve for reference books. On its cover is a little girl hugging her daddy while they ponder up at the moon. Keilani slipped off my lap, grabbed the book, and sat at my feet.

“This is my book?”
“Yep.”

I explained that it is my favorite children’s book so I keep it near me to pull out on special occasions. I crinkled my nose and squinted at her, “Will you read it to me?”

She giggled at the thought of reading me a children’s book, but quickly agreed, “Suuuuure…”

As she sweetly read the words, I swallowed back the lump that developed in my throat. I was instantly taken back to the memories of preparing to tell my testimony at my local church a few years ago. Everybody has a story of God’s mercies, and my story is one of how God took a child from devastating circumstances and pulled her (me) out of a pit of self destruction and onto a path of helping others who have been through similar situations. Truly we serve a God who uses for good what Satan meant for evil.

You see, I opened and closed my testimony with words from this book. This book may be a book written for a child, but no matter our age, we will never outgrow words that communicate reassurance and unconditional love. Never.

So I picked up Keilani and scooped her long and lanky body onto my lap to hug her close. I reminded her that I will always love her. She squeezed me back, not truly understanding the significance of a moment that was just forever etched into my memory.

These are some of the words from the book, Just in Case You Ever Wonder, by Max Lucado.

Long, long ago God made a decision, a very important decision… one that I’m really glad He made. He made the decision to make you. The same hands that made the stars made you. The same hands that made the canyons made you. The same hands that made the trees and the moon and the sun made you. That’s why you are so special. God made you.

…If you looked all over the world, in every city in every house- there would be no one else like you… no one with your eyes, no one with your mouth, no one with your laugh. You are very, very special.

… but as you grow and change, some things will stay the same. I’ll always love you. I’ll always hug you. I’ll always be on your side. And I want you to know that… just in case you ever wonder.

Remember I’m here for you. On dark nights when you hear noises in your closet, call me. When you see monsters in the shadows, call me. On hard days when kids are mean and don’t treat you like they should, come to me. If your grades are bad and your teacher is mad, come to me… ‘cause I love you. And I always will, just in case you ever wonder.

Most of all, I’ll be here to teach you about God. He loves you. He protects you. He and His angels are always watching over you. And God wants me to make sure you know about heaven. It’s a wonderful place. There are no tears there. No monsters. No mean people. You never have to say “good-bye,” or “good night,” or “I’m hungry.” You never get cold or sick or afraid.

In heaven you are so close to God that He will hug you, just like I hug you. It’s going to be wonderful. I will be there, too. I promise. We will be there together, forever. Remember that… just in case you ever wonder.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Morocco - this summer's vacation plan...


We'll stay in Casablanca...


And visit Fez...

And Marrakech.

I. Am. So. EXCITED!