Sunday, February 18, 2018


May 6, 2007 by  
Filed under Monthly Articles

By Jan Ackerson


I had no idea, she thinks. Why didn’t they tell me it would be like this? She opens her baby’s clenched fist and places a finger inside, marveling at the way the infant’s mottled pink hand curls back over the finger and holds it tight. With her free hand, she hesitantly strokes her daughter’s cheek, then rests it on that softly pulsing spot under her downy scalp. Oh God, thank you for this precious gift.

She is barely aware of the tears coursing down her face. Exhausted and a little bit dizzy from the labor of this past day, she is astonished that the weariness is nearly obliterated already by this unexpected love which now occupies her heart.

* * *

The months fly by, and her daughter is now a curly-haired toddler with dimpled knees and a sweetly rounded tummy. The little girl never stops moving, never stops talking, as she masters her wondrous world. So the mother’s heart lurches and thumps one afternoon when she realizes that she has not seen or heard her curious child for all of five minutes.

Nearly blinded by tears of fear, she searches each room of the house with mounting dread.

Oh Lord, please help me she cries, then collapses with relief when she sees blonde curls under the desk in the study. Her daughter is napping, with one dimpled hand cradling her kitten’s fluffy head.

* * *

Five thousand sunsets later, a long-limbed and sleek-haired beauty now occasionally alights for a moment in her home, but only long enough to shed articles of clothing and to leave piles of books and make-up for her mother to find and put away. She transforms herself, then the glorious creature disappears again into a colorful and giggling flock of birds just like herself. She gives her mother only a swift sideways glance as they take their flight.

Hot tears sting the mother’s eyes; where is the little girl she remembers so clearly, who would bring her bouquets of wilting dandelions and clover? Where is the child who would rest a cool hand on her mother’s neck after a difficult day? I miss her, Lord. The mother closes her eyes to pinch back the tears, but they are kissed open by her daughter. “I forgot to say good-bye, mom,” she whispers. “I love you.”

* * *

And now the mother stands in the front of a church, looking back at the veiled blonde princess clutching her father’s arm. The scent of roses fills the sanctuary, and the notes of the bridal processional. There is a radiance from her daughter that pulses between her and her solemn prince who waits a few yards away.

The mother’s throat fills with tears. How lovely my daughter is, she thinks. Oh, heavenly Father, I have not deserved this wonderful child. What a blessing it has been…to be her mother.

Jan is a Christian who has traveled though sorrow and depression, and has found victory and grace. She dedicates all writings to her Heavenly Father. Contact Jan for writing projects at


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