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Authors: Tricia Goyer
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the day I would hold a kinder in my arms. A boppli
of my own. I can’t believe yer mine. I’ve been waiting all my life to have a child,
but you are more than I ever dreamed. Even the Englisch stop and tell me what a beautiful
child. I agree. I hope they do not think me too prideful .
I thought it would be something special to have a daughter, but to be chosen by a
mother…I cannot describe the feeling of knowing another would choose me to care for
a child she carried and birthed. I feel unworthy. I feel special. I know there will
be hard days, but I cannot imagine a moment I do not wonder of this gift. Of you .
I considered myself prepared to be a mother. With younger brothers and sisters I knew
about the feeding, and bathing, and holding. But I wasn’t prepared for the swell of
love deep inside. Sometimes I expect my dress not to be able to pin because I’m certain
my heart has doubled inside my chest. I hold you more than I ought because I don’t
want to lose a moment. I know how quickly the time passes .
You’ll be soon crawling around on yer own. Yet with each moment I have your head tucked
under my chin—breathing in your scent—I think of another woman. A woman with empty
arms. Does she wonder about you? Does she hold you in her dreams? I have no doubt
of both .
Yer dat feels the same love as I. I’ve caught him more than once in the night just
sitting by your cradle and watching you. He told me the other day that he didn’t feel
worthy of such a gift. I told him that’s why it’s called a gift; it’s something given,
not earned .
You are so lovely, daughter, so innocent. I only wish
you could stay as such. I hate to think ahead to the day when I’ll explain to you
about the circumstances of you coming to us—of you knowing the truth. Hopefully when
the time comes the truth of the love your dat and I have will overshadow the pain.
It is my greatest wish .
Love, Mem
Lydia stared at the words. She read the letter three times, trying to take it all
in. Her mother’s words of love weren’t surprising. She’d known that love. She’d felt
it. She’d seen it in Mem’s gaze. What surprised her was that from those first months,
Mem was already concerned about her discovery of the truth. It wasn’t an easy truth
to understand.
Lydia placed the letter on the quilt and looked past the pasture to the trees and
hills, to the tall, jagged mountain peaks that jutted into the sky beyond. One could
see the beauty of the mountains, yet the hardship of the climb up into them wasn’t
known until the hike started. One could know the pain of revealing the coming truth;
feeling it was something different. Mem had hoped her love was enough to keep Lydia
in their home, to keep her Amish. The hardship of watching her daughter walk away
must have been overwhelming to bear.
Lydia lifted the letter and pressed it against her chest.
Why didn’t I appreciate you more?
A small sob broke through with her words. “Why didn’t I accept your love, stay rooted
in it and protected by it, when I had the chance?”
Her mem’s greatest fears had come to light the day she turned sixteen. Lydia wished
she could go back. But there was no going back. There never would be.
Her fingers flipped through the other folded up pieces of paper. Would all of these
make her equally sad?
Lydia prepared to close the box when the note on the very top caught her attention.
The handwriting was shakier than the other ones, and it was dated…just four days ago.
The day of Mem’s death. It was the last note Dat had tucked inside the Promise Box
for Mem.
She picked it up, turned it over in her hand, and then put it down again. They were
her mem’s last words, and she doubted that she’d written about beans. Lydia put the
note in the box, closed the lid…then pulled it out again and opened it up before she
lost her nerve.
Dearest Lydia .
If you found this box,
of my own. I can’t believe yer mine. I’ve been waiting all my life to have a child,
but you are more than I ever dreamed. Even the Englisch stop and tell me what a beautiful
child. I agree. I hope they do not think me too prideful .
I thought it would be something special to have a daughter, but to be chosen by a
mother…I cannot describe the feeling of knowing another would choose me to care for
a child she carried and birthed. I feel unworthy. I feel special. I know there will
be hard days, but I cannot imagine a moment I do not wonder of this gift. Of you .
I considered myself prepared to be a mother. With younger brothers and sisters I knew
about the feeding, and bathing, and holding. But I wasn’t prepared for the swell of
love deep inside. Sometimes I expect my dress not to be able to pin because I’m certain
my heart has doubled inside my chest. I hold you more than I ought because I don’t
want to lose a moment. I know how quickly the time passes .
You’ll be soon crawling around on yer own. Yet with each moment I have your head tucked
under my chin—breathing in your scent—I think of another woman. A woman with empty
arms. Does she wonder about you? Does she hold you in her dreams? I have no doubt
of both .
Yer dat feels the same love as I. I’ve caught him more than once in the night just
sitting by your cradle and watching you. He told me the other day that he didn’t feel
worthy of such a gift. I told him that’s why it’s called a gift; it’s something given,
not earned .
You are so lovely, daughter, so innocent. I only wish
you could stay as such. I hate to think ahead to the day when I’ll explain to you
about the circumstances of you coming to us—of you knowing the truth. Hopefully when
the time comes the truth of the love your dat and I have will overshadow the pain.
It is my greatest wish .
Love, Mem
Lydia stared at the words. She read the letter three times, trying to take it all
in. Her mother’s words of love weren’t surprising. She’d known that love. She’d felt
it. She’d seen it in Mem’s gaze. What surprised her was that from those first months,
Mem was already concerned about her discovery of the truth. It wasn’t an easy truth
to understand.
Lydia placed the letter on the quilt and looked past the pasture to the trees and
hills, to the tall, jagged mountain peaks that jutted into the sky beyond. One could
see the beauty of the mountains, yet the hardship of the climb up into them wasn’t
known until the hike started. One could know the pain of revealing the coming truth;
feeling it was something different. Mem had hoped her love was enough to keep Lydia
in their home, to keep her Amish. The hardship of watching her daughter walk away
must have been overwhelming to bear.
Lydia lifted the letter and pressed it against her chest.
Why didn’t I appreciate you more?
A small sob broke through with her words. “Why didn’t I accept your love, stay rooted
in it and protected by it, when I had the chance?”
Her mem’s greatest fears had come to light the day she turned sixteen. Lydia wished
she could go back. But there was no going back. There never would be.
Her fingers flipped through the other folded up pieces of paper. Would all of these
make her equally sad?
Lydia prepared to close the box when the note on the very top caught her attention.
The handwriting was shakier than the other ones, and it was dated…just four days ago.
The day of Mem’s death. It was the last note Dat had tucked inside the Promise Box
for Mem.
She picked it up, turned it over in her hand, and then put it down again. They were
her mem’s last words, and she doubted that she’d written about beans. Lydia put the
note in the box, closed the lid…then pulled it out again and opened it up before she
lost her nerve.
Dearest Lydia .
If you found this box,
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