a punky kind of birthday

My not-so-baby girl turns 11 tomorrow.

Wow...eleven. How did that happen?

It seems like just yesterday we met a shy, tiny toddler in a babyhouse in Russia. She was sitting across the room on a worn, wooden bench, picking dolls, horses and blocks out of a white fabric bag. Her face scrunched in concentration as she listened to what her speech teacher was saying.

Every so often she would glance our way, and then quickly go back to what she was doing...too frightened to come anywhere near us.

We slowly worked our way across the room...taking our time. Trying not to scare her...hoping she'd let us into her world. Slowly, she opened up to us. Letting us talk to her, play with her and eventually hold her.

Right then, we knew she was the one.


The little blond-haired, blue-eyed, tiny beauty had a personality so big, my husband nicknamed her Punky. And it stuck.

Nine years later, she's grown into a beautiful, sweet, smart, caring, compassionate tween...who still has the personality to match her nickname. The same little girl who enjoys reading 'Ramona the Pest', playing Barbie's with her sister and loves the color purple is the same child who loves softball, thinks nothing of jumping right in on a game of tackle football with her brothers and rides her bike no-handed.

I am so grateful God led us to her. I'm thankful we followed our hearts, took our time and were patient. I'm thankful we didn't put too much stock into her medical sheet which indicated she had 'issues.' (She's completely healthy.) And I'm thrilled to pieces she let us into her world. I am so proud to call Anya  my daughter. And there is no better sound in the world than when she calls me, 'Mama.'

So Happy Birthday Punk! I pray God will grant you even more grace, beauty and wisdom in the next nine years, that your life will be full of the love of good, Godly friends and family and that you will grow up to be all that He has created you to be!

All my love,
Mama