Daughter, I know you.
I knew you before you were even a possibility. Even now, I create every cell that makes you you. I fashion you exactly in keeping with My style. I place My touch on you--your sparkling eyes-gems of blues and greens and browns, your ruby lips, the contours of your cheekbones, your locks curled and straightened by My hand. There is nothing about you that I have not planned.
You question particular features, features that often seem to defeat you, but I build you with those attributes for a purpose.
While you lament and grieve over the physical--the stubborn hair, the shape of your hips, the length of your lashes, the width of your thighs--sweet one, realize that you carry in you the genetic makeup of your parents and grandparents and each of the greats all the way back to the original parent: Me.
You are made in My image. Know that you are beautiful, know that you are My masterpiece.
I AM your DNA.
You have a hard time understanding that I love you. You don't have to struggle with this. When you look at your child and are amazed at the perfect skin, the head covered in hair, ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, the little button nose, those adorable chubby cheeks, and the dimpled thighs, you fall deeper and deeper in love.
Your heart leaps and overflows with such passion for this creature who is a part of you. You marvel at this glorious living being and bask in holding her, cradling her, breathing in her deep baby scent.
Daughter, this is how I feel when I look at you. I yearn to hold you, cradle you, and pour out My great love for you. Nothing gives Me greater pleasure than to spend time with you. And I fall so deeply in love with you over and over again.
Yes, I know there are ugly things about you--things you've chosen, things you wallow in--but you do not stop loving your child when she is covered in filth and vomit.
No, it is with great love and mercy for your little one that you reach out, pick up, and wash off the filth. You make her clean--removing every trace of evidence that she was ever less than perfect. You see the beauty that she is even when she is encased in the grime, and you move to restore her to that former glory.
You clothe her in fresh garments, nuzzle up to the crease in her tiny neck, and inhale deeply. Bliss!
Sweet daughter, this is us!
This is how I see you! I do not stop loving you when you find yourself covered in rebellion, bitterness, and pride. I do not turn from you in disgust, but I reach out, pick up, and wash off the sins with the precious blood of My only Son. I clothe you in righteousness and perfume you with the Holy Spirit. I lean in close, so close, and draw you to My chest. My precious, this is bliss for Me.
Daughter, hear Me. Hear My heart for you. Oh, how I love you.
