She Taught Me To Trust God.
I stand a few feet from the mirror and see the face of a man who failed … I promised I wouldn’t but I did. If this were the first time, it would be different. But it isn’t. How many times can one fall and expect to be caught?”
I stood six steps from the bed’s edge. My arms extended. Hands open. On the bed Veronica — all four years of her — crouches, posed like a playful kitten. She’s going to jump. But she’s not ready. I’m too close.
“Back more, Daddy,” she stands and dares.
… Once again she crouches, then springs. Superman without a cape. Skydiver without a chute. Only her heart flies higher than her body. In that airborne instant her only hope is her father. If he proves weak, she’ll fall. If he proves cruel, she’ll crash. If he proves forgetful, she’ll tumble to the hard floor.
But such fear she does not know, for her father she does. She trusts him. The love he has for her have convinced her he is reliable. He is not superhuman, but he is strong. He is not holy, but he is good. He’s not brilliant, but he doesn’t have to be reminded to catch his child when she jumps.
And so she flies.
And so she soars.
And so he catches her and the two rejoice at the wedding of her trust and his faithfulness.
When I think about all the times I fail and it didn’t killed me or even wound me. I wonder what happened? But, everytime I see my little girl whose now a lady, she reminds me to trust God my Father without fear. The same way she trust her father when that’s all she knew to do.