Titus Chapter 2:1-8

​“In all things show yourself to be an example of good deeds, with purity in doctrine, dignified, sound in speech which is beyond reproach, so that the opponent will be put to shame, having nothing bad to say about us.”
Titus 2::7-8, (NASV)

Prayer Over Our Children

Lord, bless my daughter with a mentor who is respected and will set an example by doing what is good. Teach my daughter to possess an encouraging tongue rather then one of slander. Model before her abstinence from self-indulgences or addictions, teaching all good. Train up my daughter to love her husband and children, be self-controlled, pure, and kind while she wisely manages her household. May my daughter also learn to respect and submit to her husband. In the same way, bless my future son-in-law with a mentor; one who sets an example by doing what is good. Teach my future son-in-law integrity, seriousness, and wise speech so that he is above reproach. ...

​Today marks the end of babyhood, forever lost through the growth of inches and gain of pounds. No longer can I fool myself into believing my preschooler is still yet a baby, no longer can I deny that this child born from the womb has now, without question, transformed most definitively into a little girl. For today, I realized I could no longer lift my little girl and hold her close in my arms as I once had.
     
I am not sure how it happened, except I had noticed my lower back beginning to ache and groan. At night, I lay on my bed, complaining of back pain and wondering its source until this afternoon when I hoisted up my long legged little girl into my arms to dance what would be, unbeknownst to me, our last song. As the music swelled and smiles spread over our faces and giggles filled the air, my back suddenly spasmed with a cry and a twinge. She is too heavy for you to hold in your arms, whispered the shocked realization through my brain, which sputtered in protest. Yet, the pain in my back could not be denied and the puzzle suddenly fell into place as to where the source of my recent back pain had derived. 
     
We collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor in one final bow, our swan song – neither graceful or elegant in the least. Yet, our final moment in lifted dance.
     
“Oh, Sweet pea!” I cried with tears in my eyes, hugging her close to my chest, “you are now to big for me to carry!” I kissed her smiling face on both cheeks and tried to keep my tears at bay. “when did you become so big? When did you grow so quickly?”
     
I remember how tiny her little, baby soft body huddled for warmth on my chest as my husband laid her there for the first time, just minutes after her birth. She lay tiny and small, born prematurely but thankfully, so strong despite her early arrival. Her tiny legs didn’t even stretch beyond my chest as she lay there, breathing in the scent of her new mom. I remember those precious moments when premie diapers were too big and fell off and when sleepers sagged in bunches around her sweet, little ankles. Her cute button nose was tinier then a miniature M&M, and her fingers were so small that they couldn’t even grasp the edge of my own finger. She seemed like she would stay premie small forever.
     
Then came the day she filled out her premie onesie and needed to transfer into the new born outfits. Oh! And what cute little outfits we tried on her still tiny frame. Precious, little vera wang flowered booties, soft sleepers with patterned bows, little dresses with flounces and frills. She was even too small for baby tights to fit, but that was okay, she looked adorable and smiled at everyone and everything. 
     
Sweet pea never stopped moving. Although she could not sit up, roll over or raise her head, she wiggled! Her chubby, little legs never stopped kicking and her dimpled arms kept waving. On a soft golden butterfly blanket, she lay on her back, her little head moving from left to right, craning to catch a glimpse of the stuffed bunny who sat to her left. Her arms waved, and her feet kicked, moving to a rhythm of their own. And how I recall those soft, guttural grunts she made – not even yet cries. 
     
Slowly she grew, filling out her first swimsuit that was laden down with a huge waterproof diaper which swelled to half her size. It’s cute ruffled straps culminating in a bow in the back attached to rainbow colored cuteness. Let’s not forget her baby dedication gown that poofed in all lacy and layered sweetness with those round, baby-fat legs sticking out from under her flounces in tiny white tights and her white mary janes peeping through the ruffled folds.
     
How I remember the early days when I danced with Sweet pea in my arms, twirling, leaping, and moving to the music on the radio, lifting up Sweet girl as we flew through the air. Bright eyes sparkling, with wide, open mouthed smile, and gurgling giggles filling my ears. How light she was then! So easy to tuck in the crook of my arms and swing her to the music. She and I have danced with each other from the very beginning, always in my arms as we twirled and spun. Her head would crane to look downward as she watched with wonder at my kicking and leaping legs. 
     
“More, more!” she would say when words began to infiltrate her vocabulary. 
     
Our place and personal dance floor has remained always the kitchen as music blares from the radio beneath the cabinet. 
     
“Down to the river,” blares the radio. Down we dropped and then squat, me holding her tight in my arms so not to drop her, 
     
“Down to the river,” I’d suddenly drop her in my arms as I folded my knees beneath me, “down to the river,” I’d jump up again and repeat the process with Sweet one laughing in delight.
     
“We’re going down to the river to pray,” I’d shimmy her little body back and forth as she squealed and giggled in my arms. 
     
But these days of lifted dance are now gone! I wailed inwardly, it isn’t the same if I can’t hold her! It is true. Our individual dances, side by side, briefly joined in union by our hands, is not the same as the oneness of twirls, dips, and jumps experienced from the cocoon of my arms. Where kisses on plump cheeks and impulsive hugs can be easily attained and accessed from Sweet one perched on my hips, the severe disparity in height and size will not be equalized for many, many more years. Then, one day I will suddenly peer over the expanse of years to find my little girl now staring me straight in the eyes – this time not from my lifted cradlings but from the height of her own two feet.
     
​How can a parent’s heart simultaneously ache for the past yet yearn towards the future? So, bittersweet is this thing called “growing up” with our children. No one ever said it would pull the chords of our heart to want to hang onto the past yet desire to eagerly surge ahead to conquer the next great challenge. Even as I write this blog entry, my eyes fill with tears as I wonder when the last time will be that I will hold my little girl tight in my arms for one final stolen dance, when I can no longer pick her up for that occasional hug, when her legs become too long to wrap around my waist for that brief sacrifice of my back and hips? Today, is the last of our carefree dances when reality and recognition merge to create this new epiphany. Today, is when my mother heart cries out, How long will you remain a little girl? Today, is when tomorrow is goodbye and the future beckons. Today, is when I kiss my baby girl goodbye forever and my little girl hello to stay.

A Parent’s Prayer

Oh God, help me to treasure the past, clutching not so tightly that I block the unfolding rays of the future. And stand in its way Allow me to hold out my hand in loose surrender to the things of which I cannot see or foretell. Help me not be a hindrance but an asset, an encourager, a cheerleader, and a wise counselor for what is to come for my child, my family, and myself. Fix my eyes upon You, oh God, so that I do not stumble. Tune my ears to hear Your guiding, still, soft voice and stay my feet upon Your path so that I do not wander.