Grace Like Rain | The Grace Between

Grace Like Rain

{Editor’s note: If you are new here, Husband {Daddy} is currently serving in Afghanistan.}

To my J Girl.

You had a hard day in church.

You are nestled up under my shoulder, squirming a little in your attempts to keep the time marching forward.

After the third, or thirtieth time I ask you to sit still, or sit up, or pay attention I see your lips quivering and your head bowing, “I’m sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry.”

We slip out, my heart seizing up a little, and desperate to know what moves you to tears on a Sunday when truthfully, this church-squirming is a familiar song and dance in which we are well-versed. Some Sabbath days are better than others, but we always sing a few bars.

And I heave you, my not-baby girl into my lap in the quiet dark, limbs akimbo on the rocking chair while you sob.

“I miss my Daddy.”

I need my Daddy.”

And we talk a little, about what we miss about Daddy. {Hugs, and snuggles.} And we rock a little more. And we talk about why Daddy does a job like this. Mostly things about being brave, and wounded soldiers, and they need him. And I’m resting my chin on your curly cloud and swallowing down the shards of my breaking heart.

Because maybe on days like today, the why sounds hollow even to me, me who loves this country, and this flag, and the soldiers who carry it.  

We are quiet some more, me with the aching heart, you with the tears.

And you, my best girl, you say, “I love you Mom. You’re the best mom ever.” 

And right back to you, image-bearer of mine, I whisper, “I love you too. I mess up a lot, but I am trying.” 

“I don’t care,” you say. “I just care about you loving me.”

And just like that, just like that, grace, like rain, it’s pouring down.

We still miss Daddy, and we rock a little more, and maybe I did not listen to the end of that sermon, but oh I am grace-soaked and grateful.

I can do the loving you.

~M.

Linking up with imperfect prose and #TellHisStory

 

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