Daughter

As I was getting ready for bed last night, a tiny figure emerged into the dark hallway. The glow of the nightlight illuminated her, tiny arms raised high above her head, as she ran toward the sound of my footsteps.

I’m not sure there’s anything that melts my heart like the sight of my daughter unapologetically reaching for me. Yes, she could totally get the bathroom and use the potty on her own, but I’ll carry her every time. Because she reaches for me with so much hope and expectation. Yes, sometimes I’m tired and get annoyed and grumble that I have ten thousand things to do that don’t involved picking up a three-year-old, but I pick her up nonetheless. Because she reaches for me. I can’t resist.

I suppose it’s no accident that God compares himself to a father. That’s not for the benefit of the children out there, it’s for the parents. It’s for the people who understand how your heart melts and how you’ll do anything to care for the children who reach for you. The only time my heart comes close to understanding how God views me is when I think about my love for my children. I don’t expect anything; I just adore them. I can’t help it.

The last decade has left me deeply hurting, deeply scarred. It’s been remarkably devoid of love in the parts of my life that should be defined by love’s abundance. I’ve had to defend my very existence, work harder than I ever thought I could work, and accept treatment I should have to accept. I can assure you that when I reached my arms up and begged for help, the person on earth who should have done that sneered and turned away. I’ve been left utterly alone.

I’m defined by that response. I don’t ask for help. I find a way to handle it, whatever it is. That’s better than rejection.

But I can’t handle this situation now. I can’t run out and get a full-time job with benefits and toss my kids in childcare. I can’t afford childcare working in my profession. I can’t afford a private school for my kids. I can’t do anything at all to motivate my husband to look for a new job…to understand the breadth of his responsibility to his family. I am, frankly, stuck.

I mean, yes I can try to take on more work. But it won’t get us medical benefits. And there’s really no more time in my days to do more. I’m exhausted and wrecked as it is.

But the one thing I can do is look to God. And my daughter reminds me that when I lift my hands to him, he doesn’t sneer at me. He’s not frustrated with me. He doesn’t shrug and say, “You got yourself into this. I guess you’ll figure it out.” He doesn’t turn over in the bed and ignore me. When I lift my arms to Him, He scoops me up. He helps me, whether I deserve it or not. He defends me. He comforts me. I can’t see what He’s doing on my behalf, but He promises to do it.

I can’t depend on the human I hoped I could. But I can depend on someone much greater. And He looks at me with love.