Written a few weeks ago for my daughter. She leaves for college tomorrow. The letter, while personal, speaks I hope to the longings and yearnings and angst of so many parents like Sharie and me. Our daughter gave permission to post this slightly edited version in hopes that others will find hope and grace.
To My Youngest Daughter on Her 18th Birthday
My Dear Daughter,
In the great stories of religions, there come on occasions, though never on schedule, those wonderful surprises of God – those often unexpected, never carefully planned for, and always accepted with wonder, great, transforming joys. Hindus call them avatars, Buddhists name them Bodhisattvas, Sufi Muslims see them in the fana of mysticism, Jews in the Hashem, or with Christians, prophets. To many, Jesus was that surprise. But whomever they are, and by whatever name, they come as serendipity, they come as judgement, and they come as love. They shower unexpected and unexplainable joys on their recipients, they obviously challenge neat, reasoned plans and goals, and they pour out selfless expressions of caring and sympathy and hope. (They bring deep blessings unexpected, they force their recipients to rethink current plans, and they give great love.) In short, they call their recipients to a new world, a better place, an unintended but always new adventure.
Dear Daughter, you are one of these very rare, and very precious, persons. You are God’s surprise to us, God’s “Yes” to all of our future, God’s confidence in all of our new projects, God’s demand that we not become complacent, God’s reminder that true love is never planned or calculated or targeted but always free and courageous and bold and determined, and real.
These eighteen years have been so unbelievable, and yet certain. You grew up very quickly, with sister and brothers so far ahead, mom and dad so busy and tired. You had to. Your mother provides such special memories of you: “Can I get on the computer to do my homework?” when you were barely five. “I need to have the phone to talk to my friend” when you were even younger. You were helping Mom teach Sunday school before you were in school. You were walking to school, on your own, very early. You were pushing the lawn mower with me when most of your school friends did not know what a mower was. You were climbing the ladder and handing me tools to build a new bedroom before you were even in school. You knew the local Aquatic Center, where all your siblings swam before you, so well that you could walk to the water’s edge blind-folded and stop just at the right spot before falling in. And, by middle school, you were so ahead of your mother and father on technology and television and contemporary life that we were, well, growing old.
You watched your oldest brother leave for college when you were six, and you cried. The next two left not many years later, and it seems that we all became so different. It’s like you experienced what all parents do when the “kids leave home,” but you were still the kid, and we knew it but we did not always handle it well. So you found other siblings, of sorts – friends and boyfriends, some wonderful, some dangerous, and we responded in a variety of ways. Your mother was ceaselessly committed to helping you, to encouraging you, to correcting you, to caressing you, to giving you her very soul. I was less focused, caught up in work and travel and backyard meditation, too often ignorant or oblivious to the hurt you so often felt and the confusion of home life you so often saw. My dear daughter, I am so sorry. I know that overall, I cared for you and the whole family, and I would always have given my life to protect you, but I also know that my own world has been too often too busy to see you well.
Indeed we have had ups and downs. I will never forget the occasional painful days of later senior high school, when we all struggled to help you find happiness. On those few nights you left, I walked for miles, and then drove, not sure what to do, but somehow aimlessly hoping to find you. And I wondered what I would say if you came home.
And you always did. And we got by.
And, you’d be baking cupcakes for swimmers or classmates or workmates the next day. You often put off studies to get the baking done – yes, a nice diversion from study you didn’t want to do, but yes, so nice a good diversion rather than a whole lot of other things you could have done. I’m betting over the years you’ve baked 50 dozen cupcakes for others. And then we can talk about the cards, posters, and letters. You have been an encourager, a life-changer, and dear friend to oh so many. I’ll never forget your support for, and friendship with, the disabled swimmer Beth, for example.
Oh, dear Daughter, you are so much more dear and precious and beautiful and special and prophetic and kind than you may ever know. You have your faults, of course. (Perhaps you shop too much?) But you are dear. You are God’s special gift, God’s serendipity to Sharie and me, and the world. Your mother tells me, and I agree, that you have helped us to understand God’s Grace more than we ever could. I am so happy you are going to pursue a vocation that is about helping people. Your gifts of love and kindness will continue. You will be God’s grace-giver.
I know you probably had different expectations for an 18th birthday party. After all, you live in a secular, greedy society, and your friends and coworkers expect more.
But I also know that you, deep down inside, realize how very blessed you are to have a loving mother and father, and
how very blessed you are to have been called by God to be a special surprise, a dear serendipity, a rare chosen one, who will continue to be such a blessing to all you come to know, now and in the future. Daughter, you are a special chosen one. You have been prepared well, sometimes challenging, always with love. You will continue to be a blessing to all you know.
Go with God. Live well. Work hard. Love deeply. Laugh fully. Repent sincerely. Reflect with commitment. Rededicate intensely. Laugh more fully. Work with calling.
And love more deeply.
I love you, my dear daughter, as does your mother. We are so very proud of you.
Go with God.
Love, Dad
