The First Year – The One She Doesn’t Remember

1987-1988. First year of life.

Twenty-four years ago today, it all began at 9:19pm in a pink house on Pendleton Street. A bald-head little girl entered the world to be greeted by her parents and five older sisters in southern California.

Although the only way I can identify with this year of my life is through pictures and stories from my family, there is still much to be thankful for …

Like being born in the month of December. Sorry Mama … there was a reason I was two-and-a-half weeks late! I just had to squeeze in by the skin of my teeth to a month filled with wonder, mystery, tinsel, carols, and lights. The month in which we celebrate our dear Savior’s birth. And maybe that’s why I love the first days of the months so much … because I was born on one. A time to celebrate, prepare our hearts, get excited … deck the tree, eat the cookies, go sledding, wrap the presents – and at the very beginning, I get to celebrate my special day! What a blessing.

AND I’m also thankful that my parents didn’t stick to their original idea of only having 5 kids! So glad that 4 years after little Lisa was born, they decided they needed one more … and I came along! [and little did they know that seven years later, God would decide for them that they needed still one more! :D] Perhaps being the sixth child is why I have a hankering to have a large family someday … who knows, but I certainly love my big family with all my heart, and feel so grateful to be a part of it!

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