Letters to My Daughter

My Lively, Joyful Girl,

You are almost 6 years old and I haven’t written you any letters yet. I’ve wanted to many times, but until tonight I didn’t have the perfect first message for you.

What a joy you are to all of us, sweet Elizabeth Esther Hope. Our strong shining star of hope. That’s what your name means. You are full of life and energy and you are the completion of our little family.


Tonight we were praying together for some members of our church Community Group. Sweet, amazing people with real heart-wrenching needs. Circumstances that can only be altered by a miracle. Loss of pregnancies for one. Unanswered questions, waiting for a diagnosis for a child for another. Yet one more, standing with a husband whose wife has left him and there is a sweet little girl caught in the middle of another broken home. The circumstances would overwhelm us if it wasn’t for faith. Faith in a loving God whose number one character trait is: Good.  Sometimes it’s the only anchor we can cling to.

I can talk like this with you. We have had countless similar conversations. Even though you are not quite 6 yet. Because you have had to grow up faster than I wished. Faster than I ever dreamed.

When I was praying for our loved ones, you (as always) noticed my tears. You kept asking me, “Are you almost crying?” I kept answering, “Yes, Sweetheart. Tonight I am.” And then you did an incredibly thoughtful thing. You held up your tiny palm and told me to blow. You had me take five deep breaths and blow on your palm. So I could calm down.

Just like I have had you do on my palm ever since you were 2. Ever since your brother was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Ever since our world never looked the same again.

I’m sure I will never understand what it is like being the sibling of someone with a chronic disease like you do. I will never understand what you have gone through listening to the cries, screams and terrors of your brother as he faces his fears. In the early days, Daddy would take you to the park so you didn’t have to hear what was going on. Now you just cover your ears, and then find a quieter place to play your worship music and dance (after blowing on my palm 5 times so you can calm down). I’m so thankful you can do that. Sweetheart, what a gift from God! You know exactly where to go in time of need!!

Tonight, after I blew on your sweet little hand 5 times in a row to stop crying, you looked at me with your wise eyes and said, “Momma, it’s ok. Remember when I told you I would have Diabetes too so Georgie wouldn’t be alone? It’s ok.” It was as if your sharing would help everyone we just prayed for. I wonder if you would take on everyone’s brokenness for the sake of their wholeness. In my heart of hearts I think you would.

You, my darling Miracle Girl are the unsung hero of our family.

I know you are young for this, but we just finished watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. You never batted an eye or questioned a thing. You told me that Sam was your favorite. And I know why. Because whether we like it or not, you are the Sam to our Frodo. We try to keep the burden from you whenever and however possible, but the fact is that Georgie carries a heavy weight at times. And you. You carry George. I’ve seen it time and time again.

You are so unique, beautiful girl. So strong and so wholesome. So determined to contribute your beauty to the world, our family, your brother.

I admire you. I love you. I thank God for you. Your Dad and I (and your whole family and extended family and well shoot…everyone who knows you!!!) will do everything we can to support you and give you the love and attention you need.

I prayed and prayed for a little girl. After 4 boys and a miscarriage….And here you are. Shining bright. Bringing strength. Giving Hope.

As only you can.


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