This kid’s got me. For almost ten years solid, she’s had my heart and now our stories are woven together forever.

Livia and I had dinner last night at a park we hadn’t visited in, oh, seven years or so. Recalling our fun visit with friends, I had her sit on the tunnel where I recalled a photo opp a long time ago. Here she is at age ten, and below is the shot from age two (almost three).

The learning curve on gerbils is interesting. It’s definitely not rocket science here, rather it’s a learn-as-you-go process. For example, these little guys like to tunnel, which means they’ll kick up all their bedding and we’ll inevitably have cardboard chips or paper pieces outside their cage (and on table or floor or whatever). I bought bedding with lavender bits because, ooh!, it smells nice! But then what I earned in positive odors got replaced by messiness. This bedding shoots straight through the bars of their cage and, ugh, is ending up everywhere. The gerbils also seem to like to pee on the upper levels of their house, not so much on the bedding. I refuse to be a gerbil pee-wiper (in addition to my other shall we say “low” tasks as in the home) so I think this simply means we’ll have to clean their cage more often.

But look at these pics! Livia learned to clean the cage last weekend and life already seems sweeter. She puts Shiloh in his kennel (Shiloh REALLY REALLY loves the gerbils if you know what I mean), Vice in the ball and Whiskers in his wheel car, and then we collaborated to make a new home for the rodents.

In the past few days I have laughed more than once as I fed the fish—after hollering, “Has anyone fed the fish today?”—or refilled Shiloh’s water dish or dropped a handful of hay pellets into the gerbils’ cage. This is not exactly the mothering I envisioned for my life, but you know what? I don’t mind it. I like taking care of little beings and if God hasn’t given us more human chilluns to love at the moment, then I can tend to these little beasts in my home.

Fair warning, Whiskers and Vice, you are collectively the low man on the totem pole in this house. If/when respite or foster or adoptive or bio kids show up, you’ll need to start speaking out loud to get any attention from me.

We were having a serious moment yesterday. One where I took Liv by the hand and apologized for some of my poor behavior. It was like I was having two conversations at once, though. There was the intentional and outward dialogue with Livia and there was another internal voice that was in awe of how beautiful she looked. Her hazel eyes reflected the smallest amount of sunlight streaming into my office and she was just amazing to look at. We wrapped up our talk, with Liv, as always, being more gracious in forgiveness than I deserve, and I pulled out my camera.

The images above are not from that moment, but they illustrate so much of this time in our lives, these fleeting moments of being nine years old and all that entails. I’m starting to understand the term “tween” because we are so so close the the maturity and adventure of the teen years and yet so far away at the same time. We vacillate between the pull of growing up and the desire to stay little and close to mom’s side. For days on end I will be amazed at the growth and quick “yes ma’ams” and the way this or that chore gets done right away, and then I’ll be a little stunned by an outburst reminiscent of what we saw at age three. Are we “in between” right now? Yes, for sure. And no, not so much. Nine has been incredible. This age is fantastic and life is more fun than ever. Ten? Bring it on. I can’t wait to see what another year brings.

I started writing something but then I got interrupted by Livia. And by two gerbils on my desk, one spinning in a wheel. And by the dog who basically wants to eat the gerbils. Heck, even the sun shining while it’s pouring rain outside—always a strange phenomenon—has interrupted me.

So here you go, friends, gerbil pics.

I’ll admit this much, Vice (light orangish-brown) and Whiskers (white) are darn cute. And Livia is a really good caretaker.

Happy early birthday, Liv! That was some surprise, wasn’t it?!!

This child is destined to work with animals someday. It is her dream and it is deep in her DNA. Hatching chicks in her 3rd grade classroom is something she’ll never forget!

May you have even a portion of the joy of a nine year old girl with a $9.99 bear from Target.

Love to you all, from the Tredway family.

Dear Livia Raine,

You are loved with an everlasting love, a love that goes into eternity, a love that knew your name long before you came into being.

Today I want to tell you about that love, the love that God has for you. It is BIG, it is POWERFUL, and it will conquer all.

This morning I met with other moms of kids who go to your school. We get together to pray for you and for your teachers, for the administration and the staff. Afterwards a few of us moms talked about our daughters and their friends. Really, we talked about the struggles our girls are having with their friends. Girls are getting left out. They’re wondering who to sit with at lunch. They are making new friends and sometimes leaving old friends behind. They cry at home as they worry about who will like them and who will want to spend time with them.

I’m no different from those little girls, from you and the kids you go to school with. I’m a grown-up but I still have those feelings inside me, those worries about who to sit with at lunches and other events. I sometimes feel like there’s no one around who wants to be with me and sometimes I worry that my friends will leave me for others who live closer or are more fun than me.

Liv, we all want to be loved. We all want for someone to stick close to us. We all cry when our feelings are hurt or when someone betrays us. There is not a person on this earth who doesn’t want to be loved.

So here’s the good news:

God loves you. You belong to God!

He chose you since before the world was formed; you are a part of his holy people and he will faithfully love you forever (Jeremiah 31:3). The psalmist says it like this, that God’s love goes all the way up to the sky, as far as the clouds. It’s a big big love. It’s a love that wraps around you and keeps you safe. When you feel like hiding or when you’re feeling small, God says you can take comfort in his arms, within the shadow of his wings (Psalm 36:5-7). He loves you so very much that nothing you can imagine has the power to separate his love from you. Not the school cafeteria. Not a third grader who won’t play with you at recess. Not someone who makes fun of you for no reason or for a dumb reason or even for a good reason. God is not like that! He is all love FOR YOU, all the time. No one will ever ever ever be able to make God NOT love you. Not death, not life, not angels, not the devil, nothing in all history before you were alive and nothing in all of the future that stretches before you (Romans 8:38-39).

You have the world, Livia Raine, because you have a God that adores you, his beautiful, smart, precious, creative daughter. He has given you eternal life through his son Jesus. He has given you his spirit, to live inside your heart and direct you each day. He has given you everything in his love, absolutely everything.

May you always know this love deep down in your heart and may this knowledge make you rise above the hard things of this world. You are loved with an everlasting love, my daughter.

I am proud to be your mama.

I love you.

Sometimes mornings are running dialogues where one of the players has the most lines. The third grader is the star with the second player, her mother, interjecting a few pointers along the way. The thoughts that are most prominent will be repeated, possibly over and over, until they are sufficiently acknowledged and understood. It seems as though this dialogue—which, let’s face it, is really a monologue—takes precedence over all else while the second and more lowly player believes that getting dressed, brushing teeth and eating breakfast are the more worthwhile activities. Sometimes the star of the show recalls Very Important Activities, like saying goodbye to her goldfish, that all of a sudden must be done before she walks out the front door. It is the second player’s job to think and act quickly, assuring the star why the fish will be fine without an adieu.

Eventually the first player carries her monologue-dialogue out the door with her. This morning it was carried into her Papa’s car and what happened there I cannot say, though I certainly can imagine. All the words and important thoughts and stories to tell are sucked out that door with her, like a vortex that leaves silence in its wake. All the flurried energy goes with her and behind her there is great silence that envelopes all the second player’s thoughts like a thick blanket. Quiet, stillness remains.

Soon enough the star will choose different words to express herself. She may share her lines with someone else on most days or perhaps even take them to an internal place to sort out before relying on the second player. I enjoy this thought as I sit in front of my computer with a cup of coffee at hand. Someday these words about little things will become words about big things and they will have power to change the world, a few characters at a time.