She teaches me daily. Since day 1, she has been our sunshine-seeker. She has always quietly embraced transition with an ease I sometimes envy. And she loves wholeheartedly. I remember one blustery winter morning in VT. These were the kinds of mornings when all you really wanted was a day in bed. You woke up with frigid fingers and toes, even beneath a bundle of blankets, and the responsibilities of the day squashed any attempt to burrow. I was barely waking up to this sensation when her tiny frame wandered into my bedroom.

“I can’t find it, mama”, this little voice beckoned to my sleepily. There was an urgency in her tone despite the drowsy hour. After a series of questions and–eventually–my departure from the pursuit of warmth, I realized that she was searching for the sun. It was a cold day in every sense of the word, and the sunshine—her favorite friend—was hiding behind snow clouds. She was devastated. Little fingers fumbled over my curtains as she desperately tried to roll them higher because “maybe he’s just hiding”. But he did not [and would not] emerge for quite some time. Her faith that the sunshine would appear still, never waned.

This is how she has always been. She’s my encourager when she senses spirits are low, a peacemaker when there is familial tension, and a hugger when the need arises(and sometimes even when the need isn’t fully realized to everyone else).

In her bitty years, this looked like sun-searching and big, wet kisses. And now in this season, it’s deeper. She gives everything in everything–the way she loves, friendship, a task, habits…everything. Sometimes this means that something with which she’s become so familiar(like sucking her thumb) is harder to break. But even then, her optimism doesn’t fade. She’s bright, cheerful and fighting to believe the best.

Recently, I’ve seen glimmers of spiritual depth. She has always been my caring, compassionate one. Often quick to step in with a hopeful solution or comment, she believes wholeheartedly. And I’m thankful I get to watch that develop as she grows. I can mark this by several new data points:

A few months ago, we attended the funeral of a precious friend. This was her first, and she wondered aloud what was to be expected and what behavior might be appropriate. We talked at length, and when we were finally there, I was blown away. In the flurry of my own responsibilities, seeking to interact with others, cleaning when needed, leading singing, etc, I hadn’t heard how the day was going for my children. Later, I was approached by the daughter of our recently deceased friend who shared that speaking with our daughter was a needed balm; a highlight of the day. When I shared the story at home, she remarked that she “just walked around talking to people”.

“I went up to folks and said, ‘hi’. My name is _____. What’s yours?”

A few nights ago, I took two of my daughters to the theatre. We learned that the main character was struggling vocally, and so we prayed. Afterward, when he was standing alone as other cast members were shining with excitement, my sunshine-seeker walked up to him alongside a friend and made a point to tell him, “you did a great job”.

And finally, today. You somehow learned that we have new neighbors with a little girl about your age, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when she rang our doorbell asking for you. All afternoon you played only to wander back inside a after a little while. You were–again–searching. When I inquired, you mentioned a Bible, because “I want to tell her the Easter story”.

My darling girl, your courage to look for the light has always taken my breath away. It is foreign to me—your relentless tenacity towards hope. I pray that the Father uses this to protect and preserve you, no matter what the season. You shine so brightly, and I cannot wait to watch how God continues to work.