Last weekend Anna had an infection on the back of leg. We were out of town and ended up in the insta-care clinic. While we were waiting for the doctor, Anna whispered to me, "I am going to be brave," as if she was making a conscious decision about how she was going to handle this situation. When the doctor came, Anna had to lay face down on the table while he lanced her blister. She lifted up her chin and I could see her gritting her little teeth together--trying to keep her resolve. Quietly she started saying, "This hurts. This hurts. This hurts." But she didn't flinch. She didn't cry. She just waited for it to be over.

I watched in wonder. Who is this child? Who is this beautiful, wild three year old who cuts hair and talks nonsense and chooses bravery? Perhaps all of these experiences are little clues about who she is going to become someday.

I've heard some educators theorize that a child is like a lump of clay for us to mold. As I study child number four, I'm quite sure this isn't true. While I certainly have influence, I think raising a child is more like assisting an unfolding. And if I'm careful and don't get too upset over the creases, her potential can stretch and spread into the creation of a magnificent human being. Not a person that I can take any credit for molding, but a girl who came creative and confident and brave from the start. And the best I can claim is to have been the mother who knew it. And told her so.