She wasn’t there the day my oldest daughter was born. In fact, I didn’t know she existed. And when I held that sweet baby in my arms, I prayed for the future. I can’t remember my prayer, because I didn’t know Jesus then, but I know that I didn’t pray for her.
I met her at a McDonald’s one cold day after work, four years later. She was so nice, and she was different than I had pictured her. She was calm, and her words were deliberate. She was an open book to a nervous mom, and I left that meeting with a peace I hadn’t had in a long time. I liked her from that first day, but I had no idea the role she would play in my life.
Over the next few years, I would realize how impossibly different we were. She is calm and rational, organized and deliberate, quiet but fierce. In fact, we may have only one thing in common – an incredible love for that blonde haired, blue eyed girl. While mine may be biological, I cannot recall a single time where I doubted that the love she felt for that child was less than the love I felt.