If I Can’t, Baby Girl

I can’t explain it, Baby Girl,
..why the calls get infrequent and it’s weeks with no word.

I can’t soothe it, Baby Girl,
.. you’re longing for father’s touch when you wake from a bad dream.

I can’t comfort you, Baby Girl,
..that you won’t feel lonely when your friends argue with their fathers and the space behind you is empty.

I can’t announce it, Baby Girl,
..when your maiden name changes ink to another gentleman’s and we hope that he’s 25% more than..

I can’t complete it, Baby Girl,
..when he orders your pizza with sausage instead of extra cheese..because he doesn’t know.

I can’t forecast it, Baby Girl,
..that the reality of your statistic is that your success rate is cut in half.

I can’t secure it, Baby Girl,
..that you can’t trust him to be on time for the daddy-daughter picnic, again.

I can’t clean it, Baby Girl,
..to kiss off those tears when you come home with no guidance from a broken heart.

I can’t prevent it, Baby Girl,
..when those lions seduce you and his voice isn’t there to guard your livelihood.

I can’t correct it, Baby Girl,
..because the image of his carelessness is scolding you with blind and disregarded love.

I can’t bring it down, Baby Girl,
..how you adore him and he’s bigger in your heart because he’s not in your every day.

I can’t account it, Baby Girl,
..how his latest minx is now the object of his affection.. and time.

But I will tell you this:
Loneliness and solitude have their own catharsis
And your only release is through God’s channel.
God answers any man’s shortcomings, including your father’s disappointments
Photos of your baby days, Discipline of your teenage years
Will amount to fierce argument of your womanhood.

In all the things I can’t do, Baby Girl, your Heavenly Father has positioned your prayer, experience and character so you can say:


“For all they did cast in of their abundance but she of her want cast in ALL that she had, even all her living.” Mark 12:44

The Ride Home

“I wanted to multiply everything excellent in the world and make a kingdom just for her.”

I was in the backseat of the silver Corolla, seated in the middle, right where the seat rises. I felt closer to the car’s cabin ceiling, snug next to the plastic undercurve of the infant carseat. I was pressed against the base and the attachment was digging into my right thigh. It sounds uncomfortable but I couldn’t feel it.

She was sleeping, sort of hunched and sagging in the infant carrier. She was tiny and delicate in her newborn blankets, like a puffed cloth on a satellite dish. She was three days old. We were going home from the hospital.

He was outside, loading the overnight bags with baby clothes, blankets and other paraphernalia we acquired during the hospital stay. I was almost sure that I was supposed to feel tired, but I felt even more alert and alive. From this day forward, there is no such thing as surrendering to rest.

It was our first moment alone. Since my contractions, up until labor, we…well, I, at the time, was surrounded by someone- either him, my mother, the nurses. Then family, phone calls, a few relatives. This brief stay in the backseat was the first time no one else was talking to us.

Some people decided on a simple congratulation call. That was okay with me. I was too busy mastering breastfeeding. It wasn’t as easy as I thought. I was frustrated that I wasn’t gushing out milk. The nurses and my aunts started saying the baby needed formula. Then that made it more difficult. I felt like my incompetence was setting in too early.

I didn’t even consider sitting in the front seat. Once she was born, there was an inexplicable magnet to be by her side. She was so small and healthy. She was finally here but, at the same time, she had been with me the whole time. I was looking at her – her small face, her covered fists. She was officially in the world.

My heart ached. What have I done?

He got in the driver’s seat. Even at 6”2’ in a Japanese compact, his presence didn’t fill the car. This invisible grey weight swept over me, slowly, like a heavy emotional shroud. I began to sob.

What did I get myself into? He wasn’t working. He didn’t show any signs of intending to work. I supported the entire “family.” He agreed to stay home with the baby when I went back to work. Looking back, this was actually the wiser choice. But at the time, I cowered from having to explain the role reversal.

My daughter was beside me. And the man in the front seat was her father. I wasn’t his wife. He wasn’t my husband. It was all out of order. It all needed explaining. Especially when we went places and people said, “Oh well, your husband..”

Then I’d start clarifying and correcting. After a while, it wasn’t worth clearing it up for strangers. Maybe that was a quick jab at honesty for us. So, we did it anyway.

The pregnancy wasn’t planned. She was “our daughter” but, at the moment, where was the connection? Everyone was in their own body, their own personal space. There were three people in the car now, all in their own seat belts. She was a separate entity altogether.

I believed that I owed her a million explanations – why I thought it was a good idea to bring her into this life- undefined, unresolved, incomplete. Why I insisted on following a distorted rule book of keeping him around when I knew that the involvement was already draining me. How was I going to make sense of this for her? When people in complicated situations say that all they had to give was love, I finally knew what it meant.

I could tell her in later years, that during the ride home from the hospital, she had both of her parents. But he was like a ghost, wandering in and out of rooms, hardly a voice in anything significant. Really, she only had me. And I didn’t feel like I was enough, with my human resources job and traveling past. I wanted to multiply everything excellent in the world and make a kingdom just for her. And, then, maybe – maybe that would be almost enough.

It was evening. The freeway was clear. He heard me crying, sniffling.
“Hey…” he spoke softly. He was trying not to stir her with his voice. Even at the hospital, we could see that she responded to his sound.

I couldn’t answer. I was choked up and I really didn’t have any words beyond the disappointment, the dread, the absorption of the new reality that I was on my own.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said to the rear view mirror. It almost sounded like a goodbye. I just nodded, wiping away my tears. It was all superficial agreement and genuine distress.

The world seemed too big for her. The sky looked extra dark. The headlights of other cars were loud, piercing blades of flash and panic. The air was too cold, even for California. But I’m her mother. The air is always going to be too cold for her.

He turned the car to our exit. I’m rubbing the bottom of her foot. I had an ongoing need to know she’s still there. Her feet are half the size of my finger, but it lets me know she’s complete, all parts accounted for and that she’s in full attendance.

It felt like we were transporting a secret- a new life that was going to be in apartment 104. She had a name and everything. The security gate opened and he parked the car, intending to get me and the baby in the house first.

At least, we understood each other on the basic things that seemed important in the everyday mechanics of tending to an infant. It was like having a decent science project partner- they knew well enough to move out of the way when the volcano explodes.

I unfastened the seat belt, tucking in the sides of the blanket to keep her in place. My tears had dried. I was focused on the long trek from the parking space to our front door. Her cap slipped forward and covered her eyes but I didn’t bother to adjust it.

Her eyes were closed. She was still sleeping. He unlocked the door and I walked in first. He followed behind, toting the car seat and gently placing it by the sofa. The living room was warm and it smelled like no one had been there. She was home.

“Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” -Philippians 4:11

A Single Woman’s Daily Companion – A Relationship Poem

I have experienced delusions of grandeur. 
I really want to complete things in order. 
I feel, however, that God has isolated me intentionally 

And needs to talk to me in private.

God wants me all to Himself and keeps me in hushed, knowing conversations, 

Subtle, inside jokes and gentle steering of where He requires me to be.

He makes me smile,
Reminds me I’m beautiful in the morning
Misses my attention when I’m distracted 

And guards me savagely from harm.

God sits with me when I write. 
He plays music while I hum. 
He coaches me while I exercise. 
He whispers confidence when I sleep. 
God prepares my money, structures my career and walks with my children.
God likes it when my eyes change color…
…when I work a little faster
…when I read His scripture twice over.
God pulls me close to Him when I’m angry
Dusts me off when I’m disappointed
Says my name in every language to talk to me.
“Love,” He says, “is right beside you.”
“That emptiness – is not loneliness.
That ache is not solitude.
That challenge is not weakness.
It is a chance for your faith to speak to me, to love, to heal.”
“It is I,“He says.
“It is Love. I will never leave you or forsake you. But get to know Me first.”
I gave Him my life, my heart and my choices.
He gives me Psalm 46:10, Proverbs 3:5-6, John 3:16, Psalm 71:1, 1 Corinthians 14:33.
And He said, “..Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.” Mark 5:34. But before I go, God wants to talk to me privately.