A mess. A beautiful mess.
Once I share our mess, you may think differently. You may rant and judge, and that’s okay. Or, you may feel a release, shed tears, knowing you are not alone.
I carried a baby in my tummy, read stories to her, sang lullaby’s, and wrote her letters before I held her in my arms.
When she arrived, her beauty filled the hospital room. Smiles and laughter. Pure joy. She grew in kindness and compassion. A girly-girl wrapped in a neat little bundle. She once put worms in the dishwasher because they needed cleaning from living in the dirt. Oh, the smell coming from the dishwasher.
As a family, we’d pray around a different bed before the kids went to sleep, she loved her turn, to lead, to pray in her room.
She never saw a stray dog or cat, it was a pet, somebody’s family member that was lost. She lost her own Simba the cat to leukemia, she cried for days. We paid the vet bill for months.
She cheered and danced at little league football games. Pom poms and cartwheels. Bows and ponytails.
She learned to spike a volleyball and scoop a grounder.
She loved her youth pastor and group. Served well.
Praised God with hands raised and tears streaming. Surrendered her hopes and dreams. Went to Africa on a missions trip. Fell in love with Kenya’s people.
Fell in love with a boy. Got her heartbroken. Cried and cried.
College had its ups and downs. Mostly up’s. She graduated with a degree in education and moved to Columbia to teach. Taught with compassion and patience. Decorated her first classroom with great care, prayed over each student.
And sent me a text. A text that completely took me by surprise.
“Mom, I’m in this relationship. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to try it out.”
Two years later, she’s engaged to a girl. Another girl.
She smiles. She laughs. She built a home. A life.
And I wipe tears from my eyes. Weekly. Daily. Streams.
She’s so beautiful. So kind. So generous. So loving. She’s my little girl.
And I pray. And pray. And pray.
She comes around. We’re distant. My sweet daughter. Beautiful daughter.
Society tells me to be happy. To be okay. That it’s okay.
Screams to me, you’re wrong. You’re cold. You’re cruel. You’re discriminating.
And I weep more. Pray more. Seek God more.
For answers. For guidance. For understanding.
I hug her. Hold her. Love her. Spend time with her. My daughter. And yet, I can’t bring myself to meet her. The friend. The roommate. The woman. Her fiance.
I cry more. Pray more. Seek God more.
Help me to love. To be light. To extend grace.
Revive. Stir. Draw. Break walls. Redeem. Restore.
My sweet daughter.
Our beautiful mess. God’s canvas to create. To bring Him glory.
