You told me it felt "strange" to be turning seventeen.
Honey, you have no idea.
I remember when you were born, gloating to myself that when you were seventeen,
I'd only be forty.
It seemed so far away.
Then I blinked.
Now, here you stand before me.
A woman. Nearly.
Oh, you still have a ways to go.
But there are days when you appear before me,
discussing Beowolf and Jane Austen,
preparing to teach the Scriptures to your class,
confidently walking down the hall to teach ballet,
cracking jokes over the antics of your siblings,
playing beautiful hymns on the piano,
smoothing the hurt and the strife,
bringing joy and peace into our home,
And God graciously gives me a glimpse of the woman you are becoming,
that you in many ways have become in the last year.
And I am so grateful.
So very grateful that He has allowed me on this wonderful journey,
and allowed me to watch Him shape you and mold you and transform you
and redeem you and summon you by name.
You are His.
Happy Birthday, Beautiful One.
I love you.