She calls me from the hall into her room. I tell her daddy's watching the weather and if he thinks it will be bad he'll sleep in the living room.
I tell her to go to sleep.
You're safe, baby.
I want to say I've got you but I know it's not me that does.
She turned fourteen days ago. Two years ago a series of events left her in so much fear that my child seemed gone. It's hard to explain how afraid she was. Post traumatic stress syndrome, the doctors said. She slept with us, she lost weight, she cried, she shook. You could see her heart beating through her clothes. She thought she was dying.
It took medicine. I had hoped it wouldn't. We prayed and read the Word and we put signs by her bed
and she wrote in the journal the doctor gave and I thought nothing was working. I wanted to help her. I had to fix it. I had to do something.
But it was God's good time. Because when I doubted, or maybe just scared of the plan? and thought nothing was working He was - with plan huge. Because prayer and His plans always work. Amen.
And what better could I have done than go to the Father for the sake of my child?
And now she's back. She's weaned off the medicine and she looks healthy and strong and she laughs and joy pours out of her pores.
My child wasn't gone. She was just held down under a crushing weight. And only in God's time and through the knowledge and ability he grants others did she come forth and survive.
It's raining now, thunder and lightening outside my window. She's in my bed. She didn't ask. I did. Cause sometimes I just miss her there.
