I thought it best to warn you: today is one of Mommy's hard days.
I was watching a movie last night in which an old man assures his daughter's well-being by seeing to it that she is married off to an approved suitor before he begs God to relieve him of his earthly burdens.
While I know that marriage is not necessarily a required ingredient for a meaningful life, the scene turned my stomach sour and I dismissed myself to the privacy of your bedside, where I hid my face and sobbed until my hair was wet and tangled in my fingers.
(GENTLEMEN'S ALERT: THOSE OF DELICATE SENSIBILITIES NEED READ NO FURTHER. I lay the responsibility for these oppressive feelings squarely upon my own shoulders -- it was unwise of me to watch Les Miserables on a particularly hormonal day. I forget how resuming the pill can shade your emotions and induce the belief that everything Nicholas Sparks has produced is pure magic. Nothin' says bonkers like a fresh flush of hormones and a beat-up uterus.
OKAY. YOU'RE SAFE NOW, GUYS.)
I was ashamed to be crying, but in the daylight hours I've come around to forgive myself and allow the assurance of the Holy Spirit to clarify His answers to even my most selfish questions regarding your future.
I want you to know what it is to be loved, daughter -- this is a normal hope every mother carries for her child. But I don't understand why part of me fixates upon and mourns for the very real possibility you might not require the kind of romantic love that once blinded me to the challenges of reality -- the amorous idol that I once craved and valued above all, at the cost of misspent youth and squandered opportunities. Why would I regret sparing you this curse of this self-inflicted idiocy? The prisoner loves best their own chains, I suppose...
Let me clarify this, little one: it's not my intention to foist my own concept of happiness upon you and force you to make it your own. If all the love your family gave you turns out to be all the love you need, then I will understand. If the only time I see you in a white dress is when you're playing dress up in my church slip, well then, honey, that's fine. You will be just as touching to me in that moment as you would be if I was looking on as your Daddy gave you away.
I know it's still early in your development to try and forecast your future according the encouraging medical assessments you've received thus far. After all, none of us truly know what kind of shape we'll be in ten years from now, ten days from now, or even tomorrow. I might be one-eyed, diabetic, blonde, and living in hut in Hawaii with ten dogs and one very nervous cat in 2023. Who knows. I've seen for myself that life can be a very unpredictable endeavor, whether you sign up for the scenic tour or not.
What I should do is simply tell you this here so I can see the words for myself in all their discomforting glory:
I'm afraid for you to be lonely when you grow up. I just know how happy and fulfilled I am being married to your Daddy, and I believe that being a wife and mother is the way in which my life was meant to mirror the kingdom of God. But maybe the mirror He's made in you is completely different than mine. It's so difficult to say on behalf of your child, "Not my will, but yours, Lord...", and entrust Him with your future happiness.
It won't stop me from praying selfishly for you, though. If for no other reason than you are my daughter, I want to know that someone will treasure and care for you long after your Daddy and I are gone. So I'm going to start asking God now to provide you with someone, or many someones, to meet you at where you need to be loved when you grow up. Maybe that'll be a best friend, or a group of friends, or a sibling....or even a sweetheart. The type of relationship doesn't matter -- I would just rest in knowing that you would be valued and understood.
And because I have asked Him, and because I know what my Father is capable of, I trust that it is already done. There will be a heart that will compliment yours. There just will.
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