When Fear Postpones the Birth of Dreams

Daffodils stand at attention in perfect rows, their yellow faces saluting the sun.  Branches sway windy, waving pink fairy dust as I breathe the beauty of what blurs past my windshield. New life pops confetti on bare branches and today, I let go of my daughter’s hand. Watch her dance the last stanzas of childhood in this circle of life we share.  

She turns sixteen today. A day she begins to collect her own packet of seeds to scatter. (Mark 4)

Because aren’t we all farmers of what he gives?

Yesterday I squeezed her dimpled knuckles.  Today, wearing wet hair and tall boots, she drives away in her white Volvo with cardboard owl swinging from the mirror, pop music vibrating.

Later, in the quiet empty, I wipe off the syrup pitcher, put her dirty dishes in the sink, notice the pile of cards holding checks from friends stacked neatly beside her place at the bar. Pieces of hope paper stacked for the promise of a mission trip to Jamaica.

Sixteen years ago, H caught me standing in the closet sobbing . . . . .

Can you kindly follow me over to Kim’s place at Journey to Epiphany to finish the story? I am guest posting with the Painting Prose community today.

Come and join us!

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6 Responses to When Fear Postpones the Birth of Dreams

  1. Breanna says:

    Thanks for stopping by my blog :) Nice to meet you as well! Hope that you have had a wonderful day!

  2. Debra says:

    Shelly, I get it. My girl turned sweet 16 in August. A milestone birthday. See at Journey to Epiphany…

  3. Happy sweet sixteen to her and you Shelley!

    • Thank you sweet friend. I had a Father of the Bride moment when she pulled out of the garage tonight in the dark with her brother. Remembered her sitting in her car seat with blond wispy locks and a pacifier in her mouth. Where or where has the time gone?

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