I
stand at the sink in the quiet of the morning rinsing the dishes. I hear the
gentle sounds of footsteps coming down the steps. I can identify which child it
is from the delicateness in the steps. They are slow. They are delaying the
entrance in to the kitchen. With her head down she slinks into room and asks me
if she can “talk to me”.
After
last night’s events, I turn in hesitation and cynically wonder, “What is it this
time?”
“Mom,
I wanted to apologize for being mad last night. I understand why you wanted me
to go to bed on time… you wanted me to be safe and get a good night’s rest.
Will you forgive me?”
I
pause. Rushing to the front of my mind are small glimpses of so many years of
her anger, her sadness and her general disdain for the sense of family. She did
not choose to be here. She did not want to be here. She did not keep quiet
about her feelings. But about a year ago she had a change. God breathed new
life in to our daughter and began a healing of the broken, unsettled piece of
her heart. It has not been perfect. It has not been easy. But it has been a
trickle of building trust and various hues of an unfolding love.
I
was not expecting an apology for her sulking and exaggerated gestures of anger from the
night before. I am surprised.
“Do
you forgive me?” she asks again.
As
God has done with me so generously
and on so many, many occasions: I forgive.
It
is a new day.
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