I am supposed to conclude the
blog about year-end giving today. It is
pretty much done; just need to fill in a few details, shorten it, and have my
proofreader correct it. But I am far too
distracted to write about year-end giving right now. It may become a side bar or be postponed
till later. But my heart is not in an
article suggesting year-end gifts. To
explain why I have to take you back 22 years this Saturday.
Sometimes you can recall the
exact moment you bond with someone, the moment you realized you are
hooked. That happened 22 years ago. Our doctor had ordered a precautionary test
for our baby. She was fine, but he wanted
to make sure. She was a newborn whose
age was more easily measured in hours than days. My wife was too close to a long labor to go
with us, so this young dad held his daughter as a woman in scrubs stuck a
needle in the little one’s heel to draw blood.
At the first scream of my little girl my mind told me that this was
necessary for the baby’s well being and the nurse was really a nice
person. But my gut level reaction was to
want to defend my child, to drive away the attacker, and protect this little
helpless one.
The end of the test did not mean
the end of the tears and wails. Being a
Saturday, the lab side of the hospital was mostly vacant. I found my way to a waiting room that was
utterly empty and mostly dark, sat down and began to sooth and comfort and pray
for my daughter. The cries subsided, the
tears stopped and by the time I was ready to take her home my heart was
completely captured. All my children
have captured my heart, but the others did it little by little, this girl did it
in one fail swoop.
Today, 22 year later, she is
getting married. As I tap away at the keyboard
tears crowd the corner of my eyes. My to
do list of the morning is still there-call these people, email the people on
this list, talk to the home office about this schedule. But my heart is not really in it. Monday’s are hard enough anyway, but your
daughter’s wedding adds to it exponentially.
Her groom is a music minister and had to lead worship yesterday and next
weekend so it is a Monday wedding. Isn’t
there a song about Blue Mondays? By the
way her groom is not nearly good enough for her; no young man could ever be
good enough. A well-educated, devoted,
handsome, funny, music minister would sound sketchy to any dad who comforted
his newborn daughter.
I know I have to let her go. She can’t stay home forever. And she has not always been a delight; there
were times I thought about sending her to a convent on the moon. But last night as her mother and I were
getting ready to turn in she came into our room and we talked. This has been a frequent habit for many years. The conversation ranged from the
serious-marriage is serious-to the goofy, how do you hide the smell you leave
in the bathroom (you don’t). We talked
till mid-night and then we prayed and she left.
She will come back to visit, but that is what it will be, a visit. Today changes everything, her home will be
somewhere else, the late night conversations will be with someone else, the
person who comforts her when she cries will be someone else.
I am happy and excited for their
future. I expect grandchildren I can
hold, comfort, and pray for. They will
face struggles and joys and it is what happens when baby girls grow up into
young women. But a dad’s heart is
allowed to be happy and breaking as the same time. I know this for certain, because right now I
am an expert on the subject.
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