A few months ago, Abby gently told me that it would be okay if I came over to her line in the morning, gave her a hug, and then waited with Isaac in his line across the school yard. It represented a big departure from previous times, when the two of them would bicker over whose turn it was to have me nearby. I won't lie: it hurt a little. But I know it's developmentally appropriate, so I smiled and said okay. And since that day, it's been our routine. But every day, I still look over toward her side of the blacktop and nab stolen glances at her as she talks with her friends and dances in place and looks up at the sky. And considering the fact that the scene looks like this, it's pretty amazing that I can always find her in the crowd:
It's incredible to me that despite the distance and despite the large number of milling children and parents between us (look closely, way, way on the other side of the blacktop), I'm always able to find my girl. Some days, it feels like I'm seeking a needle in a haystack, but amazingly, my eyes always seem to zero in on her.
I know I have to give her this freedom, but it's totally God's provision --and blessing-- that I'm able to pick her out in the crowd every time I feel the need to do so. It makes giving her some space a much easier task. And it also reminds me that even when I can't see her, we're still very much connected.
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