It was a time before laptops, AOL ran the show, and modems were loud and needed to be connected. In the glow of the family computer, I would work on school reports and print out copies. I’d ask my mom and my grandfather to read them. Out loud. I wanted nothing less.

I loved listening to those one-person choirs. I listened to my words speaking back to me. I wanted to hear the rhythm. I wanted to hear the confusing phrases stumbled over. I wanted to hear the comments when something was particularly striking. The ‘oh’ or ‘wow’ under their breath told me I was on the right track. I wanted to hear my words. I wanted to hear the music in them.

A few years ago I heard a concept that stuck with me. God sets our calling in us when we are little and full of wonder. Wonder was whispered to me when I listened to my family read my words.

The family readings transformed from grade school book reports into lengthy college papers and articles for my college newspaper. The writing got longer and more complicated and, likely, less interesting, but my family stuck with me. They re-read drafts. They patiently waited while I re-wrote sentences and replaced words. The writing grew with me and I grew with it. I’ve know myself as a writer before I was a wife, a mother, and a Christian. Me and writing have had a long relationship that started in childhood when writing found me.

I look back on these formative years and remember fondly a time I grew my writing skills that would blossom into a vocation I’ve sought after.

Now, I’m a parent myself. My kids have gifts that haven’t been opened yet, stories that haven’t been written yet, and skills they haven’t even tried out yet. How will I react when those start to show? Will I be too busy to ‘read out loud’? Will I ‘read’ with boredom? Will I let my tiredness show instead of excitement? Will I say, ‘go ask your father’?

Before we all learn to walk, we learned to crawl, stand, and wobble. Wobbling doesn’t look pretty. It’s messy, sloppy, and always on the verge of falling over. Whatever our kids are chasing after, they are going to be wobbly at first. The notes they sing are going to be off. The words they write are going to be spelled wrong. The colors they choose aren’t going to match.

Every designer, doctor, singer, peacemaker, and engineer started by not being afraid to fail. At some point they walked wobbly. They weren’t afraid to look a bit silly and step out in something that was burning inside of them. Something that perhaps is finding them, as much as they are finding it.

I’m so grateful for the patience and excitement that my family extended toward me with writing at a young age. It was their consistent encouragement that sown into a skill that I believe was placed in me that made me the writer I am today. I want to be compassionate and excited when my kids begin to walk wobbly. I hope to see playful moments as opportunities to grow confidence in my kids.

I want to be there, cheering them on, when wonder is whispered to them.