So what do I have to lose? Nothing, really.
And when I got home, I was chided for losing my wallet. I seem to lose something almost every year, usually my phone or a contact lens, to a lesser extent, my wallet, and once, my laptop. I was chided for being careless, and I cried. It's the same conversation, the same tears, and my same retort: "You need to be more careful. You keep losing your things, how will you take care of yourself in the future?" "I didn't lose it on purpose. I usually am careful, but I don't know why I wasn't this time. Why do you say it as if I don't care or I meant to lose it? What makes you think that I am usually not careful? Why do you think that I don't try?"
And then I go to my room to cry. Except this time I go to my room to cry, and write this.
After all the angry crying, now I know. The chiding came from a heart that was upset. How dare people take my daughter's things when they're not supposed to! It came from a father who wants to protect her daughter as long as he lives but has to gradually let go because I have to learn to fend for myself. He needs to know I will grow up fine and will be okay when he can't protect me anymore one day, and so he lets go…more and more, so I can learn to be an adult.
Surely these patterns of losing stuff and retorting need to be broken. Surely I have much more control over my things than I think I do.
And when Dad chides me, what is there to lose? Nothing, really.
Surely my parents love me more than I know and believe. And Dad doesn't think that I don't care or try.
Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?
Jesus
