You’re not married because of us Momma.

The night was drawing in when she spoke the words with a chuckle.

Some days she’s my twelve year old and others she still the 6 year old wanting me to kiss the boo-boo on her finger.

You’re not married because three girls is a lot Momma.

Why can’t this cocoon I have wrapped us in shelter my children from the language of the world?

The pause was long while I waited for the words to come.

I told her of how our hearts were broken after the divorce;

of how important it was to heal and protect them until the time was right for someone to enter in.

I told her of my belief that our God would pick just the right partner, friend and mentor to join our family when he felt the time was right.

I looked into those blue eyes and spoke of how special she was and whether I married or remained single it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with God’s plan.

I reminded her of our community, knitted together of friends and family. A community of people who live around the block and half way around the country and choose to participate in our lives simply because they want to be near her radiant light.

And then as I always do before bed, I kissed her forehead five times. Snuggled in tight, with the smell of her freshly washed hair on my pillow, I promised myself I would begin each day with a whisper in her ear, you are special.