I love my daughter. But it’s never been an easy love. I loved seeing her swell her mother’s belly as she grew, knowing that this life growing inside her mother was a precious thing. I worried with her mother as the time for our second child’s birth grew near, wondering if the road to the big city where she was born that was closed over Thanksgiving weekend would be free of snow before her birth on December 1st. I worried over both her and her mother during the difficult labor lasting 23 hours. She was a big baby because from the beginning she insisted on doing it her way and was overdue. Her mother is a strong, brave woman, but the delivery was hard on her and I suffered alone because there was nothing I could do to help. When they handed me my daughter the first thing I noticed was that she had my great grandmother’s eyes. She looked up at me and I distinctly felt her communicating “You are in big trouble buddy!”
My daughter was colicky, and smart, but she was never an easy child. But I loved her because she was MY daughter. I had a special way of carrying her with my left forearm that allowed me to bounce her and that seemed to comfort her. I do wonder if she associated the pain from the colic with being held because I don’t remember her being a cuddly baby, or toddler, or child, or teenager, or adult at the age of 32 now. She always had to have it her way and that caused a lot of stress in our family. It may have contributed to her mother and my divorce after 28 years of marriage. But maybe not, as affairs of the heart are like the deep dark sea: impossible to know completely.
As an early teenager there was a period of months, if not years, when I never got much more from her than a growl or the word “evil” under her breath as she passed me. On the advice of the school we tried counseling but it did more harm than good. She always said “When I’m 18 I’m out of here and you will never see me again.” It sort of worked out that way, with her parents enabling and the help from friends and family. We were always there as a safety net and in times of crisis. The gratitude was short lived, but you hold on to those brief moments of parental bliss.
Three days ago while I was out for my morning walk and meditation with the Lord he finally was able to open my eyes. My daughter is not the constant thorn in my side and the bane of my existence as I so often have thought during my moments of despair. No, she is a precious gift from my loving God. A gift that has helped me understand just a little of the pain and sorrow that God experiences every day with many of his children. I now know a bit of the sorrow he feels when his children rebel against him. I know a bit of the pain he experiences when his children reject his love or the frustration when we fail to follow his guidance. I know the feeling of joy when we have a moment of shared happiness together. I know what it is to not be able to just give up on my child when my crushed heart says “Enough, I am done with you!” I understand the joy of the father in the story of the prodigal son when he returns, though I have yet to experience it.
It is her life to live and she will have to deal with the outcome of decisions she makes but I thank God for my daughter because she is teaching me how to love as my God loves. Not for what I get back from her, but because she is my daughter. My life force flows in her veins as my God’s life force flows in mine. To deny her, I would have to deny Him!
Kahle Jennings
August 12, 2018