Today I took a flight from Seattle to Dallas. I was going standby and at the airport earlier than I normally am. I made my way from the ticket counter to the looong security line. As I approached the entrance to the line, I had to side-step a young lady, a young man, and an older fella. As I slid by, I noticed the young lady was crying. Sobbing.Trying unsuccessfully to stop the tears that were rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. The young man stood to one side, glancing around, I think trying to be invisible. Guys usually are embarrassed by this scene, he was looking for a way out. The older fella stood talking to the young lady and trying to comfort. All I could think of was that he was as inept at it as I am. So I side stepped the emotional goodbye and found myself in line.
Naturally, the young lady and young man fell into line right behind me. She had composed herself a little and was making small talk with the guy. I wasn't following the conversation, but their looks and demeanor and body language indicated to me that they were siblings, not a couple. We wound our way through the maze and on the final long stretch to the TSA folks, the line wandered back by the people catching the final glimpses of their loved ones headed off to parts unknown. It also gave the daughter (my guess) and the dad one last chance to hug across the barrier and say a final goodbye. Which started the waterworks all over again.
I would like to say that my own travel challenges diverted my attention. But I kept trying to catch a glimpse of the young lady going through security. What had prompted all the sorrow? It took all of my will power to not reach out and touch the shoulder, to comfort, to tell her that her daddy's heart was breaking as well. My only hope was that he had done a good job of making her understand that he loved her and hoped only the best for her.
But it made me contemplate, AGAIN, my own struggles as a daddy to two young ladies. Had I given them enough strength and character to withstand the turbulence of their lives? Did I give them the template for how they should expect to be treated? Could they possibly understand how inadequate I felt most of the time of their raising? Would they ever know that if they have enormous gaps in their training it is my fault? Could they now forgive me my own failures as a daddy?
As I watched this other daddy struggle with tears and awkward attempts at comfort, I felt his pain. It may be the hardest thing on earth to watch your children suffer, to see the tears drop from their faces, to see the loss of innocence, to know that your best efforts were not enough to shield them from the merciless, implacable fate that seems to envelop our daughters.
Instead of simply throwing my backpack over my shoulder and setting out along the concourse with my roller bag, I walked and prayed. Prayed that this young ladie's sorrows would be replaced with joy, that whatever circumstances connived to separate her from her daddy would be thwarted and they would be reunited. I prayed that life would be kind to her, give her the chance to know love, and happiness, and contentment.
Then I realized I had been praying that prayer for 34 years. For whatever reason God gave me a tender heart towards all these young ladies. I have found, though, that a tender heart is poor protection against what this world can do to our children. It seems an unfair fight.
But now I look at my girls and I realize that they have fared far better than my expertise should warrant. They are a joy to my life in ways I can't quite describe. I'm sure both will tell you with a chuckle that sometimes my phone calls don't seem to have much point. In reality, all I wanted was to hear their voices and to tell them again that I love them.
Godspeed to the young lady flying out of Seattle, hoping all the best for you. Same to Jordan and Carrie and the newest daughter Sarah. Sometimes I just like to hear your voices.
Don
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