And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. – Matthew 18:3
Brooke Joy is a wrecking ball. She dances through people like they’re sky scrapers. She is never self-conscious of her metal personality.
Her inability to fear new heights. Her temper that flares at injustice. Her eyes that find sweet morsels even if she was moving as fast as the flash past them.
The stirring questions she has just been recently able to formulate. I can tell these questions have been saturating in her head long before she was able to voice them.
Her puffy little hand with long delicate fingers that always long to be held and stroked. Those hands reach for me walking down stairs, in the middle of preparing meals, and often in the dead of night while she sneaks into my bed. Always lodging herself between the rays of warmth her dad and I create with our weary bodies. Putting her lips, nose, and eyes directly touching mine.
All my children have taught me love in different aspects. In creative ways you would only learn if you humble yourself to God and his unfathomable way for love- for sacrifice. There is no greater high, intoxication, or joy that could make you feel like this. We run to substance abuse to forget. But children are the exact opposite we run toward a child and smother ourselves in them in hopes we will always remember the details, the little phrases, the things that will disappear within the child as she gets older.
I never want to forget the way Brooke treats art. She focuses in on one particular spot on the paper and holding the pen or whatever medium she chooses. She closely makes little circles and lines with such a purpose. Her face nearly an inch from the master piece she is composing. She has been given a task from her soul to make art that would honor her creator. She doesn’t take it lightly.
I hope I never forget her obsessive need to play with two characters and make them converse. She undoubtedly displays the fact that women are relational from birth. I’ve caught her holding up two pointer fingers going back and forth between the two engaging them in an intimate conversation, her face scrunching and relaxing as the two fingers communicate through her whispers. I could watch these moments forever.
I pray I always remember her uncanny ability to see that there are two sides. Good and evil. When we tell her no candy, or no milk, or no anything really
“No you’re a bad guy!! I want candy”
Most parents would cock there head back and do that thing with widened eyes. Stretching eye balls toward their child and his/ her defiance- filled pout. But for some reason, most times I can’t. Simply because I can’t stop loving Brooke and all that she is. I am not so prideful that I would feel unsuccessful if she talked down to me out of a misunderstanding and I didn’t correct her with a fire.
She is a child. Her view of the world is created by the rules and hierarchy we have set before her to consume. If it is perceived through the morals of a two year old that I am bad when her thought to be innocent, reasonable plan of having her way is shattered. Why would I be mad that she would respond in a way she thinks is appropriate to a seemingly bad person?
I may correct her and say “we don’t always get our way”, or “it’s not okay to talk to mommy disrespectfully”. While I’ll hold her. Stroking her hand in the familiar way she has know since her first breath.
I can’t stop loving Brooke and all her complexity. As for today I will endure the tempers. For with age comes complication, and celebration. I will continue to tuck her in bed covering her in her favorite purple blanket from her mom-mom at one of her first Christmases. As she begs, “talk in my ear, talk in my ear!” And I will tell her the same thing I have told her since her first night on earth, and even some before then.
“You are a gift!”
Happy birthday Brooke Joy
To God be the glory (especially in your life forever.)