The One Who Started it All

 This is my Lindsay. Fourteen years ago this day she changed my life irrevocably forever. When she was born, I proclaimed this as her life verse: We prayed for this child and the Lord has given us what we asked of him.  The verse is from 1 Samuel and it is Hannah's response to God for granting her the gift of a child. In return, she dedicates her son to the Lord, and he becomes a mighty man of God. Lindsay is the child I mourned one afternoon crumpled on the floor of my apartment after having been told the poison that had been dripping into my veins would render me infertile, that in fact, infertility was the goal.  She is the child that led me to refuse to follow
 my doctor's advice and continue on that chemo regimen. She is the child that drove me to my knees in a tile bathroom upon discovering she had actually taken up residence in my toxic womb during my final round of chemo.
She represents a ferocity of hope and faith I never knew was in me until she kindled. Raising her is one of my great joys and a privilege I cannot earn nor fathom.
She is growing so fast and fierce that most often, even when she's looking right in my eyes, when I am holding her tightly or giggling at one of her silly jokes, what I see is what is in these pictures. My
growing girl is beginning to make her own way in this world. As she should. As I am bound to help her do.  It is this that cuts the deepest, that not only must I let her walk away, but that I must help provide the means, and even the doors through which she walks.
The God whose power and love brought her to us has a purpose for her that is mighty and beautiful. He sings it over her, and I watch as she hears it and begins to make it her own, entirely hers, and not mine.
It is bittersweet this journey we are taking for I would hold her close and keep her always safe, but instead I must hold her close and still have the strength to let her go.

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