There’s a sweetness that aches deep in the chest when you realize your child is growing up right in front of you.
It’s in the little things.
The way her legs stretch longer beneath a favorite dress.
The way her voice sounds out words that used to need your help.
The way she can read a book cover to cover, pour her own milk, or brush her hair into a ponytail all by herself.
It’s in the soft letting go that happens with each passing day—when she doesn’t reach for your hand as quickly, or doesn’t need quite as much help zipping up her jacket, or answers the question before you even finish asking it.
I’m not mourning the passing of time, but I’m definitely feeling it.
And the older she gets, the more sacred the ordinary moments become.
That’s the thing they don’t tell you enough about parenting—the good days don’t ask for fanfare. They happen on slow mornings when she’s eating toast and telling you a story with spark in her eyes. They happen when she’s curled up beside you while you read together, or when you catch her singing in the other room.
It’s all so normal—and yet it’s everything.
I’ve realized more and more that being present is the greatest gift I can give both of us. Being here. Undistracted. Paying attention. Because these days don’t last forever, but they build something eternal. They shape her heart. They root mine in gratitude.
So while part of me wants to bottle her up just as she is—gap-toothed grin, wild imagination, arms wrapped around my neck—another part of me is standing in awe, watching the little girl in front of me unfold into exactly who God made her to be.
And I wouldn’t slow that miracle down for anything.
So if today feels like just another regular day—don’t miss it.
These are the days that matter most.
These are the days we’ll wish we could live twice.
Raising Light 