“Harper, do you know what we get to do today?”

“What?!” she responded with enthusiasm, even as she wiped the sleep from her tired eyes.

“We get to go look at PRESCHOOL!” I said back to her as I sat down on the edge of her bed. And I don’t think I will ever forget what she did next.

With the full force of a three-year’s energy, Harper jumped straight up in her bed and broke out in song, gleefully stringing together a made up chorus of words that went something like, “Oh oh, hey hey, I’m going to see my school! Oh yeah, oh yeah! Preschool! Preschool!”

“Harper, we are just going to look at it. You can’t start school for a few more months. Now let’s get out of bed and get dressed. Maybe I can even comb your hair this morning?” I stood up and started toward the door, but she just kept jumping, blissfully unaware of the hair brushing comment, singing her little heart out.

“Oh oh, hey hey, I’m going to see my school! Oh yeah, oh yeah! Preschool! Preschool!”

Later that morning we pulled up to the church and headed toward the hallway where the current preschoolers were in class. Some were playing in the “discovery zone,” others were having their morning devotion, and still another class was learning about the ocean. Everywhere Harper turned, she was mesmerized. The paintings on the wall, the cubbies, the laughter, the kind teachers, all of it leaving my three-year old wide-eyed and speechless. She is never speechless, so this was notable. It took ten minutes for Alex and I to feel great about the school, but it had Harper at “hello!”

A few hours after our tour, the director sent me an email saying that they had a student move away a few weeks ago, and if Harper wanted to finish out the school year with them in the three-year old class that she would be welcome to do so.

Harper turned three in December, so technically she should start preschool in the fall of this year. But as I read that email and thought of sending Harper away three mornings a week, like, right now, I immediately thought back to my morning jumping bean.   

“Oh oh, hey hey, I’m going to see my school! Oh yeah, oh yeah! Preschool! Preschool!”

I think she is ready. Her little school bag looks far too big and just the right size at the very same time.

Not long ago, this day felt a million years away. These things always do; the seasons or events you know are coming, but the right now feels like so much to manage that the someday soon is hard to picture. Not long ago I felt like we had all the time in the world together: time to stay in our jammies, make cards for friends, put dresses on and pretend we live in a castle; or time to do nothing at all, and those have always been my favorite.

But she is taking a small step off on her own now. She’ll make her own friends and start to blaze her own little path, and both of those things I can’t wait to watch her do. But do you know what is the hardest part for me? It’s this: that someone else will be reading her books each day, holding her hand across the balance beam, giving her a hug when she falls down, or asking her to apologize when she makes a mistake. I’m jealous of that, if I’m honest. It’s always been my job to read, hold, hug, and talk about grace. And now I have to share it. This is right, and I know it. But gosh, the thought is hard on a mama’s heart, isn’t it?

We’ve had only 5 days to think about Harper going to school. But maybe it is better for me this way? You know, less time to come up with reasons to be anxious about it all. And I just keep telling myself this: Harper is ready. She loves everything about the idea of her preschool: the toys, the friends, and the carpet square with her name on it. And I am almost ready to let her go—though I’m certain another six months would not make me more ready. Is a mama ever really ready? I am not sure we are. Sometimes we just have to fake it a little.

I am thrilled for my girl. She is life and energy and joy in a three-year-old body, and watching her grow is one of my favorite things to do.

Go shine bright, Harper. So proud to be your mama.

I'm so crazy about you, Harper Kristin.

Dear Harper,

It would be impossible to list the ways you have changed me.  We were not planning on you, your Dad and I.  We were thinking about finishing school and building resumes and saving money and then one day two pink lines changed all of that.  But you know, Harper girl, I think that’s just the way God wanted it to be: a lesson in parenting that I needed to learn from the very beginning— because since that day, you have not stopped surprising me.

To tell you the truth, I think I had a lot of expectations about what it would be like to have a daughter.  And I’m sorry about that.  Those darn expectations will get you every time, and they’ll tempt you toward the idea that something is wrong when reality is not just what you thought it would, could, or should be.  We’ve thrown those darn things away in our relationship; they have never really worked for us.  I expected meek and mello, you are strong and decisive.  I expected compliant, you are a natural leader.  And Harper, I think I expected being your mom to be easy.  I really did.  A little discipline now and then, but mostly a journey of smooth-sailing from here to eighteen, on to college and beyond, when we would be best friends forever. 

But sweet girl, being your mom is the hardest job in the world, and let me tell you why: because I love you so much it could break me.  Every single day, I look at you and ache just the tiniest little bit, because the gift of being your mom is just so big, so weighty. And sometimes I fear I might fail you, hurt you, disappoint you, let something happen to you, misdirect you, speak harshly when you need grace, or give grace when your heart needs truth.  And I care so deeply about your heart, Harper girl.  I care about that more than anything else.  And this business of tending to little souls is enough to really weigh a gal down.  But this is motherhood, in all its wonderful, humbling glory.  You gave me this role first, and you are the one who is teaching me how to live it.  It is a journey we both need grace on. 

The thing about you is that for every moment of strong-willed tension, you give me ten moments of unstoppable laughter.  For every disappointing start to the morning, you give me dozens of great afternoons.  For every defiant “no” spoken, you say a hundred times “I love you, too!” and “You’re my best friend, mommy!”  You are what the books might call spirited and I don’t disagree with that.  But I also know a book can’t label you, Harper.  You are just my Harper.  You spoke in full sentences at 18 months and you have not stopped telling fabulous stories since then.  You can already kick a soccer ball with both feet and this gives your mama joy unending!  You certainly know what you want and sometimes we have to slow down and talk about those things, but Harper, you are always quick to apologize and want to put your head on my shoulder when you do.  Never lose that conviction to be repentant, Harper, we need it our entire lives.   You are big sister twice over already, and a great one, I might add.  You love being a doc-trinarian to your stuffed animals and you know your colors in Spanish perfectly.  You run fast, you jump into water without fear, and you know how to hug.  I love your hugs, and I know a good number of people who feel so special when you see them across the room and yell their name as you run toward them for an embrace.  You’re really good at that, Harper.

Today is your third birthday.  That seems both impossible and just right, like we have had you in our home forever but you are still my baby girl at the same time.  Our lives together have been full of paradoxes like that, haven’t they? 

To the girl who made me a mama, the one we named Harper Kristin after a brave writer and a special woman with a genuine love and heart for Jesus, Happiest Birthday, sweet girl.  I just can’t imagine who I would be without you.  Every bit of how God made you is so perfectly crafted to fill a role in the world only you can fill.   I cannot wait to cheer you on every step of the way.  You are so prayed for and so loved— and every day God gives me with you those things will be true.  Thanks for teaching me so much, Harper.  This job of being your mom makes me need Jesus more, and that makes me better.  And truthfully, it is also my very favorite thing in the world.  Love you right up to the moon and back.        

This girl.  The one who made me a mama, who looks exactly like me as a child, who makes me laugh, who has made me cry, who I love more than the world.  Harper Kristin, the stories I will tell about you someday…

Permission to speak freely?  This week was rough.  Three out of five days Harper has put her little size seven foot down on naptime, and by 5:00pm we have both been a hot mess.  The last two hours of the day became a bit of a battleground: mama versus two-and-a-half year old, wisdom versus will, maturity versus independence.  Well, the battle should have been those things but I submit that it is all too easy to act like a two-and-a-half year old myself and throw maturity out the door for the sake of winning, and winning quickly.

On Wednesday night I put Harper to bed early.  Still in her Elsa gown, teeth unbrushed.  She did not get a book that night, as I explained to her she did not have a kind heart and she was speaking with disrespect to her mama.  Those things do not get privileges in this house, they have consequences. That, and I simply could not parent any longer that day.  Straight to bed it was.  I put the blanket over her, said I love you, and shut the door behind me.  And then I came upstairs and cried a little.  Because gosh, being a mama just takes every bit you, physical and emotional, doesn’t it?  I texted my husband, who responded perfectly with encouragement, reminded me that the worst behavior of a two-and-half year old does not indicate at all what their best behavior as and adult will be, and told me I’m the best mom for her.

And then, I prayed.  I prayed for forgiveness for myself.  I prayed for Harper, and for Cannon, not that they would be perfect children but that they would see the way God loves us and love him in return.  I asked God for wisdom as I raise my little Harper girl, that her heart would be brave and tender at the same time, that her will would be strong—just like God made her—and submissive to godly authority as well.  I actually prayed myself to sleep, because evenings like those remind me how very incapable I am of raising children without Jesus.

What happened in the morning… I could not make this up if I tried.  After a great night of sleep, I hear Harper calling for me from her room.  I went in with my usual, happily high-pitched “good morning, sweetheart!” and looked at her in bed.  Her big blue eyes met mine and she said, “Mama, I won’t disobey you anymore.”

Um.  I’m sorry.  What?

“What did you say, Harper?”  “Mama, I won’t disobey you anymore.”  Then she grabbed my two cheeks with her hands and kissed me on the lips.  Exactly what I do to her a hundred times a day. 

And there, friends, went my heart.

I squeezed that girl tighter than I ever have.  Not just because she was sorry, but because I was sorry, too.  We both forgave each other.  She will disobey me again, and she did.  I will lose my patience with her, and I have.  I fail daily at this job.  But there’s grace.  Amazing, amazing grace.  And grace, even between a mama and her fiercely independent toddler, is beautiful. 

I offer so little when it comes to parenting wisdom, but this much I know.  Our greatest tool is prayer, and our biggest resource is God’s word.  Harper may not be able to read 1 Corinthians 13 yet, but she will see whether or not I am.  Because just like love, motherhood is patient and kind; it does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude.  Motherhood does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; motherhood does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.  Motherhood bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Motherhood never ends.

Sweet Jesus, I am so glad I am her mom.  You gave me the gift that I needed the most, the one I am so privileged to have, in her.

Read more being her mom essays here.