Daughters Bring Me to My Knees

Daughters!

Is there any short phrase that has had the instant impact on my life more than, “It’s a beautiful baby girl!”  I don’t think so.  If ever I was moved to my knees, figuratively and frequently, it was due to having daughters.  I prayed for the usual, good health, happiness, safety and relationships. But, more often than not, my prayers are simply for gratefulness.  Thanks to God for the blessings of daughters.

I would have been content with one daughter, but God knew I needed two, and He, in His infinite wisdom, was right of course.  There are mom lessons to be learned from all of our children, and our children are so different, it would be impossible to learn enough from only one, at least for this mom.

Daughters do more for moms than mere words can express.  They soften our hearts, sometimes into pure puddles of grief, and we go onto our knees to plead for grace, for patience, for discernment, and always for wisdom.  They build endurance, and we find we can do more, and be more, than we ever thought humanly possible.  We can sew wardrobes, from Barbie size to prom dresses, mostly well, with a few near disasters, and we hold in our hearts that unspeakable pride when a daughter wears to prom a dress that turned out badly, probably because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.  And I am moved by her generosity more than I was ever moved before. The disaster dress becomes a fairy costume later in theatre, and if memory serves, a Halloween costume, so it has served well, though not in the form it was intended.

Daughters make us brave, and strong, and capable of murder. We double-dog dare (under our breath of course) that anyone hurt our girls. This includes their sisters on occasion! We lose friendships over slights, real or imagined, determining that our daughters are probably more valuable than anything else we can ever think of or dream of.  We forgive them any and all transgressions, including the “I HATE you!” delivered with such honesty that it rips a hole in our heart.  

We listen to them, eventually, perhaps while held hostage behind the wheel, driving interminable carpools, to soccer, gymnastics, friends homes, the mall, and eventually, to college. We listen and we cry, over hurts that went right over us, words in anger that we can’t believe we actually spoke, and miracle of miracles, discover that our daughters forgive us, too.  Thank God.

To be continued . . .