Our worlds tied,
When swollen round.
Her blues met mine,
Life, unbound.
I quiet rocked,
Tender song.
She learned step,
Toddle ’round.
Words took form,
We see letters.
Then her art
All tied together.
Here’s my story —
See my book.
Sketch and rhyme,
Hold me, good.
Odd felt Maple
Among the trees.
Which leaf is mine?
Do I touch bees?
I watch them sting,
Her sap emerged.
Bark showed signs
I knew not where.
They pierced core,
A root dark, sore.
I watched,
She bloomed
Despite the scar
She rose
Broke through
Now near, not far.
Uproot and plant,
Nourishment.
Bees through bark,
New tree in heart.
Her wound,
A friend.
When Christ
Did mend.
I became overwhelmed with thanksgiving for my daughter. She lives Christ and allows me to freely tell her story.
If you read my story about her new freedom, I want you to know that when I asked her permission before posting, she replied with a hearty, “YES”
Kayla, I love you so. I am so grateful for you and the way God has tied us together to tell of His wonders and make His deeds known among the nations.