A special child
This was a whimsy of mine, and in no way an attempt to put her in the place of our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ....Jesus gave his life for us, being sent by our Sovereign King Jehovah. ...
Life had been good, you had loved me, I had loved you. We had both loved her until she burst into the night, golden haired, brown skinned, green eyed. I remember the look you gave me. I had no explanation, I only had what I'd always had, the truth.
You couldn't find it in yourself to trust me. You couldn't find it in yourself to love her. I tell you the truth, I was in awe of her. My golden haired little girl. Everything about her had been electric, even the night she'd come to us, well to me.
I remember how the wind howled, as if it had been caged and were glad to be free. The lightening caressed the ground, over and over. Rain as large as beach balls, hit the ground as soft as feathers, and I said they were the joyful tears of the angels.
People saw her and seemed to run to touch her hand. I am a mother after all, and I'm sure I was biased.
But you, you found your time in a bottle. You told the story of what a whore I'd been. If there were an audience, you were the actor, the injured party. And I could only sit stone faced. Never defending myself, even though, I knew, deep in my heart, I knew she had been special.
Anyway, time has moved on, you have moved on and that has been ok. I took on the responsibility of mother and father. I did it gladly.
Still, she had been different from the other children. There had always been a seriousness about her. She had never had the silliness or even the naivete of a child. When her classmates were hurt, they'd run to her. Many times I would pick her up from school and find her in tears. One of her classmates was being abused, one of her classmates had been beaten, one of the children had been abandoned. She took all of this inside herself and wept.
My heart had been so filled for her, so filled with her that I didn't think I would survive it. I wish you would have been there to see how many people came to the house, just to look at her.
Once, I guess I wanted to let her know that her father had been a good man once upon a time. She'd placed her little finger on my mouth, shushing me, telling me it was fine. She always referred to you as "that man". Funny thing.
Look at my daughter. She stands there on the hillside stretching out her hands to the multitudes. And they come, they come in droves. Sick, well, lame, blind, mute, they all come. They touch her, they hold onto her gown, they cry and wail. She turns none away. Except...
Life had been good, you had loved me, I had loved you, we had both loved her.
I would not have recognized you. What ailment did you bring to lay at her feet? Had you been watching all these years, or had you heard? Did you stand up and tell them you could have been a part of her life? Did you brag now, saying she's your daughter?
Look, how she smiles at you, how she lifts you up, and says she forgives you.
It's close to my time now. I know she can heal me, but I lay nothing at her feet. It has honored me to be her mother. Don't cry, you must learn to forgive yourself. Don't throw away the gift she has given you.
Just remember how good life had been at one time. How we had loved each other, and though I must go soon, we both loved her in the end...