The dress hung where she could see it every day.
For months.
My sister Jolene was getting married, and Annie, who was four years old, was going to be her flower girl.
She had a very important job. Get the path ready for Aunt Jolene. We talked about what a very special job that was.
She called that dress her “princess dress.” I’d let her try it on, for practice, of course.
Then the day came.
People were moving around everywhere, getting ready for the ceremony, and there was Annie.
Twirling. For all to see.
And they sure did! She heard many an admiration.
“Well, aren’t you pretty!”
She’d stop just long enough to acknowledge them.
It wasn’t with a “thank you.” Not at first.
The first words out of her mouth were the ones you just said in your own head …
“I know.”
Nobody gasped. Nobody corrected her. Her confidence only made them smile wider.
Because when a four-year-old says “I know,” people see the innocence of it, the belief.
You and I would say the same two words after the same compliment and get the eye roll. The “well, aren’t we vain.” Admiration one second, ambush the next.
Jesus said that unless we change and become like little children, we’ll never enter the kingdom of heaven.
That is so harsh, and so freeing.
Annie didn’t wrestle with whether they meant it. She didn’t hear the enemy whisper, ‘Is that really what they said?’ The one the enemy starts sliding into our ears once we’re old enough to doubt.
She just believed she was loved. She just believed she was beautiful.
And she twirled.
I’ve remembered that day more times than I can count.
I’ve shared it with several people. But now that Annie is no longer with us on this earth, there are mornings I really don’t want to twirl.
There are days my “princess dress” hangs in my memory where I can see it, and I can’t make my feet move.
The music feels too far away to hear.
The music feels too far away to hear.
Some mornings I’m not sure I still believe the compliment — that He delights in me. That there was nothing I could have done.
Grief has a whisper all its own.
Have you heard that whisper too?
Is there a morning coming this week when you already know you won’t want to twirl either?
When getting dressed is the whole victory.
When “I know I’m loved” and “I know I am beautifully made” were lines you used to be able to say without flinching.
Here’s what Annie keeps teaching me, even now.
Annie twirled like that because she believed her mom first.
Before the wedding, before the dress, before the compliments, I’d already told her she was beautifully and wonderfully made.
So when the words came, “aren’t you pretty!”, they weren’t news. They were just a confirmation of what she already believed.
She didn’t have to weigh them or wonder if they meant it. Her mom had said it, and that settled it.
That’s the childlike faith Jesus points to. Not believing harder. Believing first!
Taking your Father at His word before the world gets a say.
“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God.” (1 John 3:1)
On the days I can twirl, and the days I can barely stand, He’s already said it.
My job isn’t to earn the compliment. It’s to believe Him first, the way Annie believed me.
So today, friend, I’m not going to ask you to feel better.
I’m not even going to ask you to twirl like it’s easy.
I’m just going to ask you to lift out your arms.
That’s it. Lift your arms out the way Annie did, the way a child does when she wants to be picked up. Let your Father lift you onto His feet.
Because there are days you can’t hold your own weight, let alone twirl.
And you don’t have to.
Have you ever watched a little girl dance with her dad? He reaches down, she climbs onto the tops of his shoes, and he does the dancing.
Her feet never do a thing. She just holds on, maybe her arms wrapped around his legs, and lets him carry her around the whole floor.
Her feet never do a thing. She just holds on, maybe her arms wrapped around his legs, and lets him carry her around the whole floor.
Can you see the smiles?
Hear the giggles?
That’s the twirl for the days you can’t. The days your legs won’t work. Stand on His. Let Him do the moving. You just hold on.
Can you imagine a morning you wake up under the weight, and instead of white-knuckling your way through it, you just whisper, “I know.”
I know I’m Yours. I know I’m loved. I know your arms are still holding me.
Grief may not lift by morning, but His arms will still be there when it doesn’t.
And one day, the day I’m holding onto, I’ll twirl again. In a dress I haven’t seen yet.
Holding onto the arms of the one I’ve never stopped trusting.
And Annie will be right there, twirling beside me, both of us laughing, both of us saying the same two words back to the One who lavished this love on us, who tells us we are beautiful and wonderfully made!
“I KNOW.”
Dear Father,On the days I don’t want to twirl,
hold me anyway.You’ve already said it
I’m Your daughter,
loved, wonderfully made,
lavished on,
Yours.You said it first,
before I could ever feel it,
before the grief could dispute it.So on the days I can’t stand,
let me stand on You.
Set my feet on Your feet.
Be the steady when I have none.
You do the twirlingI’ll just hold on.And until the day I twirl again with Annie,
teach me to believe You first,
and whisper it back to you …I know.Amen.
I am too touched for words Cheri and today August 11 and 12are definitely not twirling days for me either. Some days feel easier than others to believe, to trust. Nonetheless I set my heart to face and follow the Son.
Thank you!! I am so sorry we share these days. I was told by a friend I met through losing a child, “We are the kind of friends I never wanted!” So true, but yet – we are the kind of friends that God gifted!
Having babysat for years as a teenager and later work as a school librarian K-8 I can easily picture Annie saying, “I know.” Children have a beautiful innocence that accepts compliments and love readily. Thank you for this picture of standing on God’s feet to move in a dance. I just need to hold on. February 4 the day my dad died is the date for me, right before my 30th birthday.
Thank you so much for sharing your day! Losing a parent is hard, but right before a birthday makes it harder, and it casts a shadow! I am sorry, friend.
Yes, children are such a gift. Their acceptance of compliments and love from a mind of innocence is so refreshing.