Dear daughter of my heart,
Today you came to see me sad and I wanted to comfort you. Your friends talked about having things you don't have, watching movies you don't see, going places you don't go, and wearing things you don't. Even when telling it, they spoke in ways that you don't. Today you have felt your "otherness" very intensely.
But what comfort can I give you? How can I take the sharp sting out of the comparison of your tender flesh? Mothers don't like to see their children hurt. My own heart wants to find the shortest way to eliminate your pain, a pain that spills over me because I remember being thirteen years old and because I know that you are being pointed out by limits that you did not set.
This world is not our home. We are pilgrims, travelers on our way to the only true comfort that the human heart can know.
Should I comfort you by giving you the things that separate you from the worldly, well-provided woman-girls at the lunch table? Not everything you don't have now is a "no"; some things are just a "not yet". So I might review what you're ready for, not because I want your friends to like you, but because I want to give the right things at the right times. Your friends will make you believe that being different is an unbearable state, but I will make you believe otherwise.
Sweet girl, study how you feel today. Because I love you, I ask you this: lean into your "otherness," she learns the contours of her face, feels the firmness of her hand. Because I intend for her to be your companion for life. She is a truer friend than those around you now. More than I want your comfort, I want you to be a foreigner and an outsider. You begin to understand what that means: that not fitting in, that dissonant chord, that discomfort in the midst of comfort that has been the faithful traveling companion of God's children for millennia. I rejoice in the faithfulness of the God who is showing you this truth.
This is what you must come to see: what at the lunch table is called your enemy, I call your friend. "Otherness" is a sensation that should not be turned off or diminished, but cultivated and appreciated. That's why, even if it goes against all maternal instincts, I won't take that sting out of you, not because I don't want to comfort you, but because there is no real comfort in lying. This world is not our home. We are pilgrims, travelers on our way to the only true consolation that the human heart can know. I will not help you populate your life with things that diminish your understanding of this reality.
I trust that the Father will show you the consolation of being called His. There is no other true consolation apart from this
Because I love you, yes. But because I love your heavenly Father above all else. I will give an account of whether I have raised citizens of the earth or citizens of heaven.
I pray for you—do you know how much?—I pray that you can say with David that the ropes have fallen for you in good places. It is not a mentality that we reach easily. But it is the mindset of someone who has learned the safety and joy of "otherness." I am willing to accompany you as many years as you need to learn this truth. I trust that the Father will show you the consolation of being called His. There is no other true consolation apart from this.
I couldn't love you more.
The Lord is the portion of my inheritance and my cup;
You sustain my luck.
The strings fell on me in nice places;
The inheritance that has touched me is truly beautiful (Ps 16:5-6).