I haven’t gotten much sleep this past week. I’ve consumed more coffee and chocolate than I’m willing to admit. I’m on the brink of loopy-ness thanks to the combination of sleep-deprivation and caffeine-intake.
Example? Despite my exhaustion, I had a hard time falling asleep last night because I couldn’t get over the fact that Charles Schwab couldn’t decide between using cartoons or real people for their commercials, so they ended up using a weird unappealing hybrid.
This is where my brain is going, people. Hence, a repost.
I look at my daughter and my heart breaks.
It shatters, because it simply cannot contain something larger than the words love, adore, cherish, treasure.
I stare at her and wonder where I am in all of that beauty.
I hear her giggle, delicate and ladylike, and hope it is a hint to her disposition. I watch her discover, finding and feeling things unfamiliar, and hope it is insatiable. I recognize her sense of humor while she growls or dances or peek-a-boos over and over, as long as she has a captive audience, and hope it is unchanging. I marvel at her growing confidence, and hope it is unstoppable.
I know what I want for her.
I want to take the very best parts of me and give them to her. I want her to be witty, intelligent, honest, and affectionate.
I want to take my ugliest pieces, trade them for something shinier, polish them to perfection, and plant them in her. I want her to be meeker, wiser, sensitive, and hard-working.
I want her to be better, to be brighter. I want her to be lovely. I want to take what precious little I know I’m doing right, and teach her to do it right, too. I want to take the overwhelming amount of things I think I’ve got a grip on, and help her figure out how to do it more gracefully. I want to take the stuff I’ve gotten hopelessly wrong, sweep it out from under the rug, and scare her straight with all of my scars.
I want to teach her how to hide her heart in God. I want to teach her to speak with significance. I want to teach her poise and elegance and dignity. I want to teach her to be unapologetic and uncompromising in character. But I must learn these things first.
I want to teach her whose opinion really matters. I want to teach her that laughter heals. I want to teach her patience and gentleness and tact. I want to teach her to be flexible and forgiving in circumstances. Because I learned these the heart-breaking way.
I want her to know, to know, that she is capable and destined to be infinitely more magical.
I want her to know that she already is.
10 responses to “I Want To Leave A Legacy”
I don’t have kids but this is my heart’s desire as well. I believe you will do it, too.
There’s a phrase that I always think about when it comes to leaving a legacy:
“My ceiling is your floor”
It’s the idea that what it took me a lifetime to learn is where you start. I will deposit everything I have into those coming behind me. it’s not about “earning your stripes”. It’s about learning from my life, looking at my scars and then going out with more than I ever had.
Hopefully she will gain her own scars, just different ones than yours. That’s the only way she’ll build her own legacy. Then the legacy continues…
“My ceiling is your floor.”
As always, your words are breathtaking.
I am so glad that they (and you) have become a part of my life this year.
Much love to you and your beautiful family this Christmas.
And cheers to a 2012 fully of magic for us all…
Oh, am I ever grateful for our Internet friendship! You’re the tops.
Prose poetry, Jess. Beautiful.
No, you are.
Well put, Friend. Merry Christmas!
And happy new year!