Renee Emerson

Goldilocks, ladybug girl, my three year old, you are easy-going, a sweet quiet-spirit, a peace-maker and nurturer. You bring so much joy and laughter to our home! The day we brought you home from the hospital, to the falling-down rental farmhouse, lonely in the pastures, I sat on the bed, laid you down, looked at your smallness. your daddy fell asleep on the couch in the living room, and you started crying, and I was terrified. Before you, I’d only held a baby once or twice, a minute or two. Before you, I’d never changed a diaper, made a bottle, bathed a baby. Then I became your mommy and changed forever. How have I possibly been entrusted with such sweetness? I can’t help but feel like Moses at the burning bush, telling God I can’t do this and him telling me that I don’t have to, that He will. I pray always that God will make me able to shepherd you, to love you like He loves you, to teach you of his love for you. I’m thankful that I’ve been given the gift of raising you, and I’m happy to celebrate you, funny little blondie—with your story-telling and ballet dancing, dimples and delicate hands. Let’s eat cake!