for Marion Piper-- a late birthday letter

You are three years old, and have sass for miles.  My dear Marion Piper, I vividly remember the moment when I discovered you were growing inside me; when the technician told a very surprised Daddy and I that you were a girl; the months I spent wondering what you would look like and who you would be; and then the moment I first held you.  

We were recently talking with friends who described you simply as "Piper".  There's really no other way to say it.  We've spent these past few years growing in our love for you, giggling uncontrollably with you, and praying for your soul.

You and I have had a tough year, learning what it means to be mom and daughter.  They say that children are sponges, soaking up every bit of knowledge they encounter, but I'm certain that I've learned the most as we've transitioned into toddler-hood with you.  Forgive me for my impatience.  I need grace every day to love you as God would have me to, and to share the gospel with you in word and in deed.  Thank you for accepting my tearful "sorries" and thank you for learning to say "sorry" yourself.  

I love your vibrant take on life and the way that you excitedly share the things your experiencing with us.  Your favorites are, of course, princesses, but I love to see that your play is branching out--doctoring and mothering your toys and others around you.  Your energy seems endless, until bedtime when you love to cuddle with "gaffy" and Daddy. 

Did I mention that you are a wonderful big sister.  We've done a lot of learning about what it means to be gentle with Gabriel, but no one can make him laugh like you.  I love the way you sing to him when he's crying, and tell him he's a rascal when he's getting into stuff.

We love you, sweet Piper, more and more each day.  Our prayer is that God would call you to Himself and that you would live a radical life enjoying His rich gospel.