A Hard Test: Doing Enough

You slept in the backseat as I drove home from a day at the Lake. Finding the balance of scheduling structured time with you is an art I have not yet mastered. I make mistakes. Now as you sleep, I replay the tape inside my head, just like I have a thousand times before, of all my regrets and failures.

Ironically, I notice another “tape” in a small compartment near the gear shift. It’s my mom’s car. She lets me use it when my kids are here because my car does not have air conditioning.

It’s an album entitled, “Threads.” It looks interesting, and just to break the silence, I stick it in the CD player.

As I listen, I am wrapped up in the story of a girl who learns who she is in her journey through life. Track #6 contained a heaven-sent message just for me.

“I’d start this out saying that my heart is breaking.

But that wouldn’t truly convey

The depth of my feeling

It’s no use concealing

the things I don’t know how to say.

You’ll be leaving and I’ll be grieving the dream that never would be.

It’s a hard test and what’s best for you is hardest for me.

 

When this decision made such a revision

to plans I’d held tightly before.

My fear was that is wasn’t clear to me

giving you up was really giving you more.

Anyone loving you more than I already do is hard to believe.

It’s a hard test when what’s best for you is hardest for me.

 

It’s a taste of the bitter

that helps us know better

what happened in Gethsemane.

It’s a hard test when what’s best for you is hardest for me.

 

Track #7 contained a more hopeful message.

Today, as I sent you away again, I came inside and prayed for God’s blessings to be with you. Heavenly Father, Am I doing enough? As I write this, I am realizing my love, as imperfect as I am, is enough. I am doing what’s best for you. It’s a hard test, and knowing that that’s what’s best for you, doesn’t make it any easier for me. You don’t know how encouraging your love is to me.

On the way home last night you said, “Daddy, you could come to Grandma Lori’s house.” That isn’t an option available to me anymore, but your words were a sweet reassurance of God’s hand in this.

Before you left today, you asked your mom, “Am I going to come see Dad again?” Again, another tender mercy given to me from the mouth of a sweet little girl.

Someday, I hope you’ll understand the “depth of my feeling” for “words I don’t know how to say.”

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