Letters to Raya

Some of my life's greatest joys are when I hear stories of what I was like when I was little. My Nanny is the greatest at theses stories. I love hearing about the things I have forgotten about, and the things I remember. I enjoy hearing her first memory of us when we first came into her life. About how I was so protective of my little sister, and always made sure she was served first, before me. These are the kind of memories that make me go, "Awww...really? I was so cute wasn't I?"

I have been thinking for the past few months some dreadfully morbid thought. I don't know why. Perhaps because in this past year, both my Grandparents have died, and my step-father, and maybe death is on the brain. Anyways, I've been thinking that I want Raya to have those same kind of stories about herself, so today I started a folder, in my red laptop, named "Letters to Raya". As often as I think about it, I will fill this folder up with little stories, describing to Raya what she was like when she was 2. When she gets older I will give her a flash drive full of these letters, that she can read, and know just how important she was and still is to be.

My dad likes to tell me stories about myself too, but my dad was a full fledged alcoholic when I was a baby, and although it's cute., he tells me the same stories over and over again. The time I beat the little white girl up. The time we went to radway for christmas and I helped him chop wood. The time he kidnapped me and took me to the rez, and his relatives did "Indian Medicine" on me, the time I ran away on my tricycle and I was found peddling my way to barrhead, on the highway. Even though I've heard these stories time and time again, I still love the sparkle my dad gets in his eye, when he tells me these stories. Its like he remembers them like they were yesterday. Praise the Lord my dad is sober now and we can make new memories.

This morning Raya taught me a good lesson in parenting. As I ran around my apartment like  chicken with my head cut off, she came up to be and demanded that I pick her up. Then, she snuggled into my chest and started slurping on her fingers and didn't move for 20 minutes. I'll admit that first few minutes I had my eye on the clock, but then it slowly started to dawn on me that she NEEDED to feel loved by me. So I sat, silently, and rocked her back and forth. She just laid there on my chest, so content. We did that close to half an hour, until she was ready to be put down. When she was ready, I called a cab and took her to daycare. It was worth it.

I wrote her a letter, thanking her for making me into a better person. She does this daily. She truly has been such a changing force in my life, and I hardly recognize myself, from who I used to be.

How can it be, that such an angry, hard, and insecure individual has changed into this shining, bright, motivated, successful human being? How is possible? Only through the grace of God Himself, can this happen. One of His greatest gifts to me has been our little Raya. He knew who she was before He sent her to me, and I am amazed at how such a tiny little person has changed who I thought I was. Amazing.