Eight years ago today, you were born to your sweet Congo Mama into a family that loved you more than you’ll probably ever understand.
Seven years ago today, you turned one whole year old with, quite certainly, zero fanfare or acknowledgement of the occasion in your remote Congolese orphanage.
Today, on that same continent- and a mere 1,887 km down the road (Google Maps, girl- it’s a beautiful thing)- you are turning eight. Good gracious, so much has happened. And still, that same sweetness that spilled out of you as a newly home two year old still radiates from you today. You, our girl, are a gift.
This year has held an dizzying amount of change for you. You finished first grade at the North Carolina school we all loved. You said goodbye to your house, your beloved dog, the dance studio that brought you so much joy, your extended family, your best friends, the bulk of your toys, and, essentially, all that was familiar and comfortable. And yet, in the middle of all of these brutally difficult goodbyes, I’ve watched you say hellos to so much as well. You lived your best. life. now. at our organization’s six week training. You started 2nd grade at your new school here in Malawi. You have made a slew of new friends here, AS YOU DO. You- practically dripping with glee- welcomed two new puppies into the fold of our family. And you said “hello again” to your birth continent, something that you had been looking forward to since the day we first mentioned moving here.
And still, with all of the change and tears and ups and downs- your sweet spirit has remained. You, Elizabeth, are kind and deeply compassionate. You make friends easily and love them well. However, I’m not sure anyone can ever dethrone Mary Grace as your best friend. You two are thick as thieves and have your own unique sisterly lingo and culture that no one else can seem to decode. You two could not BE any more different, but I suppose that’s why it works so well. You girls don’t know how lucky you are.
You love to read, play school with your dolls, and chase-and-be-chased by the puppies. And you cartwheel. All day, every day, to the point of nearly driving me mad. You still adore dancing, and we’re praying HARD for God to provide a dance teacher at your school next year so that you can keep it up. And fashion. Holy smokes, do you love clothes and jewelry and all (ALL) things sequin (SO MANY SEQUINS). I say “no” more often than “yes” to the makeup you’re dying to wear, and sorry but I am not even sorry.
I am so proud of you, baby girl. I pray that you would know deep in your marrow that you are loved unconditionally. Not because you’re stinkin smart. (You are.) Not because of your beauty. (Good. Gracious.) Not even because of the kindness and love you show toward others. (Always.) No, sweet girl- the reason we love you forever and always is because you are ours. And, sweet goodness, am I profoundly thankful for that.
Happy eighth birthday, Elizabeth. Dance ’till you drop, baby. And then cartwheel some more after that. Just try to keep that precious, imported Funfetti cake down, mkay?