Hallie Kathryn

You turn fourteen on Sunday. Last year you were surprised with a new dog.  This year you're getting advice.  Aging can stink.

My cherished daughter,

You surprised me when you asked me to write a birthday post for you.  You're the kid always with a strong sense of who you are and what you want. You prefer a pint of Bluebell (Dutch Chocolate) over a compliment and a book as opposed to long conversations.  So I'm all stirred up; ready to answer this invitation to write to you and about you.

You and I impulsively headed out the door last Saturday afternoon to take some pictures.  I have a new camera lens that I've been itching to use and earlier that afternoon we'd spotted a couple of cool picture props like that old gold Volkswagen van in a yard we passed.  You remember.  You also recall how I was curious as to why you wanted to use your guitar in your pictures.  You haven't picked it up in years.  Still, you thought a couple of snapshots of you picking out notes on your guitar would be fun.

It was while I watched you in front of me, guitar in hand, a girl on a mission, that a story swelled in my memory; one that I think fits the occasion.

About seven years ago, every Sunday night we'd sneak out the back door of Dorcas Wills Memorial Baptist at 6:50 on the dot, missing the second stanza of the closing hymn.  We'd hop in the car taking you a few streets down to a tiny house where you took guitar lessons.  You had decided you wanted to learn to play guitar.

You'd had a couple of months worth of lessons when your instructor asked to speak to me one night.  I sent you to the front room to watch one of the handful of worn out Disney videos available for Rylie's entertainment while we waited for you every Sunday.  She shared, of all things, her concern that you might have Attention Deficit Disorder.   The ironic thing about that suggestion is that you're the least symptomatic of the disorder out the Burden five.  Attention Deficit is something I know a little about.  I've read the book.  I'm probably going to write a book.  And I've got the t-shirt.  You do not have Attention Deficit Disorder. All of these thoughts were swirling as she explained, "She never wants to pay attention to the lessons I have for her".

She said

"She always wants to play her own song."

Always creating.  Slipped inside your lesson books you'd  bring folded-up pages of composed music with notes unintelligible to anyone but you. Apparently it had become a problem.

I had let you bring your music because I was glad you were writing your own. I was happy you were learning to love music.

You're still that way. You're unafraid to write the music to life.  And you're not afraid to sing your own tune even where others can hear. You're unmoved, for the most part, by those who don't understand its notes and verses. You are who you are, not who "they want you to be".

 a "do it myself" girl.

  Independence started for you while your legs still toddled in diapers.  Potty training, swimming and learning to ride a bike happened strictly on your time table ignoring any and every encouragement.  You would not be enticed with big girl panties bearing Dora or Disney princesses or the offer of an M&M for potty success.

A picture of a seven year old with a striped tank top and bird legs comes to mind. You were perched on your bike, helmet strapped on, pedaling down that little dead end street beside our house.  Struggling to keep your balance on a carpet of orange, dried-up pine needles, I knew to stay close behind you without having my hands directly on the bike.

Your dad and I shouted encouragement.

"Keep pedaling."

"Your leaning. Get your balance back."

"Get ready to turn."

"You're doing it!"

  It was YOUR feet that pushed the pedals in dizzying circular motion.  YOU learned to shift your weight when you started to lean one way too hard.  But, you had and have a cheering section that won't stop.

Remember that you have that in your dad and I.

Know that we experience immeasurable joy when you perform your poems and other things like your humorous monologue about "Wonder Bread". We're beside ourselves that you write some of the pieces you perform even though it's not a requirement in the contests you compete in.

Sometimes you don't enjoy our encouragement because it's in the form of discipline. We're there at your side to urge you to do better when your grades don't match your smarts.  I remind you OFTEN of the importance of smiling.

We're not your only fan section.  You've had beautiful people placed purposefully in your life all along the way including the crowd of people we call family who welcomed you that morning you said hello to the world for the first time.

What about that prestigious group you've been made a part of? You're a Babybug in a group of Ladybugs; a group of saintly women with life experiences you've yet to think of.

God has gifted you with family and friends of all ages.  There are women that listen to you and are wonderful to listen to. You have friends to walk beside you.  You're surrounded by men who give you a good picture of good company so that you'll know how to choose good company.

Stay you

- the girl with a determined nature and a mission all her own.

Don't stop writing your own music

and keep on pedaling

remembering these two things

1. Let those who love you join in on a couple of verses. Life is more beautiful when shared.

2. Look to the left and to the right and you'll see people cheering you on.  There won't be a time in your life that there won't be people to guide you along.  Learn, my dear, that sometimes you will need them and there will be times you have to ask.  People need people.

 Life is about balance

Your dad and I love you fiercely.