I love that my girl still chases bugs and lizards and chickens.
I love that she can enjoy a tea party and quiet conversation. And later climb the avocado tree.
I love that she is her own person. Unique. She doesn’t work to impress others.
I love that she can have honest conversations with this mama about real friends and true friendship and what it all means.
And she asks “Why can’t people just appreciate differences in each other?
And why do some friends treat me differently in public than when we are in private? Are they embarrassed of me? Or maybe they are not a good friend? Or maybe they don’t want to be my friend.”
I love that the tears pool as she talks and lays her head against me and those tears that were pooling now run down her sun-kissed cheeks. She tells of how she can feel lonely sometimes for a real friend. I listen. I share that I can feel this same way.
I love that we talk about Jesus and we wonder about his loneliness. We talk and wonder if he ever found a true and faithful friend. We wonder what it was like for him when he felt the pain of rejection. We wonder if he ever laid in his mamas lap for comfort and wisdom.
Big sister is here too. With big blue eyes, she had already asked big sister some of these same things. But she didn’t cry until she felt my comfort. And now with a sheepish response, big sister admitted not only has she known that kind of friend, she has been that kind of friend. I am proud of her too…for her honesty and recognition.
We talked about so much and time passed quickly. I listened. She listened. We took turns effortlessly sharing our hearts as mother and daughter. As trusted friends. We share, cry, pray. I love raising this beautiful girl.