Let It Go


On May 13th we celebrated my daughters birthday.   The only think I can think is, “Time slow down. Please.”   As we get older time moves faster as it is, but add four chidden into the equation and I can’t seem to keep up. Anyone else feel that way?

I had three boys before I had her. My sweet little Abby Lou. By the time I was pregnant with our fourth, my husband and I determined that we did not want to find out the sex of the baby before the birth.   I figured that the chemical make-up of my uterus only allowed for the production of boys and, quite frankly, I was fine with it. I wanted four because I knew that even numbers meant no one would be left out. Plus, what do you do at Disneyland with a party of five? So whatever the gender of the fourth little love was, I really didn’t care.

Okay, I confess, I did share with God, ever so subtly (insert sarcasm) that I would like a girl. I mean, I wasn’t going to give her back or anything if she came out with a vagina, that’s all.

To our total and complete shock when I gave birth at 2 AM on Monday, May 13th, 2013 (my children really prefer to keep me up all through the night even before they are out) I got what I least expected, an emotional announcement from my doctor, “Christy, it is a girl!!” Not that you really want to, but if you did want to see how this moment unfolded for us you could click here.  (I promise there are no gory or inappropriate details, I swear)

Needless to say, this little life that burst into the center of our testosterone filled world has changed us all, for the better.   Even now, weeks before she turns two, I am coming to terms with the many ways that she has tipped my whole center of gravity. I am still somewhat caught of guard when I walk into her room and it’s dripping with pink, and tea parties, and bows. To steal a phrase from my friend, “She is sunshine mixed with a little hurricane” and she is perfect.

I took this of her the other day.

At target. In the middle of the princess aisle.

She was singing at the top of her lungs, “Let it go…let it go” in synch with the Anna and Elsa purse you see pictured in front of her.

That day she was in the mood for her Wonder Woman costume. And I have come to learn very quickly, you don’t argue with a girl’s wardrobe choices, especially when they are fast approaching two.

I had turned away for a moment to check on my four year old son when I glanced back at her.   She was swaying to the sound of her own booming voice. Singing with a pure and reckless abandon I wish I could bottle and hold onto forever. I admire her actually. Not a care in the world, not hindered by the threat of another’s judgement, just one hundred percent comfortable in her own skin.

This is one of the many things that she is teaching me about.

In the evening, when we tuck our children into bed I pray for them.   I find myself being drawn to similar words and phrases night after night. Over my boys, I speak, courage and boldness. I ask for strength bathed in humility. And I especially pray that the tenacity they feel to fight and protect the world from subjects such as Darth Vader and Lex Luther might eventually shift it’s attention to the even more noble causes like homelessness and world hunger, to name a few.

But when I pray for my girl there are different themes that emerge. I, of course, want some of these same things for her. But the word I seem to be unable to escape is worth. “May she know how deeply and profoundly loved she is by her God,” I cry out in the quiet and calm of a household beginning to settle in for the night.   May she strive to meet no one’s standards but her own as revealed by her Creator. And may she come to view herself not as others see her, not even as she sees herself, but how God sees her.

I’ve always felt called to minister to women. But now, as my daughter looks at me with those big blue eyes, hair drifting gently across her perfectly chubby cheeks, I know. It’s not just her that needs to know she is treasured beyond explanation. It’s every woman. And I also know, now with an extra measure of certainty, that I am called to speak the same truths I pray over her out loud. To any one that will listen.

You are loved.

You are perfectly and wonderfully made.

And there is God that loves you beyond what you can even dream or imagine.

Today. Right now. This is how he feels about you.

Doesn’t matter what you have done. Or not done. Doesn’t matter if you screamed at your kid in the middle of the grocery store for something totally ridiculous and unwarranted. Doesn’t matter if you shrunk your husband’s dress shirt in the wash (I do it all the time). Doesn’t matter if you forgot to feed the dog or finish whatever it is that your boss has been asking you about for the last week. Doesn’t even matter if you carry around in your soul such deep anger and hurt that it unleashes on anything or anyone that holds still long enough to be on the receiving end.


Bottom line.

End of story.

So may we all have the courage to sing, “Let it go” at the top of our lungs and mean it.

May we always feel like the wonder women that we are.

And may we open ourselves to each new day with the kind of confident vulnerability that whispers, you are loved.

Christy Fay