Tell them they can make it

Love people. Tell them they can make it.

She leaned across the kitchen counter, fought back tears and said, “I only wish I could understand why somebody would treat a child that way.”

She is a friend.

The child she referred to is the little girl that she once was.

The somebody she has a hard time understanding is the woman who raised her after her parents died.

She was 3.

“So if God himself stood right here this morning and explained to you himself why it was that your parents died and that you went to live with a woman who mistreated you, who abused you — if God gave you the answers — would that be good enough? Then would you understand? Would that then make everything okay?”

No, she figured. It wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, honey” I said. “I’m sorry your parents died. I’m sorry she treated you that way. She should never have treated a child like that.”

We both wiped away the tears.

“But it’s good that we don’t understand people like that, you know? Because if we could rationalize how it is that people mistreat children, we might mistreat them ourselves.”

Yeah, she said. You’re right. We might.

“I don’t want to understand people like that,” she added.

“No, no you don’t,” I said. “I don’t either.”

Love people. Tell them they can make it.

She struggles with wanting a mother who loves her, really loves her for who she is. A mother who celebrates her. A mother to help her navigate life.  She is always going to long for that.

“I’m not angry,” she said. “I know my parents didn’t want to die. They didn’t leave me on purpose.”

The journey is hard enough when you belong to somebody, to a lot of somebodies. But when you don’t know where you belong, when you don’t have a mother or a father to welcome you to a safe place when you need it, life is the long loneliness.

You need people in your life who love you. People who will say you can make it and believe that so much that you begin to believe it yourself.

I need that.

She needs that.

“The reason you are so good with kids is because of your own upbringing,” I said. “You love children because you know what it feels like to be neglected. You’re great with kids.”

Yeah, she said. I love kids.

The woman who raised her doesn’t realize what a precious treasure this girl is. How strong she is. How beautiful she is. How fun she is. How fearless.

That woman is living a tragedy, harboring bitterness for the death that took her kin and left her with a 3-year old to raise. A child she didn’t want in exchange for the man she did.

“She blamed me for my father’s death.”

The abuses this girl suffered at the hands of an angry woman are too ugly to type.

I want to slap people who mistreat children. I want to slap them right upside the head.

That woman stole her identity, used it to run up bad credit. The laptop she needs will have to wait.

I want to slap selfish people. I want to slap them right upside the head.

Love people. Tell them they can make it.

She wants to be a firefighter.

“You’re an adrenaline junkie,” I said.

Yeah, she said, laughing. I am.

“Probably because of all the drama of your upbringing.”

Maybe, she said.

“You are going to be an awesome firefighter,” I said. “You’re a strong woman.”

Yeah, she said. I am strong.

Love people. Tell them they can make it, Don Miller said.

We all need somebody to believe in us, to tell us that we can make it.

Who is believing in you?

Who are you believing for?