twelve

My firstborn turned 12 this past Sunday. Twelve. Such a funny word. Who says "twelve" really? Not me. I never say twelve. And now I will have to say it many, many times over the course of this year. I don't really want to say it. But no one asked me what I wanted. {sigh} What's so wrong with eleven, anyway? I was starting to like eleven.

Twelve is pushing me. Pushing me into doing things I've never had to do before. Talk about things I really wasn't ready to talk about. Again, no one really asked me whether or not I was ready. So. Here I am. Right smack dab in the middle of twelve. It's okay though. I'm feeling the grace to do twelve. And thirteen and fourteen and all the numbers after that. It's okay. He's holding my hand.

 

He even wanted so much to be sure that I knew this that He told my sister-cousin to send me a little book in the mail that would help me. Talk about the things I wasn't ready to talk about. So today I pack up my little gift-book, my bundle of nerves, the book that understands me, along with my freshly-turned-twelve-year-old and her BFF (a ripe eleven...shew! eleven I know!) and set out to start this whole twelve thing off right! As we drive to our favorite place to be girls...ahem...women, we sing loudly to Kelly Clarkson and Misty Edwards. Both ladies are singing of love. One sings of love gone wrong. The other of Love Himself. I don't expect them to understand the irony.

We shop for teacups. Me getting all shaky inside as they twelvishly handle the expensive ones that I don't want to buy. We find the perfect ones. Don't they each want a different pattern? Shouldn't we look some more? Maybe our time will run out and I won't have to face failure. Them looking at me awkwardly. Or asking me about my first kiss. No, they say they are hungry. Anxious to know what all this is about. We are seated. Would I have to speak over all this noise? So distracting. I have my doubts.

I drink my tea fast. I don't even like hot tea.

I read Paul's words. Such good words. They're looking around. I read louder. "If you keep yourself pure, you will be a special utensil for honorable use. Your life will be clean, and you will be ready for the Master to use you for every good work." Just like the fine china, I say. You wouldn't come in from a run and drink water from it, would you? You wouldn't let the little ones drink from it, would you? They laugh. I breathe.

They talk about friends. Friends who want boyfriends. (I didn't mention boys...Holy Spirit, did You?) They ask me about her Daddy. They want to know about the first time he held my hand. I am giddy, remembering.

Being set apart is not always beautiful. It can get lonely at times, I say. But "enjoying the companionship of those who call on the Lord with pure hearts" helps. If they will ask God to help them, He will. He wants to hold their hands too...  

Who wouldn't want to be different? I think to myself.  A twelve year-old, that's who. Mine shares a story of a friend's email. Asking her what she should do about a boy who is giving her mixed signals. She tells us she replied with, "Well...you're not gonna like what I have to say, but here goes:  Wait for your prince charming to come! Is this boy really what you've always dreamed of?... But... you should pray. And not just take my advice because He cares about every single little detail of your life!"  I think of the box. And all the desperate Mommy-prayers. "God! Give 'em wisdom beyond their years!"

I show them my ring and tell them He was the first to hold my heart and my hand. And I'm so glad of that.  They lean in close.  I bought that ring to help my heart.  Because it's so deceitful.

I tell them it has to be their decision. No one else can make it for them. But that if they choose to remain "set apart", they will never regret it, no matter how difficult it is.

We giggle some more and have to get back. Tonight we will hide wildflowers under our pillows and pray for our husbands.  (Oh! The giggles when I tell them that one!) Because it's mid-summer, right? ;)