I put her to bed, as usual. Well, really, with a bit more tenderness, a bit more time–reading, laying, singing, snuggling. But she is still quite unsettled when I leave her bedside, and shortly after, I hear her behind me in the living room.
“Nana, can I lie in your bed?”
I follow her down the hall. She steps up up up onto the little white stepping stool — up up up on to the big, soft mattress. And then I see the tears.
“I miss my mommy.”
I wipe her tears.
I lie beside her, cherishing her soft hair rubbing my cheek, breathing in its sweet, innocent scent
Later, Papa carries Kaylee back to her own bed.
I awaken in the night. My heart aches for my daughter. I know the pain she is going through. She shared it with me months ago–after the arrest. Now I know that tonight, she lies on her cot, in her cell, cold and lonely. My throat makes a foreign noise. I try to hold back the sob, knowing that when it starts, it doesn’t stop for a long time. I pray for her.
Months ago, after the arrest, on the 9th day, we brought her home–from that cell, from that cot–for one night before recovery began. She wanted her own bed– her old bed. The comfort of home.
I want the comfort of my Papa’s bed. I want that comfort for my daughter, and for her daughter, Kaylee. I want that comfort for all of us and for all others who are hurting.
I find it. I find it in the Word that is near me!
He gently tends me like a shepherd tends his flock. He gathers me in his arms and carries me close to his heart.
I might be unsettled for awhile, but I know that as I rest in his arms, close to His heart, I’ll find that comfort.