Archive for January, 2014

Lit­tle Mabel had a hor­ri­ble, sad moment today, though we aren’t sure what sparked it. But, she was com­plete­ly incon­solable and sad as she cried and pro­nounced through sobs and tears that she just want­ed to go live with Heav­en­ly Father, with her whole body. In mama’s igno­rance, she was ner­vous to have her spir­it leave her body, as I’ve tried to explain in the past, as “death.” Nope, that was­n’t it. She just cried hard­er declar­ing she want­ed to go vis­it Heav­en­ly Father. At that time, I exit­ed, as Dad­dy con­tin­ued to pre­pare her for nap. Dad­dy returned to me soon and told me that those were real, incon­solable tears.

Mabel final­ly slept. An hour lat­er, she came to find us. When dad­dy asked if she felt bet­ter, she said, “Yep. Heav­en­ly Father just took me to Heav­en. He gave me a lit­tle dream.” I prod­ded a bit more, and she said, “I did­n’t real­ly go there, of course, it was just a dream. But, Heav­en­ly Father lead­ed me there.” Mama: “Who did you see?” “Many peo­ple. Many, many peo­ple. They were happy.”

And that was it. So sim­ple, so declar­a­tive. How pure for a child. I’m sure she knows what she saw, and will remem­ber this. For her, I’m sure it holds great impor­tance in her life. The Faith of a Child

I real­ly can’t believe she’s 4. Like, hyper­ven­ti­lat­ing that she’s four years old. I’ve decid­ed that when peo­ple say it goes fast, it’s real­ly after age 2. Because those first two years were real­ly hard for me…

Dear Mabel:

  • You’re hap­py. Real­ly, tru­ly the pure def­i­n­i­tion of happy.
  • You love peo­ple. Any­one, any col­or, any size, any age. You want to talk to them.
  • You are pre­co­cious. I’d nev­er heard that word in my life before your exis­tence, but I’ve com­plete­ly lost track as to how many strangers or oth­er first-time-meet­ings bring out that word.
  • You just want to be with mama. If we go some­where, you just ask to be at home, with mama. To play at home.
  • You have amaz­ing man­ners. You are very in-con­trol of your emo­tions and using words to express exact­ly what you need and how.
  • You have amaz­ing self-dis­ci­pline. I am amazed.
  • I want noth­ing more than to enroll you in Montes­sori school, but I can’t give it to you [right now] and it destroys me inside. I can’t wait until I get to look back and tru­ly under­stand the Lord’s rea­sons for these things.
  • You are loved. By mama and dad­dy, but by so many strangers as well. You tru­ly have a gift.
  • You are spe­cial. You have a pur­pose in this life that is greater than I can know, but I feel it. And I hope I can hon­or you by prepar­ing you for it.