Dear Heather,

Most people don't expect to be the mother of a sixteen year old when they're thirty-something: I was no exception.  And yet, just months after my thirtieth-first birthday, God radically changed my expectations...He gave us you.

When we adopted you--I never use that term legally; as far as I'm concerned, you became our daughter in April of 2001 not a year and a half later when the courts signed official papers--I didn't expect the myriad emotions that would run rampage in my mind.  Love, fear, concern, worry, and protectiveness seemed to mingle in a jumbled confusion as I learned to be your mother. 

I loved you before we adopted you, and yet differently than I would grow to love you.  Unlike most moms, I knew my little girl before she was "mine".  I'd come to care about you while Dad was your pastor, not your father, and I had grown to love you as we sang silly songs together in a tiny back room of our little church when I was your youth leader, not "Mommas".   Once you came into our home, I found myself growing to love you more and more.  Perhaps as I learned to sacrifice my own desires and began serving your needs better, I learned to love you more richly.  Perhaps as you allowed your protective barrier to inch its way down further and further, I loved you more deeply.  More likely, I believe that I loved you more and more as God knit the six of us into the Walker unit.  You were chosen as a member of our family before the foundation of the earth.  God had finally brought us together.

But I still had much to learn.  I was still so self-centered in much of my thinking. I was afraid of making mistakes. I'd never parented a girl before, let alone one who was already a teenager.  Would you love me back?  Would I earn the title "Mom"?  Would you wish you'd never become a part of our family?  Would you rather live with your biological mother?  Would...would...would?  Each night I found myself questioning, wondering, and crying out to God.  I was concerned that you wouldn't understand our desires for you and would rebel at our principles.  I was afraid that we wouldn't capture your heart.  I was concerned for your well-being at a public school when we were against everything that it represented.  I was fearful for your spiritual health--worried that we wouldn't have enough time to teach you Godly principles.  But God is faithful.

One tool that he used to grow us as mother and daughter was our journaling.  I'm so thankful that we began writing to one another. Those letters were the beginnings of my love letters to you, my dear.  As I wrote, I began to understand God's plan for me as your mother.   I prayed for you before penning many of those notes and through those prayer times God began to grow a love deeper than I could have imagined possible.  Slowly, my fears began to dissipate.  Oh sure, I still worried about you, and still do, for that matter, (that's a mother's perogative, isn't it?) but it became the natural fears of motherhood, not the irrational fears of a floundering woman learning her role.  My worries were gradually replaced by great joy in our relationship.  My heart was filled with wonder at the blessings of God.

Six years later, I find myself changed again.  You've been married for three years now, and our role has metamorphosed into a new delight; we've become friends.  How good God is.  How very, very, GOOD. 

My daughter and friend, may you always know how very thankful I am for the blessing of you.