My lovely, gifted, competent daughter is 30 today, and I will NEVER EVER forget the warm softness of her baby cheek as her father brought her face close enough to touch. I marveled at her exquisite features and the miracle that she was. I cried when she cried, and the doctor mistakenly interpreted my tears to be those of sadness over her gender. Not so, I quickly replied. “I’m crying because she’s a baby…and so beautiful.”  I still feel that way. She’s still a miracle, one that captured her parents’ hearts on a Tuesday morning in Myrtle Beach 30 years ago.

Here’s a poem I found in a book of poetry by Carol Lynn Pearson, Women I have Known & Been, that eloquently says it all.

 For Children Grown and Gone

My garden could not contain
The beauty of you.

I watched you blossom
Then burst into blessings,
Seeds winging in the wind
Beyond my field.

Only God can measure the yield
Or knows
All the places where
Your beauty grows.

 

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