She came to us as an answer to prayer. An uncomplicated, unexpected adoption arriving 2 weeks after a miscarriage. God was going to fill my home even if he didn’t fill my womb.
Childhood was a delight. She radiated sweetness and light. So many fun years were filled with wonderful memory making.
Adolescence brought storm clouds. Emotions ran off the charts. Reactions to life experiences pegged the stress meter. I didn’t always respond well.
The there were the jobs she couldn’t keep, and the college she kept dropping in and out of. Stormy relationships with boys and even a short marriage that produced a child.
Each time she moved out, I would watch her fury as she angrily cleaned out her stuff.
Each time she moved back in I showered her with love and acceptance and tried to help her see the future she could have.
Then there were the illnesses. It seems she was in the hospital about as often as she was out. The diagnoses were psychiatric in nature, but she never followed through with care. We begged, negotiated, cried and yelled for her to get help. She preferred to sleep until 2 PM rather than make the effort to attend doctor appointments.
This last hospitalization was the last straw. Her irrationality accelerated. They put her on a psych hold. We begged her to get help. Then they let her go, knowing full well that she would not follow through.
So today she is packing her belongings and moving out in another fury. Angry words and accusations fly.
I am asking, “Jesus, where are you in this?” My tears mock me in her empty room.
And now she is a gone girl again. It seems final. She may die or overdose, which are the likely results of her past behavior and reckless present.
I ask God, “Why?”
He whispers comfort to me. “You had things you had to learn.”
Like unconditional love.
Like letting go.
Like praying harder than you’ve ever prayed.
Like accepting the fact that you can’t always solve problems.
So I cry, desperate and despairing, and yet, even in this – He is in it.
He always has been and always will be.
He weeps for me just as He weeps for my daughter.
It doesn’t make my pain disappear, but I remember another Father who had to let His Son go.
And I wait in my pain for His purposes to be revealed.
