God, I hate this. I hate that my worlds are colliding and that there’s so much going on in my heart. I hate that my parents are different from my friends here, and my friends from my parents. I hate that I have to be in this.
I hate this. I hate that so much is going on, and that I can’t do anything about it. I hate that I don’t want to be around anyone, and that I hate everyone I see. I hate that I also want to be with people so badly it nearly hurts. I hate that I can’t figure out my own damn heart.
God I want to flee and run away from this and sit alone with you. I don’t want to be around anyone. I don’t want people to be at graduation, and I don’t want to deal with its aftermath.
I want to run away. God, this sucks.
I’m not a socialite, or an entertainer, or a hostess, or an extrovert.
I’m not interested in people and their stories as much as I’m interested in not caring.
I’m not an incredible athlete or scholar, I’m not a heel-wearer, I’m not kind.
I’m not a model or a guitarist or excellent at anything.
I’m not my mom and I’m not my dad and I’m not my fiance.
I’m not a great cook, or a supreme friend, or much more than a dark-haired girl who’s terrified of the days ahead.
God, I am not just weak, but I have nothing. You see my credentials, my emotional instability, my quickness to loathe and my slowness to love. You see here in my resume that I fail a lot, not a day goes by that I don’t. You’ll see here as well that sometimes I’m even angry with you.
God, I have nothing to offer. No skill or experience, no feeling or trick or item. Not even my coolest journal or best blog post or favorite piece of clothing is anything worthwhile to give to you. I have nothing to bring, so why do you love me?
My dearest, dearest Madison. I have loved you from the start.
Allow that to permeate your thinking and your fears and your deep insecurity about yourself and the world. Understand that before the foundations, the very foundations of the world, were laid by my breath, I thought of you.
Before everything that was, I thought of you. Your hair and eyes and smile are precious to me. Your heart, your mind, your soul are safe with me. I have never not thought of you, and I am never too busy for you. You, my Beloved, are the object of my deepest affection.
Madison, do you think I loved you because you offered me something at the moment of conception? You had nothing, no ability to speak or think, yet I loved you.
Madison, do you think that, although I love this and made you this way, your intelligence or books read or words written somehow upholds you in my heart?
Madison, have you believed that your worth in my eyes is lower than what I have said?
Because your worth is matchless. You are more priceless than all the world, and I will not take those words back. My love is set on you, and I will not retract it.
So, stop. Stop pretending you’re alone, stop thinking you have to impress, stop trying to handle it all with your two hands. Stop denying me the privilege of lavishing my grace on you. If I have said you are worthy, then you are as I say.
I love you, my dearest. You are magnificently lovely to me, and I love being your Father. Be okay with that, and let yourself be loved.