To My Daughter, At Thirty
To my daughter, at thirty--
You've just turned four this week. You're sweet and little and full of life. It's hard to imagine you sitting down to read this, three decades of living behind you, the traces of baby gone from your face. And yet I know the years will speed by. Before I know it you'll be looking me in the eye, woman to woman. So I want to pause now, while I am in my thirties, to write the words I want you to know when you are here. I want to fill you with hope about the future, and share a piece of the wisdom I've gained--sometimes at great cost--to spare you some of the harder lessons.
Your Nonna has always said that her thirties were her favorite decade. Now that I'm here, I can understand why. The teens are a rollercoaster ride, full of storms and emotions. There's so much happening, and so little of it can be understood. It's a bumpy ride! The twenties are exciting, full of change and big steps. But with change comes insecurity, and it can be hard to find your footing. But your thirties... So many complicating emotions are kept more at bay. Life has begun to settle into a pattern and many of the big pieces are firmly in place. A familiarity and comfort in my own skin sets in. At thirty I can be me, unapologetically! It's the most freeing decade I've experienced yet! I hope by now you know how beautiful you are. I can see it in you already. Your easy smile, your quick mind, your love of life. Cora, you are the woman I have wanted all my life to be. Someone this week described me as "girlie, but tough." The words have been tumbling around in my head ever since and I've wondered why they meant so much to me. Finally tonight it came to me: they described you. I've learned from all of my children, but this particular lesson I've learned from you. You are sweet and innocent and absolutely full of femininity. And yet there's a part of you that's strong. You stand your ground, you face your brothers and others with assertiveness and a knowledge of your own mind that I've envied since you were old enough to talk. I've never seen someone mix these two things so seamlessly, but you do. I've watched you and learned from you. I hope you don't forget what you've already taught me. I hope your thirties find you at ease in your own skin, aware of your own beauty, confident, assertive, gentle. I will walk with you through the tumult of the coming decades, but I pray that when the storms clear and you arrive at thirty, you've managed to hold on to this part of you. Because it's taken me thirty years and the example you've set to learn it for myself!
For all the jokes about growing old, I truly believe that age is a gift. Each passing year is God's grace, a chance to grow, to learn, to spend just a little more time loving the people around us. I hope you never let yourself be shelved because of your age--either because you are too young or too old. No matter your age, whether nine or ninety, you should strive to be vital to someone. I know that takes investment and there will be seasons in your life when it is all you can do to get by. But don't make the mistake of just putting in time. If you have breath, it should be used. Invest in the people around you, engage! Find an interest and someone with whom you can share it. Pour into the life of someone older or younger than you. Inspire them, encourage them, spend yourself on serving someone else. These are things you can do at any age. It's possible to grow better year by year. Don't be afraid to let time pass. Don't squander it, but don't cling to it either. The gift of years is a phenomenal gift.
Along those lines, I hope you find love. Not just a flighty, romantic love, but the kind that changes you at your core. I hope you meet someone who sees the best in you and brings it to the surface. I hope with each year that passes your effort to grow closer is redoubled, because the gift of that kind of commitment is worth everything you can give. I hope with each decade you spend together, you strive to give him the best of yourself, and that he does the same for you. I hope you learn to ride the waves of true love--to bask in the easy, golden moments; to work hard and persevere in the storms; to stand hand in hand when everything around beats against your marriage and to hold each other fast. I hope, as your Poppa likes to say, that you always keep that breathless wonder that says, "out of all the world, he chose me!" I've revisited those words over and over, and my heart races each time I think of them. I hope you find the kind of love that grows newer as it grows more familiar, that never stops plumbing new depths. I hope you find a man who can say to you, as your father has said to me, "Anything less than you would feel like less than you." I hope you are his ideal--if not for what he set out to find, then for what you proved to be.
I don't know if you will have the blessing of raising children. You have the heart of a mother, whether you are ever called by that name. You are selfless, loving, nurturing, seeking to bring out the best in the people around you. Those are the makings of the best of mothers. If your thirties find you surrounded by children, I hope you learn to love the moments. The big, planned-for events are memorable, but it's the small unexpected moments that make for the sweetest memories. I hope you hold on to each day that you have with your children: make the most of it, remember that the days are fleeting. And yet, don't live in fear that you are missing out. Life will sometimes call you away from your children. Don't let guilt consume you. Make the most of the moments you have, savor them, pour into them. Look for the best in your children and seek to bring those qualities out. And laugh. Oh, Cora, I hope you laugh! You know how much fun we have playing with you. Be a mother who isn't afraid to get dirty digging for bugs. Laugh until you snort at the silly things your children say. Love them for who they are, where they are. And fill their lives with imagination. You (and they!) will never regret it.
It's hard for me to imagine you in the working world. These days you tell me you are a nurse, and I'm flattered because I know where it comes from. Whatever you find yourself doing, I hope that you do it to the best of your ability. I hope you pursue your chosen field to the highest level at which it can be pursued. I hope you excel, that you strive for excellence in whatever you're doing. I want you to be educated, to be knowledgeable about your field of work. Be a resource to your co-workers, as well as a source of encouragement. I want you to be excellent. And yet, I want you to be humble. Some of the best people I know work in what we would call "menial jobs." I'm convinced there is no such thing. In whatever you do, I hope you work with a servant's heart, to the best of your ability. Your work ethic is in many cases your strongest witness--don't let this be the place where people call into question who you are. Work at whatever you do with your whole heart. There will be days when you are tired, when the work feels tedious. But as I've said recently on similar days, the work of our hands is worth being wearied for. Remember why you are working, for whom you are working, and redouble your commitment to do it to your fullest ability. There are few things as rewarding as knowing that you have done your best, put in a full day's work, and worked with excellence.
Finally, Cora, I hope you learn the beauty of hardship. These are hard words for me to write, because I want more than anything in the world to spare you pain. But even if I tried, I could never shelter you from it all. The truth is, I treasure my hard times above almost anything else. Isn't that a crazy thing to say? Maybe it's because the lessons I've learned in those times have come at such a high cost. Or maybe it's because those times have shaped me more than anything else. Whatever the reason, I hope your thirties find you with a few scars and bruises--not too many, but enough. I hope you know what it's like to worry about finances. I want you to know so that you learn to recognize need in others, to be quick to fill that need. If you've always had enough, how will you possibly understand the fear of coming up empty? I want you to have to make do sometimes, to learn to be creative and resourceful. I want you to know loss--not deeply, but to be familiar with it. How else will you know how to comfort others? How else will you be able to relate to the empty aching that loss leaves in its wake, the pain that makes you wish you could freeze time and keep from moving forward? I hope you experience hurtful words, so that you understand how your words can pierce. These lessons are all invaluable. But above all, I hope you experience hardship because there is no other way to learn to trust, to grow the deep faith that withstands the storms. I know of no other teacher. There is no other cement to bind two people together than in walking through dark valleys together. There is no better source of wisdom and understanding and insight. So instead of for shelter, my prayer for you has always been that the suffering wouldn't be wasted. I pray that the valleys you have to walk through would be used to shape you, to change you, to give you the memory of having come through the trial stronger and more reliant on the God you serve and the people he has placed in your life. I don't know what suffering God will allow in your life, but I know that he will never cause you to experience it alone. Nor will he let it be wasted. Make the most of the hurtful times. Glean what widsom can be gleaned. Sink your roots deeper into him, and reach out to others around you. And don't ever forget the things you've learned in the dark times. Look, always, for ways to bless others through the insight you've gained. Don't let the pain be for nothing.
Cora, there is so much more I could write to you. I could fill pages with all the things I want you to know. But the truth is I am not your only teacher. There is so much that you will have to learn for yourself. I can only offer what little wisdom I've attained, and pray that as the years wash over you they leave you wiser, stronger, more fully alive. I cannot wait to see firsthand the woman who stands before me at thirty. I hope the same holds true for you as has for generations of women before you: I hope your thirties are your best decade. But more than that, I hope each passing year is more full of God's blessing. I hope you love the life you are living, and seek to make it a gift in itself. I love you, my sweet girl. What a gift you are. You will be an amazing woman. You will change lives. You already have.
You've just turned four this week. You're sweet and little and full of life. It's hard to imagine you sitting down to read this, three decades of living behind you, the traces of baby gone from your face. And yet I know the years will speed by. Before I know it you'll be looking me in the eye, woman to woman. So I want to pause now, while I am in my thirties, to write the words I want you to know when you are here. I want to fill you with hope about the future, and share a piece of the wisdom I've gained--sometimes at great cost--to spare you some of the harder lessons.
Your Nonna has always said that her thirties were her favorite decade. Now that I'm here, I can understand why. The teens are a rollercoaster ride, full of storms and emotions. There's so much happening, and so little of it can be understood. It's a bumpy ride! The twenties are exciting, full of change and big steps. But with change comes insecurity, and it can be hard to find your footing. But your thirties... So many complicating emotions are kept more at bay. Life has begun to settle into a pattern and many of the big pieces are firmly in place. A familiarity and comfort in my own skin sets in. At thirty I can be me, unapologetically! It's the most freeing decade I've experienced yet! I hope by now you know how beautiful you are. I can see it in you already. Your easy smile, your quick mind, your love of life. Cora, you are the woman I have wanted all my life to be. Someone this week described me as "girlie, but tough." The words have been tumbling around in my head ever since and I've wondered why they meant so much to me. Finally tonight it came to me: they described you. I've learned from all of my children, but this particular lesson I've learned from you. You are sweet and innocent and absolutely full of femininity. And yet there's a part of you that's strong. You stand your ground, you face your brothers and others with assertiveness and a knowledge of your own mind that I've envied since you were old enough to talk. I've never seen someone mix these two things so seamlessly, but you do. I've watched you and learned from you. I hope you don't forget what you've already taught me. I hope your thirties find you at ease in your own skin, aware of your own beauty, confident, assertive, gentle. I will walk with you through the tumult of the coming decades, but I pray that when the storms clear and you arrive at thirty, you've managed to hold on to this part of you. Because it's taken me thirty years and the example you've set to learn it for myself!
For all the jokes about growing old, I truly believe that age is a gift. Each passing year is God's grace, a chance to grow, to learn, to spend just a little more time loving the people around us. I hope you never let yourself be shelved because of your age--either because you are too young or too old. No matter your age, whether nine or ninety, you should strive to be vital to someone. I know that takes investment and there will be seasons in your life when it is all you can do to get by. But don't make the mistake of just putting in time. If you have breath, it should be used. Invest in the people around you, engage! Find an interest and someone with whom you can share it. Pour into the life of someone older or younger than you. Inspire them, encourage them, spend yourself on serving someone else. These are things you can do at any age. It's possible to grow better year by year. Don't be afraid to let time pass. Don't squander it, but don't cling to it either. The gift of years is a phenomenal gift.
Along those lines, I hope you find love. Not just a flighty, romantic love, but the kind that changes you at your core. I hope you meet someone who sees the best in you and brings it to the surface. I hope with each year that passes your effort to grow closer is redoubled, because the gift of that kind of commitment is worth everything you can give. I hope with each decade you spend together, you strive to give him the best of yourself, and that he does the same for you. I hope you learn to ride the waves of true love--to bask in the easy, golden moments; to work hard and persevere in the storms; to stand hand in hand when everything around beats against your marriage and to hold each other fast. I hope, as your Poppa likes to say, that you always keep that breathless wonder that says, "out of all the world, he chose me!" I've revisited those words over and over, and my heart races each time I think of them. I hope you find the kind of love that grows newer as it grows more familiar, that never stops plumbing new depths. I hope you find a man who can say to you, as your father has said to me, "Anything less than you would feel like less than you." I hope you are his ideal--if not for what he set out to find, then for what you proved to be.
I don't know if you will have the blessing of raising children. You have the heart of a mother, whether you are ever called by that name. You are selfless, loving, nurturing, seeking to bring out the best in the people around you. Those are the makings of the best of mothers. If your thirties find you surrounded by children, I hope you learn to love the moments. The big, planned-for events are memorable, but it's the small unexpected moments that make for the sweetest memories. I hope you hold on to each day that you have with your children: make the most of it, remember that the days are fleeting. And yet, don't live in fear that you are missing out. Life will sometimes call you away from your children. Don't let guilt consume you. Make the most of the moments you have, savor them, pour into them. Look for the best in your children and seek to bring those qualities out. And laugh. Oh, Cora, I hope you laugh! You know how much fun we have playing with you. Be a mother who isn't afraid to get dirty digging for bugs. Laugh until you snort at the silly things your children say. Love them for who they are, where they are. And fill their lives with imagination. You (and they!) will never regret it.
It's hard for me to imagine you in the working world. These days you tell me you are a nurse, and I'm flattered because I know where it comes from. Whatever you find yourself doing, I hope that you do it to the best of your ability. I hope you pursue your chosen field to the highest level at which it can be pursued. I hope you excel, that you strive for excellence in whatever you're doing. I want you to be educated, to be knowledgeable about your field of work. Be a resource to your co-workers, as well as a source of encouragement. I want you to be excellent. And yet, I want you to be humble. Some of the best people I know work in what we would call "menial jobs." I'm convinced there is no such thing. In whatever you do, I hope you work with a servant's heart, to the best of your ability. Your work ethic is in many cases your strongest witness--don't let this be the place where people call into question who you are. Work at whatever you do with your whole heart. There will be days when you are tired, when the work feels tedious. But as I've said recently on similar days, the work of our hands is worth being wearied for. Remember why you are working, for whom you are working, and redouble your commitment to do it to your fullest ability. There are few things as rewarding as knowing that you have done your best, put in a full day's work, and worked with excellence.
Finally, Cora, I hope you learn the beauty of hardship. These are hard words for me to write, because I want more than anything in the world to spare you pain. But even if I tried, I could never shelter you from it all. The truth is, I treasure my hard times above almost anything else. Isn't that a crazy thing to say? Maybe it's because the lessons I've learned in those times have come at such a high cost. Or maybe it's because those times have shaped me more than anything else. Whatever the reason, I hope your thirties find you with a few scars and bruises--not too many, but enough. I hope you know what it's like to worry about finances. I want you to know so that you learn to recognize need in others, to be quick to fill that need. If you've always had enough, how will you possibly understand the fear of coming up empty? I want you to have to make do sometimes, to learn to be creative and resourceful. I want you to know loss--not deeply, but to be familiar with it. How else will you know how to comfort others? How else will you be able to relate to the empty aching that loss leaves in its wake, the pain that makes you wish you could freeze time and keep from moving forward? I hope you experience hurtful words, so that you understand how your words can pierce. These lessons are all invaluable. But above all, I hope you experience hardship because there is no other way to learn to trust, to grow the deep faith that withstands the storms. I know of no other teacher. There is no other cement to bind two people together than in walking through dark valleys together. There is no better source of wisdom and understanding and insight. So instead of for shelter, my prayer for you has always been that the suffering wouldn't be wasted. I pray that the valleys you have to walk through would be used to shape you, to change you, to give you the memory of having come through the trial stronger and more reliant on the God you serve and the people he has placed in your life. I don't know what suffering God will allow in your life, but I know that he will never cause you to experience it alone. Nor will he let it be wasted. Make the most of the hurtful times. Glean what widsom can be gleaned. Sink your roots deeper into him, and reach out to others around you. And don't ever forget the things you've learned in the dark times. Look, always, for ways to bless others through the insight you've gained. Don't let the pain be for nothing.
Cora, there is so much more I could write to you. I could fill pages with all the things I want you to know. But the truth is I am not your only teacher. There is so much that you will have to learn for yourself. I can only offer what little wisdom I've attained, and pray that as the years wash over you they leave you wiser, stronger, more fully alive. I cannot wait to see firsthand the woman who stands before me at thirty. I hope the same holds true for you as has for generations of women before you: I hope your thirties are your best decade. But more than that, I hope each passing year is more full of God's blessing. I hope you love the life you are living, and seek to make it a gift in itself. I love you, my sweet girl. What a gift you are. You will be an amazing woman. You will change lives. You already have.
