Letter to a sixteen-year old daughter

 
It was only months after I wrote this letter, that the police came to interrupt the worship service we were attending.
The news: Lisa had been in a roll-over accident on the way to our service. Her injuries were life-threatening. (This traumatic story, "The Accident," is included in Through Dark Places, Exxel Publishing.)
That's twenty years ago today, a day we rejoice that healing came, and an education, and marriage, and motherhood, and godliness.
 

March 12, 1994

TO MY LYSKE ON HER SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY

I think now of you, my teenage daughter

the one whose unexpected birth

surprised by joy already 16 years ago,
and I feel my heart well up with love
and gratitude for the life that became a part of mine

and made it fuller than it was before.

I think now of the many times I've watched your face:

first when you were a tiny fuse of dynamite,

asleep at last after a fierce fight against the dark,

your face turned up, its pages open like the book

beside the bed I'd just been reading from,
all icy traces of the Snow Queen melted now,

dissolved in dreams of little Kai & Gerda,

leaving the soft glow, like embers, of

noble thoughts and deeds that fill the heart

with goodness, truth, and love.

And often since I've gazed at you

to watch the Snow Queen's quest for domination,

the ancient ritual played out on the human stage

of Lisa's life--a serious play of lights and shadows,

of shards and splinters that can freeze the heart

and blind the eye.

Sometimes it nearly took my breath away

in awful recognition.

I've also seen the goodness in your heart

through words you said and wrote,

through acts of love and through the

stirrings of your feelings when you watched

the helpless, needy orphans on TV

reach out to friendly strangers for a home,

a heart to take them in and care for them.

There's so much promise in you, Lisa,

that I'm grateful for,

this world has need of you:

the gifts of your imagination

your intellect, your heart

offered to serve there with your Maker

and all he's made that's broken,

that hurts, that needs a helping hand.

You too will hurt sometimes, my dear,

from which I'd like to spare you, if I could,

but this Dad's arms no longer have the reach

to hold you close; I must learn to let you go

and trust that you always will

beware of trolls that carry mirrors recklessly,

beware of dragons in disguise

that gorge themselves on innocence

and trust betrayed;

I must learn to trust the Father's arms

to hold you close and never let you go.

Learn to love the Lord, my Lisa,

more than all that comes your way,

when you hear his voice

(who knows how exactly)

listen to it closely and let it take

you places where you ought to go,

let it change you and empower you.

Don't be afraid of caves or castles,

of uncharted paths through deep dark forests,

but fear the easy rides through Disney Worlds

that feed the senses but starve the soul.

Growing up is high adventure, Lisa Joy,

It has been and will be more so still.

Enjoy it as God's gift with passion and good sense.
I'll be watching as long as I'm allowed,

I'll be praying for your needs,

And I'll be loving you even more than I do now.

Happy birthday, dearest daughter!

Happy Life, and Love, and Joy!

Dad