A few days ago we were at a cousin’s wedding. Before the ceremony started (in a beautiful location by the bay), Madison and I were hanging out in the shade next to the seating arrangements. She entertained herself by eating dirt. I entertained myself by watching her.
I pulled her aside as someone walked past us, and I noticed it was a friend of our ministry that I’ve known for awhile. This lady has a sweet, tender spirit and a sensitivity to the Holy Spirit that astounds me. She gave me a hug and we chatted for a moment. It was her first time meeting Madison so she oogled and cooed like you should. Then she continued on her way.
But she stopped.
Turned back to me. And said,
‘Comfort. I sense the word comfort. Has Madison been a comfort to you?’
I caught myself before I laughed out loud in mockery at what I had just heard. Comfort? COMFORT? Are you joking me? This kid? The one that’s broken me down to a hopeless puddle of humanity? The one that I had no idea how to parent and still question myself daily? The one that wouldn’t sleep? The one that wears her emotions for all to see, goes from 0 to 60 with no warning, and gives no hints of mood change until it’s full blown meltdown mode? Comfort?!?!
Words of faith, of desperation. Of it’s slowly become better over the past three months. We’ve had giggles and snuggles and moments when I realize this is my daughter and i.love.her.
Maybe what she should have said was