In a small, cold, dimly lit room by a voice devoid of any feeling or emotion I was told that my newly born baby girl would never know who I was. After hearing medical jargon that I as a nurse was barely familiar with and after being told everything that my baby girl would never accomplish, tacked on at the end I remember being told that she would never know I was her mother.
So now after three and a half years have passed, what does she see when she looks at me? Since I haven't heard her sweet voice call me "mama," I can only take my cues from what I see on her face. I can see when she is calm, content and peaceful.
I can see when she is uncomfortable. I can see when she is in pain and by the look on her face and the way she carries herself I can see how severe her pain is. I can see when she is sleepy and I can see when she is happy.
What does she see when she looks at me? She sees someone who tends to her needs and cares. She sees someone who loves her and provides a place of rest, comfort and healing. She sees safety and a familiarity, it's something we have formed over time.
When I go into her room in the morning, I always say "Good Morning" to her in a sing-song kind of voice. She smiles so big back at me that sometimes I think it may spill over into a little laugh. I scoop her up and take her into the family room and I know she can feel the strength and assurance in the arms of someone who won't let her down, won't let her go and won't stop fighting for the best things in life for her.
I have no doubt that when she sees me, she sees her mama and when I see her things outside these four walls seem to not matter anymore. It's her and I engaged in moments where silence speaks louder than words ever could.
Psalm 27:13-14 "I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." (NIV)
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