Give words

Her laughter is all smiles, running is gliding.  Long hugs punctuated staccato by writhing arms.

Does she know?

That there is One who smiles over her, who hears her silent laughter, the smiles intended to be more.  That in the arrived and not-yet, she glides but that someday in the will-be she will run and not grow weary, walk and not be faint.  That His arms are strong for her, that His embrace is sure and true.

The child hoped-to-be older brother's caregiver, now a sister needing what her parents meant for her to become.

Does she know?

Her life, formed, knit together fearfully and wonderfully, a gift.

In her bright pink shirt, lime green purse of stuffed animals and bubblegum, I see my childhood favorites.  In her bangs trimmed by Mom, two weeks too long in the eyes, I see my childhood likeness.  In her longing to be understood, for the inside to be known and seen and heard, I see my grown-up self.  Her thoughts, her actions, trapped by what she has always known, lived with, lived in these eleven years.

Prayer whispered.  

Give her love.  Give her grace.  Give her joy.  Give her peace.

Those gifts that are only Yours to give most fully and truly.  Give me shadows of those things that are from You and in You and mysteriously, unfathomably in me for the giving.

Do I know?

These questions I ask I know to ask because they are also my own.  You hold in Your strong arms before I know I need, You see my stumbling run, You delight, You smile.  

My life as it is and has been and will be, a gift.

These two daughters, Your handiwork.

One in a chair with wheels, propelling herself out the door, away from the crowd of us all, well-intended, for her good.

But do we see her?

The other steps in path, squats on knees angry for the action to look in the eyes, to see, to say, "I see you.  You are delightful.  Will you come see me again?  And we can talk more?  And you can help me listen to what you are already saying, have been saying, have yet to say?" Arms reach, not far enough but clearly, for a hug.  One reaches, one leans in and circles, both blessed in the moment.  One thinks it is here and gone, but staccato arms reach again.  Lean in and circle a moment longer, a gift received and given, and this place in the world too is sacred.

Prayer again whispered.  Give me wisdom to give her words.

The crowd is there, still.

Do they know?

The smile, the run, the arms of the Father, waiting.

Zephaniah 3:17; Isaiah 40:31; Psalm 89:11-18; Luke 15:11-32; Just as I Am, Andrew Peterson