Twelve

When I look into the future, it is so bright it burns my eyes.

Oprah Winfrey

One unusual Sunday, Emma was letting me try my hand at her hair.  (Every once in awhile we check to see if I'm still no good with hair.  Then we see that yes, I'm still no good.  And we give it more time.  Because you never know.)

Emma said, "In 19 days I'll be wearing make-up."

"What?!?"

"I'll be twelve," was her nonchalant reply.

"Have we talked about this?"

Emma didn't know.  I didn't know.  She had just assumed.  I hadn't.

In our Mormon culture, being twelve marks something big for boys.  In my mind it's also big for girls.  (And I'm not talking about make-up.)

It's entering a new age.  A new frontier.  She'll go to Young Women activities and the experiences she has with church activities will deepen.  If her experience is like mine, she'll feel more.  She'll understand more.  She'll feel awkward and not-enough at times.  She may feel like the only one who doesn't get asked to dance and the only one who doesn't know the answer.  I remember being told, in encouraging tones, to "just be yourself."

OK.  I could do that.

But who was I?  What did that mean? 

If I could give my precious girl any birthday gift it would be an infusion of my vision.  I want so much for her to see what I see.  I want her to know of her beauty--inside and out.  I want her to know that she is talented beyond all reason. I want her to know she will experience heart-ache and rejection and she will stumble and fall.  But I also want her to know that she'll get back up.  She'll be stronger and better with every set-back.  I want my girl to see the power of strong and good women.  I want her know that the images blasted at us from the media about what women are--objects, Barbies, trophies--are as wrong as they can be.

I want her to remember who she is.

Because that is pretty wonderful.

Happy Birthday my girl.