My daughter wanted to cry but didn’t. I wish she had.

Well, the time has arrived. Our baby girl is due to arrive in a matter of days. And my body is beginning to feel it.

By 3pm, my body is tired y’all.

I’m thankful to our village who has stepped in and come alongside to help us tremendously over the course of these last few weeks in preparation for our sweetheart’s debut.

Last week, my sister visited me after she got off of work and the moment she stepped through the door, I grabbed my keys to go for a walk alone at our local gym.

After my walk, I came home and waddled my little pregnant body to the couch and plopped down. I watched my sister sweep, vacuum, and sequester the energy of my four kiddos towards picking up random items off the floor. When all was said and done, my sister then began making a craft with my four-year-old daughter. I know. I know. My sister is the best.

Apparently, my four-year-old had been waiting patiently for this moment. My sister and her took out some wooden pieces and began following instructions to make an airplane. Within five minutes, my other 2-year-old daughter grabbed a vital piece of the craft and broke it in half.

I heard my older daughter cry out in anger. She then got up, and ran to the living room where I was laid out on the couch.

Customarily, my daughter would run to me screaming and crying with all of her very big 4-year-old emotions.

But this time, she ran past me… towards another couch.

I stared at her from a distance and observed.

She began self-soothing herself by sucking her finger and sitting still.

“Ada, are you okay?” I questioned, while still very much laid out on the couch.

She didn’t say anything.

She simply nodded her head while I caught the slightest glisten coat her uniquely-shaped almond eyes.

I reached out both of my hands so as to invite her over to me—something she never denies—but she dismissed the gesture.

Everything in me wanted her to run to me for comfort. Up until this point in her age, I was her safe space. My lap witnessed much of her pain. My hands wiped away the majority of her tears. My nose knew the scent of her hair. My ankles knew the exact cadence to rock her up and down to calm any of her emotions.

I was there.

I often was there.

But here I was “there” but refused.

It felt strange.

Out of resepect for her 4-year-old dignity, I didn’t say anything and kept observing her in silence.

In the presence of my sister, she desired to appear a certain way.

Within the next hour, my sister left. And sure enough, my precious little girl burst into tears.

Everything she had been withholding spilled forth.

“Elena broke the piece of my airplane. I was waiting patiently Mama because Cece (my sister) kept doing other things. And then, when CeCe and I were about to put the plane together, Elena broke it!” she exclaimed, crying theatrically.

Later that night, I told my husband the story.

The highlight wasn’t my 4-year-old’s tears. Tears, screaming, whining are quite the usual noises over here in our household.

Instead, the highlight of my story was how it crushed me not being able to hold my daughter in a moment when I knew she was in such anguish. How l had to sit there and witness her stuff down her disappointment. How I had to watch her try to be strong when I knew she felt weak.

My daughter only did this due to the presence of my sister.

But can I share something personal with you?

How often do I do this in the private presence of my own Heavenly Father?

How often do I mask frustration, anger, anxiety, overwhelm in my everyday prayers instead of reverently having a meltdown within my heavenly Father’s arms?

How often do I stuff down how I’m really feeling in His presence, in an effort to act like “everything is fine. I need not complain. It could be worse.” When He wants to be the One to hear me share with Him how I’m truly feeling. He wants to be the One to lend me His perspective. He wants to be the One to watch me run to His Word and say it aloud even when I don’t fully believe it but still say it in faith. He wants to be the One to watch me worship Him despite how I feel . He wants to be the One to see me fall to my knees and quietly say “base” after running for too long and too hard. He wants to be the One.

It’s hard to forget the imagery of my daughter standing at a distance in the midst of her emotional angst. Her distance felt foreign.

For the one reading this, if you’re anything like me, allow me to challenge you.

Next time you find yourself battling an array of emotions, instead of running to that one thing to give you a false sense of resolve or strength- albeit a drink, a television show, some IG scrolling, an unwarranted purchase, work, a party, or even some much needed housework etc.- journal or talk aloud to the King of Kings. First, acknowledge who you’re talking to by recalling who He is and then unashamedly express to Him what He already knows.. Feel free to acknowledge how you’d like to feel instead and leave it to Him to draw the bridge between your current reality and your desired future.

He just wants to be the One you come too. So come. Just come.