Every Daughter Should Be a Daddy's Girl

I have this photo of Jennifer when she was about 8 years old. I would soon turn 40. Of all of my photos of Jennifer, I suppose this one is my favorite. It's one of the few of the two of us together. I'm not fat and actually look much younger than my age at that time; and Jennifer looks happy - even proud of her dad.
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This past weekend, we drove Laura Lee home to the apartment she and Jennifer shared in Delaware. It was so strange to be in the room in which Jennifer passed away. An eyeglass case, drawings by the kids taped to the wall and refrigerator, the mass of tangled wires where Jennifer connected just about every appliance in the apartment to one functioning outlet....the side of the bed where she slept, her red polo shirt on the chair I had given her. I thought that if I focussed really hard, perhaps I'd sense her spirit lingering there, because I know she wasn't ready to go as soon as she did. Instead, I felt the burning of my eyes, the urge to sob, and the hole in my heart where my daughter should be.

We said a quick and tearful goodbye to Laura and headed home, driving west to avoid Baltimore and Washington traffic. The Maryland countryside was beautiful, clean, and green. Chris Tomlin played softly over the car cd player. Pam dozed for a little while, and as I drove, my mind was drawn back to that photo from 1991; and to that impish and beautiful face smiling at the camera. Some might think that smile reflected pride in her dad, but I know that she was proud of herself for getting her way. She had my attention. Jennifer craved attention, and if she couldn't get it through her charm, she would settle for negative attention. On this occasion, she and my former wife battled for my attention, and she won. Her step-mom was gracious enough to allow her the victory and snapped this picture; and now it is my favorite photo of Jennifer. It's a picture of her before the cancer, before the drugs, the streets, the physical and mental abuse; before she had to ride the special bus to school and before the doctors decided she needed to be medicated to pay attention in class.

In the car, I talked silently to God and asked Him to assure me that Jennifer was safe and with Him. What happened next could be considered wishful thinking and self-deception, but I kind of think it was similar to what the apostle John experienced on Patmos. I believe God opened a portal between His Spirit and mine and allowed me to see Jennifer as she is now.

It only lasted a few seconds. In my mind I could see God sitting on a bench. No streets of gold or huge throne, just a bench in front of a gray or whitish wall. He looked like paintings I've seen of Jesus, but I suspect He donned that image so that I could see Him. God's - or Jesus' face was looking down. In his lap lay the head of a young woman. She appeared comfortable laying there in the Creator's lap. His finger twirled a lock of curly light brown hair. She was wearing a shimmering white dress that clung to her figure - no doubt an expensive fabric. Her skin was more golden than tan, and her face bore a striking resemblance to Jennifer's face in my picture - only a bit more mature.

I don't know if Jennifer could see me or not, but she suddenly sat up. Then she stood up facing me. As though seeing herself for the first time through my eyes, she turned to God and exclaimed, "I'm pretty!"

"You're beautiful." God corrected. She was.

She twirled around a few times, her dress flowing with her; her shoulder length curls bouncing off one another. The dress was knee length and sleeveless. Jennifer wore no shoes. Her calves were muscled and her arms were taut and strong. Neither thin, but especially not heavy, she appeared every bit an athlete. There were no tattoos, no circles under her eyes, no swollen ankles, no need for sunglasse to hide her pretty brown eyes.

"I feel so strong!" she insisted, spinning around again. Indeed, she looked as though she could leap great distances and run as fast as a cheetah. "But Father, why do I look so young?"

God reached out and touched her face near the corner of her eyes. "Because here there are no hurtful words that will cause you to cry; no pain to wrinkle and crease your flesh. Here you are safe and there is nothing to fear. Your old body began to die as soon as you were born; but this body is eternal - as I intended from the beginning."

Jennifer bent down and hugged the Father. She kissed Him on the forehead. Then she leaned with her hands on His shoulder and turned her face towards mine and smiled. "I love you Father. I love my Daddy too, but I'm glad to be here with my real Father."

The vision started to close now; but I heard God say to Jennifer before the portal closed completely, "I'm glad your're finally home too. Every daughter should be a Daddy's girl."
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Jennifer never was a daddy's girl here. Oh, she was loved by myself and by a couple of other men whom she called "Dad" - because we treated her like a daughter; but she didn't really have a daddy here who devoted the time to her so that she could lay in his lap and know that she had his undivided attention. She had dads who would offer wise advice and who would worry about her and come to her aid when she needed help; but she didn't have a daddy that listened to her dreams or told her how beautiful she is. Jennifer knew that we loved her, but we couldn't take away her pain or ease her fears or protect her from evil - not like her Heavenly Father can. I'd like to think that I would die for her, but I could never raise her to life again, or give her a perfect body, a sound mind, a joyful spirit. She deserved those things. And God is right: every daughter should be a daddy's girl. Especially the Jennifers in this world.

Jennifer's Butterflies

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There's a story behind these pretty crocheted butterflies. A dear friend from our church, Lea Eaton, wanted to do something for our family after Jennifer passed away two weeks ago. Lea is a cancer survivor herself, and has been a constant source of prayer and encouragement for Jennifer after Jennifer moved in with me over four years ago.

Lea works part-time at the y (until recently the YMCA but now just the 'y' - small letter y) and was thinking about Jennifer while she crocheted these little butterflies, which she'd intended to pass out at Jennifer's memorial service this past weekend. The deal is, once you accept one of these butterflies, you're supposed to carry it in your pocket; and every time you pull it out, it is supposed to remind you of Jennifer. It works - every time I empty my pockets, or every time I reach for my keys - the butterfly is there and I think of my daughter. Sometimes it feels as if Jennifer is nearby. It's a comforting experience.

Lea has a heart for hurting people, so when she met a young woman a few days before the memorial service who was distraught with worry about her mother's health, Lea thought "I'll bet Jennifer would want me to give one of these butterflies to this daughter." So so did. Then she gave one to a little girl who just needed someone to talk to. And another to a man who was contemplating suicide. Before the week was over, Lea had given out as many butterflies to hurting people as she did at the memorial service.

There is no shortage of wounded people in this world. What Lea began out of love for Jennifer has opened doors for God to bless dozens, and potentially thousands, of His children. It is a small thing to hold, but a huge blessing when you realize that God does see what you're going through. He sees, and He cares, and He wants to heal our worries and sorrows. Jennifer's butterflies are an immediate reminder how close God is. They also remind me where Jennifer is - with her Heavenly Father.

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