Birthday Girl

A bolt of electricity went through me the first time I held her. I didn’t know it was possible to love anyone so much. Then I saw my wife’s open abdomen from the c-section and I nearly fainted.

Her difficult arrival did come with some levity.  During the labor, a nurse asked my wife if she would like to have a mirror wheeled into the delivery room.

“Why would she want a mirror?” I asked naïvely.

“Some mothers want to witness the miracle of birth”, the nurse replied.

At this point, mid-contraction, my wife sat up and hissed “Listen! If God wanted me to see that miracle He would have put my head on my butt!” So many reasons to love my wife.

I have clear memories of calling my parents with the watershed news. This was our first child, and the first of a new generation for the entire family.

Our daughter spent her first four years in Africa. She learned to be flexible. Passed around the market by delighted African mothers? No problem. Carried into the kitchen to be spoiled by African restaurant staff? No problem. Hippo pooping just outside her front door on safari? No problem.

She became resilient in our move from Africa to Belgium. Overnight she went from being outside every day, speaking English, and running with a pack of African children to being indoors, hearing French, and being alone. She would collect rocks on our various outings and pile them by the door. I asked her about it and she said, “Oh dad, these are my friends”. Thankfully, once she made some real friends, the pile reverted to being mere rocks.

Her heart is tender and open. During our years in Washington, DC she became the steady guidance system for her ballistic younger brother and his friends. She loved being close to our extended family, and being friends with people of all stripes and differences.  She enjoys horses, but thankfully she never became a weird horsey girl. Mostly, I think she liked the overnight stay at her aunt’s house beside the horse farm.

Our move to Switzerland has been the hardest for her. But it has propelled her towards adventure and independence. And it has revealed deep courage in her character. In the recent week leading up to her beloved grandfather’s death, she sat at his bedside for long periods just holding his hand. As I watched her do so I asked myself once again: how is it possible to love anyone so much?

[This story is for our daughter on her 17^th birthday. Love you, birthday girl.]

[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]