Dear Abby {17 Months & the Brink of Hard Possibilities}

Dear Abby,

There are a lot of unknowns in our family’s journey right now. So much so that I almost didn’t start writing this post. In the beautiful crazy that was this summer, I missed your 16-month-update, so what difference would a few more weeks make?

A world of difference.

Because your mama is struggling. I’m sleep-deprived and weary of waiting on news about your daddy’s next job and where that job might take us as a family. For years, we’ve dreamed about this coming season, and a few more days of waiting right now shouldn’t make that much of a difference. But, my emotions are raw. My heart years to know if Denver will be our home or if there is an adventure somewhere else that I must embrace. This morning, I’m tired of embracing the hard possibilities.

So, I write this letter to you because you too will probably be in this place one day. This place of waiting, hoping, yearning, seeking joy in the present, sleep-deprived, a career woman, a wife, a mama, a friend. Always my daughter.

When that day comes for you, what would I want you to know, to remember, to find your peace in?

I want you to know that it is okay to cry. It is okay to grieve change even as you run into the next adventure. It is okay to drink a second cup of coffee and call your mama. It is okay to realize that your life may be turning out completely different than you pictured and that the reality of the new vision is okay. It is okay to test the limits of hope and stand on the brink of a nervous breakdown and instead choose contentment in Christ in the rift. It is okay to listen to music that welcomes your heart home. It is okay to unburden your soul on a close friend or two and trust that your secrets are safe with them.

Choose moments of peace. Choose dreams and things and friends and life-callings that bring joy. Let the rest go. Don’t burden yourself with guilt, but find joy in mystery. Even the hard mysteries. Even the mysteries that hold your heart in a vice and threaten to squeeze the light out of the day. Live the meaning of your name. Victory. Break free from any and all shackles.

Dance, Baby Girl. Dance with the power and magic of your current 17-month-old self. Dance with the uninhibited delight of a child who is loved and destined for greatness. Spin and throw up your arms and squeal at the sheer thrill of this moment. Dance and cry. Dance and laugh. Dance and find surrender to your Savior who will never leave your or forsake you.

Remember the blessing that we pray over you every night: “May the Lord bless you and keep. May the Lord make His face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you His peace.”

Amen.

Sweet Dreams.

Mama loves you.

Mama loves that you blow kisses and catch them with your little fists waving furiously in the air. Mama loves that you chant “up, up, up in the sky,” pointing to where the airplanes take us to see family thousands of miles away. Mama loves that you ask to pray before and during meals, squealing “amen” and sneaking food even before the prayer is over. Mama loves that you wrap your arms tight around my neck and bury your face in my neck, gripping your Bear and Wubby pacifier. Mama loves that your vocabulary includes two-syllable words like “backpack” and “okay” and “open.”

Mama loves even the things that exhaust her. Your extroverted nature that wants to “GOOOOOO” all of the time. Your extroverted nature that wants to be the center of any and all crowds. Your fearlessness. Your ability to run and run and run without a nap. Your fiercely held opinions about everything that let themselves be known with emphatic, sassy “Nooos” and grudging “okays.” Your opinions. Did I mention your opinions? Oh, yes, your exhausting, exhilarating, humorous opinions.

17 months going on 17 years….

I love you, Abigail Nichelle Hasz. I love that your uniqueness makes me tremble when I consider the weight of mothering your heart and shepherding your dreams. I love that in the moments after FINALLY putting you to bed at night, I miss you. Unbelievable. But, yes, true.

Here is to this month of possibilities. Here is to this season of the unknown. Here is to this season of toddler teething, tantrums and tales of Bear and Wubby. Here is to learning with you and sleeping without you 🙂