It made me so sad. . .

First day back after Christmas break. We tried to print pictures of the fun she had in the snow in Canada. The printer was unbearably slow, thanks to a vicious virus that had thrown a huge wrench in the home computing department. Her daddy said she cried the whole way to school. He took it to the office later, and they called her up to get it. What a hero.

She seemed a bit bothered when I picked her up, but it wasn’t until we had been to the bank, the grocery store, and were almost back home that I thought to ask her if she had a great day back. She started crying. “A. went to another school. She was my BEST FRIEND, Mom.”

I was immediately very sad. I pictured the sweet little blond girl whom I had grown accustomed to hearing about almost daily, and who was always sitting in the pick-up line with Ava. Sometimes I’d see them holding hands, and usually heard a sweet, southern-tinged, “Bye AYYY-VA” as she climbed into the van. The sat in a little pod of four together, and she ran up to hug me when I was in the classroom the day I had helped with the Christmas snack. Ava said she didn’t think she had a mom – she never mentioned one, just a dad.

When we got home, she ran inside. I came in to find her just sitting on the couch. I went over to her, silently deciding that the groceries could wait in the van while I saw to my daughter’s heart. I took her on my lap, and she sobbed, pieces of her broken heart pouring into my hands. I felt the responsibility keenly, knowing that hearts are crazy things, and that lies can creep out of the cracks of a non-mended heart. I realized it might be the first time she’s really known loss. I want to make sure she doesn’t come away from this with beliefs about herself that aren’t true. “Who will be my best friend now?” and “The others might not want to play with me.” and “Why did she leave me?” and other such statements poured out of her.

I couldn’t help it. I cried, too.

She noticed, and I told her that in the Bible, Jesus had even cried with some of his friends when they were missing someone they loved. She choked out, “I wish I could be in the Bible.” I was so grateful to be able to tell her that Jesus was not confined to the Bible, but that he could share her sorrow right here in our living room, just like he did with the people in the story from the Bible. Eventually, she stopped crying, but the sadness in her eyes pierced my heart. She asked me if we could go to her, and I told her that we’d check with her teacher to see if they had moved away, or just changed schools. Regardless, I was sure I could tell her that A. did not leave her because of anything she had or hadn’t done – that kids just have to do what their parents decided when they’re in Kindergarten.

At dinner that night, she told her daddy that her friend was “absent forever.”

I wasn’t prepared for how much her heartbreak touched my soul. Does God feel this way about me?

I’ve underestimated Him.

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