Wednesday, August 14, 2013

A love letter to my kindergartener.

Dearest Darling Madeline,

I cannot believe that, in a few short days, you will be taking a deep breath and walking your My Little Pony backpack into kindergarten.  I just cannot.  I cannot imagine you looking around the room for who you will eat lunch with.  Raising your hand to go potty.  Laughing and giggling when Miss Meghan sings a silly song.  

It's hard for me, as your mom, to imagine another grown up influencing you and teaching you.  What if she teaches you something different from what mommy and daddy have taught you?  What if your little kindergarten buddies teach you how to swear in sign language?  What if you accidentally pee your pants and kids laugh at you?  

And also, if I'm being completely honest, I feel like you are the first representative from our weird little family to go public.  What if your dad and I haven't adequately prepared you for your introduction to society?  Like, is there a song or dance or some kind of secret handshake that all the other kids will know and you won't?  Should we have worked on your Spanish or something this summer?  I don't know, kid.  I just don't know.

Please know that every part of my mommy being wants to go all Rapunzel on you and stick you in this house for the next thirteen years.  I really do.  Because you are my babycakes, my darling, and this home is all you've ever known.  I want to wrap my life around your heart so that you don't get hurt, discouraged, or hardened to the beautiful things in life.

But when I lift these concerns to God, I am reminded.  You, darling girl, are not mine.  Your dad and I have said all along that you belong to the One who made you and has called you by name.  And He will be going before you in that classroom, shining forth from your heart, and blessing others through your sparkly blue eyes, your sharing hands, and the kind words you speak so effortlessly.  I know that Jesus will become more and more at home in your heart when you are brave for Him in that classroom.

If we kept you home, the world would be missing out.

If we kept you home, we, as your mom and dad, would be missing out on the chance to see what God can do outside of us.  We would be missing out on the opportunity to talk about hard things and hold you when you cry because you weren't invited to that one girls birthday party and remind you gently that God works everything out for your good and His purpose.

So, this will be hard for you, and it will be hard for me.  But it will be good for you, and it will be good for me.  Just remember that, when you walk into that classroom on the first day, the God who holds us  together will be in your heart.  And mine.  And He will love you and teach you in your kindergarten classroom, and He will love me and teach me in our little yellow house.  And when you come home, we can love each other and teach each other about Love and life and glue sticks and story times.  

Just tell your teacher not to scream if she sees a strange blonde lady peering through the window with binoculars.  It's just your mom.  

I love you darling.