I reach for the box of tissues while my eyes remain glued to the computer screen. Air. Nothing but air. I tear my eyes from the screen and notice the pile of soggy tissues reaches to the top of the box. Rats! She’s done it again.
I’m the privileged reader of my daughter’s senior project—a Middle Grade novel—and I can’t read it without weeping. I can’t help but wonder if a typical middle grade student will feel my angst and go through her own box of tissue when she reads my daughter’s words (words so beautiful I think they need to be heard—and that’s not just the mommy in me talking—she’s already a published and listed member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators).
I consider my tears, and I realize that it’s not the topic of the story so much as the awe that MY daughter can write—really write, that brings me to tears.
Yes, I’ve read A Purpose Driven Life, but sometimes I wonder what my purpose is (other than the basic ‘love everyone and point them to Jesus’—and that SHOULD be enough, but sometimes I yearn for more because I know I’m not always that obedient to the “love” command).
Maybe, just maybe, my purpose lies in my legacy to my daughters. In the hope that all the writing that they’ve seen me do will inspire them to write and draw and sing and share their words and thoughts with their generation in a way that shows how much God loves them and yearns for fellowship with the children he created.