Behold what manner of love the Father has lavished upon us
that we should be called the sons and daughters of the Most High God.
And thus we are. I John 3:1
I lost my father to cancer when I was but a little girl. It was a defining loss for me, and it seems as though I spent a lifetime looking for that Daddy I lost too soon, wrestling with myself and ultimately with God to find the answers for the hole that kept opening up in my life.
Thankfully, I finally was able to obtain that measure of peace that brought me great freedom (see this post entitled David's Daughter)...it was, at times, a hard fought battle to get to the place where the hurt, the pain of loss, and the deep-seated fear of abandonment would ultimately begin to recede into the distance. It was a long journey, but one that I was required to take in order to move forward as a wife, mother, sister, daughter.
I marvel at times at the different cloth from which each of us is cut. No two alike. Each with his or her own path. His or her own story.
Little One has just turned three. My baby sister was younger than she when our father became terminally ill. It staggers me. I watch Little One as she holds her father's hand. She is so safe and secure in her daddy's love for her. She is totally unafraid when she is with him. She trusts his arms to catch her. His love to secure her. And his faith to guide her to her own.
Only he can elicit shrieking, body-shaking laughter from her. Only he gets the most tender of her secret smiles. She has his heart and she knows it. It is a wonderfully confident and trusting kind of love.
I am thankful for a son-in-law who loves his children without restraint and with grace and hope. It bodes well for their future.
All of these quite lovely photographs were taken by Debbie Barnett.