Raising My Replacement

That's what Husband calls the big picture that is this child-rearing adventure. We're all raising our replacements.

I'm raising mine and the world will be better off when she takes her place. Let me tell you, it is so incredibly humbling.

This little girl isn't so little anymore.

She can play Bach on her violin and uses Wolfhardt to practice her scales. She is the youngest member of her orchestra. She uses more music theory than I can remember from my days as a music student. She is a critical musician and works hard to perfect her efforts.

She can sew and knit. She knows about needle size and yarn weight. She has made purses and baby sweaters, and is always learning more by self-study via a magazine or free pattern handout at the craft store. I can only cast on; and my needles never go clickety-click.

This young girl walks with more confidence than I did at her age -- or maybe any age. She sees what the other girls are doing and wearing, and she wants to be rescued from popularity's lure. She thanks me later when I politely deny her permission to wander the mall with the kind girls from church. She quietly questions me about how her peers can feel comfortable wearing the clingy, skin-revealing clothes that they do. And then she finds a pattern for a floor length flared skirt and can't wait to make a whole wardrobe from it!

And this young girl -- while not perfect -- is so much more forgiving than me at times. I come from a family mentality of, "Get it right or I'll hold your feet to the fire until you do." It was especially true if you were a service worker. So it was a big deal in my book when, the other day, she started poking the bottom of her Starbucks' creme-based caramel frappacino with her straw and it sounded kind of crunchy. I asked her if her frappacino was still ice at the bottom? She acknowledged that it was. I said I was sorry. She sweetly replied, "Oh, that's ok. That worker was new."

At other times I've watched her stand and suffer injustice and disappointment on her own two feet planted firmly on the solid Rock. At times she's even had her wits about her to reach out and pull me ashore spiritually; I'm learning that it is so hard to loosen the apron strings and let her experience the grace of her Savior through the suffering He has planned for her. But I'm learning it anyway.

This child young woman can buckle down and be studious. She can devour a book in a few hours that will take me weeks to read. She likes to invent virtuous girls and place them in beautiful places for delightful stories.

She is thoughtful and compassionate and sober. And she is 11. Here she is being 11--and not a minute older. Praise the Lord!