“Behold what manner of love the father has bestowed upon us, that we should be called children of God.”  1 John

The child was the offspring of her father’s immense love.  From the very moment of her conception, he knew her. . . and loved her as only he could. He knew her, and he loved her, with an immense, boundless, inexplicable love that overflows the heart and spills out into every pore, aspect, and element of one’s being.  He couldn’t see her, hear her, or feel her, but he knew she was there in the innermost place where only love could touch her.  And so he did, touched her with his love that transcended time and space.   

His love for her took on another form when she was born.  He was there to see  the miracle of birth.  He welcomed her, tears streaming down his cheeks, and gently held her, like one holds a fine piece of crystal.  He cuddled her. He cooed to her.  And he comforted her, singing softly his special lullaby.

He delighted in her as she grew.  Holding her hand as she took her first steps, gently rocking her to sleep, and on those nights when she would awaken from a bad dream, he would be there for her, to hold her and reassure her with his tender voice that sang her his lullaby.  She would peer up into his eyes and slowly close her as she drifted off to sleep.

Their bond was unbreakable, until the day the mother decided to leave.  She had grown jealous of the love he showed the child, and resented what she believed was his inability to provide all she felt she lacked in life.  As people are wont to do, he became the scapegoat; she blamed him for her troubled past and turbulent life in the present.  So she left, taking the little girl with her, and did everything in her power to prevent him from seeing, let alone being with his daughter.

Unfortunately, the child grew up without the presence of her father, as many children do.  At first she missed him immensely, especially at bed time when he would pray with and sing to her, and when she had her bad dreams in the middle of the night.  But in time she adjusted and learned to live without her father.  

As she grew, she poured herself into academia and sports.  She excelled in her studies, and was a star pitcher on the softball team.  Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of what she believed to be him in the crowd at one of her games.  And at her graduation she was certain he was there.   She often-times felt his presence, especially when she was most troubled and afraid.

After graduation she went to the university and studied law, again excelling.  She got a position at a prestigious law firm, and eventually was assigned the most difficult cases.  She made a lot of money and lived a life of style, reflected in the clothes she wore, the car she drove, and the house she lived in.  But always there was something missing, and that something, she knew, was the love she had experienced long ago.

For the most part she was living the dream, until the day the nightmare returned.  It was in the oncologist’s office where she was told that the cause of her recent illness was an aggressive, incurable cancer.  She had only months to live.  She responded initially by resigning her prestigious position and taking a world tour of all the places she had been wanting to see.  Though enjoyable, it did not assuage her fear of her impending death.  She knew there was only one thing, one person, that could do that; her father.  And so, though she had never believed in the “God thing” or prayer, she began to speak, sometimes out loud, the desire of her heart.  “If only I could see him again.  If only he were here to hold me, just one more time.”

As the cancer progressed she became confined to her home, spending much of the time in her bedroom, wracked with exhaustion and depression.  Her mother had long since left her as well, and her friends with whom she believed she was close had moved on with their lives.  She hired an agency to help her at home with her basic necessities.  And she waited for her demise and death.

It was on one of her worst days, when the pain seemed intolerable, that she heard the doorbell ring.  The home caregiver came to her room and announced, “There is a man here who claims to be your father.” 

“Show him in,”  She replied.

And suddenly, there he was.  She recognized him immediately.  Though it seemed he hadn’t aged a day, it was his eyes.  The same eyes that she remembered looking at her lovingly at bedtime, and when pushing her on the swing, and especially during those dark nights when she was afraid.  They were the same eyes that she saw when she looked in the mirror.

He came and sat beside her on her bed, and held her, just like he did all those times before.

“I knew you’d come,” she said.

“How could I not?” he replied.

“I have missed you terribly.  So much of my life spent without you.  All those years wasted.”

“You know,” he said, “I never left you.  I was always close to you.  My spirit was watching over you and keeping you in my tender, loving care.”

With those words she wept.  And he held her.  And he stayed. 

During the long days he would be there with her, helping her.  And during the dark and terrifying nights he would hold her, and sing to her.  And she was safe.

Finally, the last day came.  The day for her to take her leave.

“I’m afraid,” she said.  “Not of dying, but of losing you.”

“Oh my child,” he responded, “You can never lose me.  For I have always been with you, and I always will be.”

With that she looked at his eyes one last time.  Those eyes that had welcomed her into her life, and watched over her during it.  Those eyes that were filled with pure, divine love.  And she closed her eyes one last time, knowing that she would open them again, and when she did he would be there.