Five Minute Friday: When You’re Lonely for Your Daddy

She’s curled up in her bottom bunk, random pieces of her tangled blonde hair sticking out from under her purple poodle blanket.

I stand in the doorway and try to decide whether to enter the room or not.

She’s been a mess all day, this strong-willed fifth-born of mine.

Crotchety and bossy. Melancholy and foul.

My head is throbbing from her screams, my heart calloused by her foot-stomping demands. I want to leave her there and go crawl into my bed at 3:00 in the afternoon, too.

 I take a deep breath and walk quietly to her side.

I place my hand on her back and peel back the blanket to reveal her flushed, frowning face.

“What’s wrong today, Maggie?” I ask, trying to dilute the edge in my voice, the frustration seeping through my bones.

She harrumphs and rolls over onto her stomach, while I draw a ragged breath and pray for patience.

I trace circles on her sweaty back with my index finger and wait.

She sighs, her slender shoulders quivering; then she moans, “I’m lonely for Daddy.”

I hold her gaze, study her trembling pink lips.

I want to lecture, remind her that there’s no excuse for pushing and screaming, kicking and smashing.

But I look long into her eyes and see myself in those baby blues.

I recognize the peevish pout.  My lips can mimic that shape.

I understand the cranky edge. My soul can stir angry, too.

And it’s on those days more than any that I long for my Daddy.

Those are the days when I wish He could reach through the pages of His Word and wrap His mighty arms me.

Those are the days I wish my ugliness could be swallowed by His beauty.

There are days when nothing feels right and nothing goes well, and I’m just plain lonely for my Abba’s touch.

And those are the days when I need an extension of His arms to embrace me despite me.

I kiss the pink cheek of my grumpy girl and murmur words of assurance.

“Daddy will be home tonight…

“But until then I could hold you.”

She tilts her head, curls her lips into a sad sulk.

“Your arms aren’t as strong as Daddy’s.”

 “No,” I agree, “but I think Daddy would want me to hold you until he can.”

I pat my knees and extend my arms.

She scoots onto my lap, this one who has come unraveled.

Then we sit enfolded together on the bottom bunk, both of us softening.

And as my daughter exhales a contented sigh, I thank God for the arms He sends to hold us when our hearts ache lonely for His.

Joining Lisa-Jo and countless others today as we write briefly about the word lonely.