• Karissa

Her Favorite Color Is Blue

If my daughter was a color she’d be sparkly pink. It would be always changing, sometimes the palest of pink, sometimes the brightest. But always that hue of happiness and flowers and rosy girlish cheeks.

When she was really little and you asked what her favorite color was, she said in her little voice “pink”. The day she was old enough to think to ask me what my favorite was, I answered “Blue”. From that day on, if anyone asked, her favorite color was and has always been blue.

At first, I was so sad. I worried she would grow to be like me, wavering under what she thinks the expectations are instead of standing firm in her true self. But I think I missed the point. The whole reason she made the big three year old life decision of changing her favorite color from pink to blue. She didn’t choose it out of expectation, she chose it out of love. And her personality was just as unique and beautiful from it. Still, if there are different colors to choose from she picks blue. If someone asks, it’s blue. But that bright, rose colored pink of her spunky personality still shines through. She now tacks on to the favorite color answer (after blue, of course) “And all the colors of the rainbow except I don’t like dark colors”. The radiance of her personality peeks through even in the way she dresses, her outfits a bouquet of different floral patterns and colors all matching only in the pattern “joyful”.

Mamas have the best, most terrible jobs. I mean the best in the most literal sense. As for terrible, I do not mean bad or awful. I mean in the exciting, awe inducing, bigger than anything and sometimes scary sense. It is easy to think that at the end of the day, when you read and fed and cleaned and laundered, and the kids are bored and there is a mess right where you just cleaned, that nothing was really accomplished. The tasks and the mundanity feel like ALL.

It made me think the other day, am I teaching my daughter enough? Is she paying attention to the me that tells her she is important and smart and hilarious, or just the me that tells her to pick up her shoes off the floor? Does the mundanity of every day shadow the important lessons I want to teach her, and the big life I want for her? Sometimes mama decisions seem so small and insignificant (no you can’t have another applesauce) that it is hard to think how they add up to shape a budding person. Mamas have the biggest voice in our children’s lives, but it sometimes goes hoarse with reminders to “put your shoes on we’re going to be late.”

My daughter’s incandescent pink shines through every day, and sometimes I feel that I do not do that pink justice. That I do not show her how to love Jesus well. That I do not model things perfectly enough. That she is not paying attention to my encouragement outside of the mundane. That my magnanimous efforts at encouraging her flourishing to be all that it could be go missed. Does my daughter see my heart for her? Can she hear my love through a voice hoarse with the mundane? But then I remember, her favorite color is blue.