Grace Like Rain

February 23, 2014

{Editor’s note: If you are new here, Husband {Daddy} is currently serving in Afghanistan.}

To my J Girl.

You had a hard day in church.

You are nestled up under my shoulder, squirming a little in your attempts to keep the time marching forward.

After the third, or thirtieth time I ask you to sit still, or sit up, or pay attention I see your lips quivering and your head bowing, “I’m sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry.”

We slip out, my heart seizing up a little, and desperate to know what moves you to tears on a Sunday when truthfully, this church-squirming is a familiar song and dance in which we are well-versed. Some Sabbath days are better than others, but we always sing a few bars.

And I heave you, my not-baby girl into my lap in the quiet dark, limbs akimbo on the rocking chair while you sob.

“I miss my Daddy.”

I need my Daddy.”

And we talk a little, about what we miss about Daddy. {Hugs, and snuggles.} And we rock a little more. And we talk about why Daddy does a job like this. Mostly things about being brave, and wounded soldiers, and they need him. And I’m resting my chin on your curly cloud and swallowing down the shards of my breaking heart.

Because maybe on days like today, the why sounds hollow even to me, me who loves this country, and this flag, and the soldiers who carry it.  

We are quiet some more, me with the aching heart, you with the tears.

And you, my best girl, you say, “I love you Mom. You’re the best mom ever.” 

And right back to you, image-bearer of mine, I whisper, “I love you too. I mess up a lot, but I am trying.” 

“I don’t care,” you say. “I just care about you loving me.”

And just like that, just like that, grace, like rain, it’s pouring down.

We still miss Daddy, and we rock a little more, and maybe I did not listen to the end of that sermon, but oh I am grace-soaked and grateful.

I can do the loving you.


Linking up with imperfect prose and #TellHisStory


More about Molly Huggins

I am an unrepentant extrovert with an ongoing, passionate affair with coffee, ellipses, and the written word. I write because it’s how I’m made to worship. I am a story teller, because redemption has a story to tell. And always, I want to be a story collector. So have a virtual seat at my beat-up kitchen table. Read my story. Tell me yours. Stay awhile. And P.S. ... for more about me, click on my mug in the sidebar;)

    1. My girls have turned that bad day, or life event into that magical gracious “I love you daddy” all problems washed clean feeling, on several occasions. I’m blessed beyond measure, as is the H family.

    1. Beautiful post, Molly. Thanks for being willing to share these tough moments of deployment, and for reminding us of God’s grace in the darkest times.

    1. Oh goodness. This: “I don’t care,” she says. “I just care about you loving me.” Because love covers all our mistakes and failures. ((hugs)) sweet momma. Thank you for sharing your beautiful heart here.

    1. Oh Molly! I just cried my eyes out reading that! I was so busy loving your littlest (who doesn’t squirm, just smiles!) and other nursery babies that I didn’t ask how you were. Beautiful post again!

    1. Oh, how I want to hug you and your babes…as usual, Mo, tears are flowing. what a blessing it is to love you.

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