Dear Hallie,

I'm listening to Griffin shuffle around in his kennel this morning. I can hear him better than usual because I'm downstairs and, like him, I can't sleep. 

Today's your birthday, your sixteenth birthday. But I don't have to tell you that. You've given me the countdown for weeks. 

It's two weeks until my birthday. It's ten days until my birthday. It's two days until my birthday...

You're way more excited than I am. I'm a little bummed. On top of you turning sixteen, you're getting mail every month from colleges reminding, you and I both, that your future is right around the corner. 
Then there's the whole driver's license thing. What better way to rub it in, that it's your hands that go on the wheel, than for the societal norm to boss us that it's time to drive at sixteen. Whose idea was that? 

You talked about painting your room pink a couple of months ago, but decided against it because you wouldn't be at home that much longer. Well I did some math we can walk through. (As you're learning, math is important.)  

In two years you'll turn eighteen. That gives you 730 days. Then you'll have March through (part of) August before you go off to college ( if you go off..., I hear there's a college ten minutes from here). Think about it. 

Anyway, that gives you something like 898 days in that tiny room of yours before that first fall semester of college. Even though you chose not to paint it,  I bought you something pink. I got you something that I'm hoping will make your room feel more girly and home-y. It's something that I hope will say, Make yourself comfortable, You're still here!  

But at the same time, it's the color pink that (I believe) girl dreams are made of. 

You weren't made to be confined to that little room of yours forever. You've been practicing this growing up thing since you started wobbling around in those plastic high heels in your pull-up and pearls.  You bossed us from the get-go with your chubby two-year old finger usurping authority over as much of your life as we'd allow. 

You outgrew your raggedy feather boas and tutus faster than I could blink, and moms hardly blink! You've probably outgrown those funky-colored bandana curtains we made and that huge vase with your rock collection that are still in your room too. You were made to grow. 

You were made to grow, without losing home. 

Home grows. 

In the past few years I've watch you grow at home on stage in theater. You've grown more serious about your education. You've grown at home with your youth group and with new friends. Though comfortable in your own small circle,  you've grown better about meeting and embracing new people.  You've grown at home with yourself, better learning that you were lovingly created to be unique and secure (in Him). 

Along with your gift of pink, I give you permission, and my blessing, to keep growing. Grow wiser. Grow in grace. Grow more able to see God working in all things. 

Happy sixteenth. And one to grow on. 

And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment...Philippians 1:9

Love you, 

Mom

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