I love to hold her, Father.

She is nestled, warm and snug, in my arms.

my baby.

my child,

my precious, vulnerable bundle of love.

I lack the words to articulate how I feel.

But I carry scars of strife.

How can I hold such innocence?

How can I raise her right?

How can I show her how to live her life?

And yet—

She does not judge or question.

She vents no condemnation.

She does not tell me that I’m not up to scratch.

Instead, she smiles at me.

So I can no longer be a boy



I will be a better man than I have ever been.

I will teach her what to expect of men

and what a man should be.

I will teach her that

stubble chin and heady sweat,

deep voice and steely muscle,

tattoos and hairy chest

Are not the measures of a man—

But love,

And faith,

A willingness to sacrifice and serve,

For love of her,

For love of others,

And for love of you, Father.

A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. (Luke 6: 45, NIV)


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