Once I had a girl – a daughter of my own. We were connected and yet apart.
Before setting eyes on her little baby being, I’d been cautioned that as much as I longed to give her all I’d never had, she would have already experienced the greatest wound of her life. I’d been warned that it would not be my soul but rather the soul of a stranger that would reflect back from her eyes.
Still, we bonded. I knew her heart, mind, and body. Until one day she turned away and left me with the stranger’s silhouette. (Had she – the stranger – also experienced such a void?)
I realize now I may have loved her too much. Perhaps even made of her an idol. I meant no harm. I simply wanted to fill her emptiness to the rim. Or was it my own emptiness I sought to complete?
The punishment of her absence is painful. And then I realize You have missed her more than me. Before I dreamed dreams for her, You dreamed. Before I pictured her whole by my hand, You held her whole in yours. Before she turned from me she had already turned from You. And I didn’t know. I had no inkling. You were already wounded, raw, rejected, grieving.
And still You hope. My wick smolders. My reediness bends to break. You stand and wait.
Help me, your daughter, to stand with You to wait for our daughter together.
Elisa Morgan talks about her difficult family experiences this Tuesday on LIFE TODAY. Reprinted by permission. The Beauty of Broken by Elisa Morgan. Copyright ©2013 by Elisa Morgan. Thomas Nelson, Inc. Nashville, Tennessee. All rights reserved.
