How to recall all you have bestowed and taught and nourished me with, daughter of mine, these past two years. (Has it been that long already? And yet, I confess, I can’t really remember the time before you had my heart.)
How the way to the Father’s heart is a simple “please” ….
How the landscape of now is slipping away, fading on the horizon. You are my reminder: I will not pass this way again.
How burying my face into your wisps of curls, I hold you, and seeds, and faces and future I may never live to behold. Your little fingers grabbing my cheek, reaching back to seize a past and voices and ancestors you’ll never know. Laying here together, mother and child, we span the ages.
How I may soundlessly, imperceptibly, breathlessly slip out of your room at night…but God never, ever, ever leaves us….
How as rattles and dollies and blankets do not comfort you like being held close, only Father, and nothing else, will do for the heart ache of humanity. …
How nothing else has to change in my world, but just holding on to Father changes everything …
This journal began in September 2004 with the words: “No ordinary moments exist. All is sacred and divine. Infused with His holiness.” And you, daughter of mine, were conceived in that same month of days, under the white light of a September moon, as the fog drifted in. You have been with me for all the scratchings of this journey, you, our peace child. Shalom.
And then this week. As I stood on the cobblestone walk, holding hose in hand to water thirsty daisies, your barefeet pattered around the corner. Your halo of blonde flashed in the sunshine as you ran, arms outstretched, towards me.
“Hug me! Hug me!” you sang, eyes dancing with smile.
No reason. No occasion. Just being. For isn’t that reason enough?
Yes, daughter of mine. Let me whirl you around in my arms. For I can’t think of anything I would rather do than hug you and hold you and bask in you–us together in love.
Father must feel the same way, yes?
And there you go, with another gift of truth from His heart.
But two, and all you have taught me, daughter.
Yet isn’t that the way it is: “Unless you… become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Like a child.
Thank you for the gift, child.
Of showing me how to be like a child.
