The battle was far from over.
I stopped crying, the winds and waves of my soul growing calm under the command of love.
He loves me….why so powerful, this thought, this truth I have known and spoken a thousand times before?
I struggled through the end of my pregnancy trying to be a hero, a winner instead of a girl shaking in the arms of her tender God. That would have been real winning. I had forgotten that I was accepted, that I belonged and that my oozing scars evoke the tender mercy of my God…not His wrath. I had forgotten that I was a child within the watchful embrace of her compassionate daddy and in doing so, I orphaned myself from love. I assumed my time was up- the alarm had sounded. I assumed the grace period, the tender hour had passed and an expectation of robotic flawlessness had taken its place.
He loves taking care of me. He loves being my dad.