To My Almost-Nine-Year-Old

Oh Claire, I keep telling you that soon you'll be up to my knee.

But then you just grin and say, "Mooommmm!" and I realize that you are up to my shoulder, and that I don't have any idea when that happened.

Claire, you are so bright and beautiful. You are this beautiful paradox, full of quiet creativity and an iron will. I love watching you grow in wisdom and stature. You still surprise me every day.

You love to draw, and you are really good at it. You love to sketch people most of all, and you have been working so hard to get better at drawing faces. You have music in you as well - you can sit at the piano and pick out a familiar tune or make up a brand new song. You don't love the process of learning to play new songs by sight - you still shy away from things that are challenging up front - but in the end you can always get it right. You played the piano and violin in your first recital this year and if you were nervous, I couldn't tell.

There have been many days when I have said, "What would I do without Claire?" You can read a situation, read people, read me especially. You can tell when I am overwhelmed and often step in however you can to help. The other day you could tell I was getting a little close to an emotional ledge and without saying a word you went over to the computer and turned on the song "O the Deep Deep Love of Jesus." When you returned I smiled at you and you said, "I thought you might have needed that."

The things that bother you the most are the things that seem the most unfair to you. This is a recurring theme in your life, and so I am convinced that it is the way God wired you. While it is exhausting at this season to live in a house with an almost nine-year-old lawyer fighting for her own cause, I still treasure your strong will. As you grow I pray that this sense of justice will be turned outward and that you will be an unstoppable force to fight against oppression and injustice.

You have surprised me with your care of our chickens. I thought AK would be the one who would mainly take care of them, but while she definitely spends more time than you playing with them (read: chasing them and cradling them in her arms against their will), you are always the one who first remembers to let them out in the morning, check their food/water, and lock them in safely at night. I'll never forget the first time a storm blew in and you braved the thunder and winds and drenching rain to "save" the chickens and get them to their coop.

Last week we had to send our two newest chickens back to the farm where they came from, because apparently we have raised bully-chickens that wouldn't let the new ones survive in our yard. I tried to be aware of how each of you were handling this change; Owen and AK seemed unaffected, but you had a sad face when you walked in the back door after they left. I asked if you were doing ok, and if you wanted to talk about it. You said, "No, it's ok. I have already thought through all of my thoughts about it. I dealt with it. I'm okay now."

I wish you would teach me how to do that.

You love to bake, listen to Adventures in Odyssey, and work on projects. You can spend hours of unmatched focus when you come up with some idea to work on. You try to get your schoolwork done as quickly as possible every day, but often get slowed down by math or spelling - not because you are incapable of doing it, but because you don't think it has a point worth making, and because (as previously mentioned) you have an iron will. Oh, those mornings can be rough. You still stay up late and wake up wide-eyed every morning. You have a caring spirit and that often shows up in your watchfulness over little ones at church, at the library, or wherever we are.

You are so skilled at sports. You can play anything that you want to play, and you have the determination to be great at it. You tend to love whatever sport is in season for you, while it's in season, and then leave it behind until the next year. But as good as you are at team sports, and as much fun as you have playing them, you mostly love to dance...even when Dad crashes your party.

When I was pregnant with you, I was afraid...what if, once you were born, I didn't like you? But you know what? I was worried for nothing. Because I did like you, and I do like you, and the older you get, the more the joy keeps multiplying. You were the first one who taught me about that kind of joy, and you just keep teaching me every day.

Your Creator certainly made, and is making, a masterpiece in you. I am so excited to see what He will do in you this year. I love you, and happy birthday, my sweet almost-nine-year-old!!!