My stepdaughter, Nicole, spent summers with us since she was three years old. She was adorable, funny and beautiful, with long blonde hair I loved to brush. I would look forward to her visits and loved making her laugh. I thought I could win her trust, and get to know her. It was tough to do that in only 4-6 weeks a year, but at least the door was open.
Fast forward ten years. Having some trouble with bullies at her school, Nicole moved in with us for about nine months--she was a quiet and sad teenager. We tried to make her feel at home, but we had missed out on too much; a few weeks a year just weren't enough. The Nicole I thought I knew had been replaced by this quiet, sad, and suspicious adolescent. She went back home the following school year, our visits became less frequent, and the door was a bit hard to find.
Fast forward another five years. Nicole had joined the Army, and met a young man during training out in Arizona. Then on Christmas Day, 2005, we were in Florida exchanging gifts with Alex's parents, Nicole, and her new boyfriend. We played a game or two, and shared stories, but overall the mood was tense, and the young man was more than a little nervous. And even though Nicole was obviously happy and in love, we felt we knew her better than she knew herself. And we told her so. Words were said. Tears were shed. The door was closed.
Fast forward over a decade. Nicole and that nice young man have been married for ten years, and have two beautiful children we'd never met. A 7-year old grandson and a nearly 9-year old granddaughter. We know almost nothing about their lives. Regardless of countless tries, pleas, and unceasing prayers, the door remained still shut.
Fast forward 9 months.We are at the funeral for my father in law. Nicole and her son are there, and we speak. We hug. She's 30 now, and her hair is short and brown--but I still recognize that same little girl I met oh so long ago. I watch her as she leans on her grandma and grieves the loss of her grandfather. We meet our grandson for the first time, and spend the next 24 hours sharing photos of children and tidbits of our lives from the past ten years. We exchange phone numbers, friend each other on FaceBook, and promise to start over. We don't discuss the past. Or focus on wrongs and slights. We just, well, fast forward through it all.
We each go our separate ways and later send each other messages, and I marvel at the simplicity of it all. A fractured relationship made whole again, in the blink of an eye, in the passing of a quiet man, who certainly rejoices in heaven at this jaw-dropping news. My daughter, my best friend, my mother in law, my husband, and me--we just blink in utter astonishment and disbelief. Something I've prayed for every day for the past 3,815 days...has come true. All the scenarios I'd played out in my head of how this would happen, all of them woefully inadequate, outtakes on life's cutting floor.
Broken once, now made new.
And I am awed by the power of our God. And I praise Him from my own brokenness. For making me a new creation. For covering me with His grace. Because of the death of another quiet man, 2000 years ago, on a cross, on a hill.
Fast forward ten thousand years...
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