Wednesday Letters: Dear Little Sister

Dear Julianne,

On this very day, fourteen years ago, you were born. I remember waking up early to go to the hospital. I remember putting on my favorite jeans and t-shirt and getting a few oranges out of the fridge because I figured Mom & Dad would be hungry for good food. It was 6:30AM and they had left the night before.

You were born at 10:36 AM and at only 11 years old, I was there to see it. I saw the miracle of your birth and I rejoiced to finally have a sister. You were long and wirey and even though I wasn't much a crier then, I teared up a little.

Here we are, earlier today. You have no idea how beautiful you looked on that stage, singing The Andrews Sisters and grinning through your bright red lipstick. You are far more gorgeous than you know. It's cliche for me to say I'm proud of you, but it's still true.

I remember being 14 well. I had my first "real" boyfriend, my first kiss, my first school dance that actually involved dancing. I had my first adult-ish understanding of who I was as a child of God, of my potential to make a difference in the lives of my friends, of my responsibility.

You are far more humble than I, but I wonder if what seems like humility among a family of very loud egos might actually be insecurity. We joke and say our family is "all chiefs and no braves," but I wonder if you would be more comfortable as a brave.

No, that's not it either. You are a chief, you see, but you are unlike the rest of us. You are a quiet chief, whose leadership is reflected in more action and fewer words. It is no wonder you loved Toby so much when you were little; you two are similar souls-- deep waters, and calm. You have learned to hold your own among us loudmouths, biting sarcasm and all. But it is we who ought to learn from you.

You are comfortable as a quiet chief, and we could learn.

We could learn to be still. To listen. To hear the music in our heads, our hearts. We could learn to be tender-hearted, to care about the hurt feelings of others. We could learn to take notice, to see the situation hurting a person, rather than that person's hurting us. We could learn to make room for our dreams, to choose them over ambition or "success" as defined by our world. We could learn to play our instruments more and watch our televisions less.

As your older sister, let me offer you this one bit of advice--

Do what you love.

Our mom has told us this all along, but let me tell you, she is right. God has given you gifts and talents and dreams with purpose. Your passions have purpose. Do what you love.

For your fourteenth year, I pray these things for you:

I pray you will know your beauty. I pray you will catch glimpses of your heart the way we see it-- beautiful, growing, budding, blooming. I pray you will understand in the middle of chaos, cattiness, growing pains, that you are valuable, that you are precious, treasured and cherished. I pray you will grow in your understanding of a God who loves you far more than you can imagine and shows it in far more ways than you will be able to recognize. I pray you will not be caught up in the non-eternal things that so easily overtake girls in their fourteenth year. I pray your heart will be swept into things of eternal importance, that your mind will be enraptured by grace, that your songs will harmonize with the choruses of our God.

For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.

Happy Birthday! I love you,

Hopey