I think about my daughter every day

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I think about my daughter, how she was born. How she was given to me. That
she would never have been made if it were not for the decision of her mother and
me to carry her. Was my hope that she would be a gift of hope to others what
killed her?

I hold her in my arms, she is no longer the beautiful and strong and joyful
thing I once knew. We do not know how she died as I have no word of what
happened. But I know she loved and I would want her to have the best life
possible as I do.

I have to believe that she died because I would not have survived any other
way. Even though it is hard to imagine or conceive.

I can see the little bundle of joy and love and life and hope and
happiness that was once so many times over.

It is a beautiful thing to watch. I am blessed to have this memory with
me. I know that I could not have been here without her.

I see her with her hair so golden from the sun. I see her standing on her
own two feet, her arms reaching out to me with the love that she once
expressed as a little girl. I see her as she was then, her head held high, her
hands reaching out for me, her smile so bright. I watch her as she grows older,
her smile fading, her body changing. I watch her as she struggles with
depression, her eyes swollen, her face pale. I see her move back to a home she
did not want to leave. I watch her as we bring her home again.

I watch her as she returns to school to begin the rest of her life. I watch
her as she finds joy again. I see her as she becomes a mother, and I watch her
as she watches her daughter grow.

I look at her now as she stands before me, her hair once so red in
surprise at my words. I look beyond her at her beautiful son. I look at her
as she looks back at me, her eyes brimming with love and tears. Her arms wrap
around me, and she pulls me against her, her kisses as warm as a summer
evening. She holds me as she takes my breath away.

I have been blessed to see in the face of a child the face of an angel.

I hold her as she is taken to heaven. I have seen angels in my life
without a doubt. She stood before me and I looked into her face. Her eyes were
filled with the most perfect and innocent love. I could see so much goodness in
her face as she was taken up to heaven. I could not stop looking at her.

I have seen the face of God every day of my life. My first experiences were
as a child watching my mother and father. We prayed together in their living room
for God to take us. My mother would come into the room, hand me to my father and
then would run from the room like she was in tears. My father would come into the
room, hand me back to my mother, and my mother would come back and start to
pray with me. She said she was praying for God to take us.

This is how I grew up and it was with fear, fear so deep that I stopped
talking to my parents about God. When I did go to church as an adult to pray
before services I never felt comfortable with God. Fear was with me I could not
talk to Him. I would never believe that this was God, and He did not take me
because I was good. If He took me, it must have been because of something I did.

I would not have any faith in God if I could not trust Him with my life and
every decision I made. I came to church every Sunday, and I left every Sunday
with a sense of peace. I would go to church with no expectations that God would
be present there. I would go to church with not a prayer for God to take me or
to heal me. I would leave church knowing that He had made me for something
greater. I was no longer broken. I was whole. I was healed.

There are now hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world who
have felt this way. I have been among them, touched by their wounds, comforted
by their pain.

I am not sure how to live this way, I have so many questions and not so many
answers.

Was it our faith that was so broken that we thought our prayers would not be
answered or was it our confidence in God that was broken and that we thought He
would not answer to our needs. I guess I know the answer to that. I know that my
faith was broken and that I put my faith in a God that I could not trust to do
what I thought He could.

I guess my faith was broken because I had not known that He had a plan. I
thought He was only a God of miracles, who would send us to hell if we did not
give Him our gifts, who would destroy the earth if we did not give Him everything
in life that we wanted.

I cannot say that I am surprised at God’s response. I don’t know how else to
explain it. I am not a religious person. I have never tried to convince a
believer that they were wrong or that God was not as God represented. I have
never thought that I owed God a specific faith in a specific way. I have always
done what felt comfortable to me at the time. I have never worried about
whether I was doing what God would have wanted me to do. I have not worried
about whether I was following Him. I have never worried about whether what I
wanted to be true was true.

I guess I am surprised at God’s response because I did not think I was
broken. I knew I was broken even though I did not believe that I was broken.
Before this God chose to heal me, I chose to believe that He did not care at
all about how I lived. I knew that if I made a mistake or a choice that I now
find to have been a horrible one, He would let me be. He would let me die. He
would not care. He would not give any sign that He cared at all.

I did not really think God could be like this. To have a plan that was
unfathomably beyond my understanding was too much for me. I felt God had failed
me. I felt that I had been a mistake or a failure, and for some reason He would
not let me live.

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