AbbaPosted: March 23, 2011
She came looking for me.
I heard her sleeper-ed feet sliding across the wood floor, soft aches for a momma’s touch. I paused.
Somewhere along the way she turned back. Somewhere along the way she broke my heart.
I went to go check, thinking perhaps I had just imagined the soft feet, the aching heart, the silent push then retreat.
I caught her tail end climbing back into bed and I knew.
She had come looking for me.
I asked her soft if she was okay. “Yeah,” she said in her quiet way.
“Did you get out of bed?” I asked. “Yeah,” she said again.
“Were you looking for me?”
I took that Little Bit in my arms and I hugged her tight, and my heart broke in half and I told her that she was okay, she was always welcome to get me, that’s why I’m here.
That’s when I felt the moisture on my cheek. She was bleeding.
I carried her to the bathroom and we looked at her nose bleed and I ran the hot water and we cleaned it up and all the while I was hoping that gentle touches were communicating things that words never could.
This little girl of mine who doesn’t trust. Doesn’t receive. Doesn’t hear and see and lay hold.
Together we got the humidifier and a drink of water and held hands as we walked back to bed and I tucked her in and I told her that if she needed me, come get me. That’s what mommas are for.
Then I cried.
“Is this how You feel, Lord?” I asked. When You have adopted us and we need You so badly but we are so wounded and so afraid; and we start to come get You but then we turn back, unsure…
And You hear our slipper-ed feet, wait in anticipation for our sleepy heads to peek in the doorway…. and Your heart just absolutely breaks in half when it doesn’t.
So You let something hurt us so that we can feel the gentle touches and heart-hear the nurturing love that words never could communicate.
Is this how it works?
And You let it happen again and again and again. Each time we make it further down the hallway before turning back?
Until finally, we go all the way. We peek our heads around the doorway and we say, “Abba?”
And we both know ~ finally~ we are getting somewhere.