He has two.
My Man has two beautiful daughters,
and they both are, and always will be, his little girls.
I see a different side of him with these two,
the one away from home,
he calls every night when he leaves work.
The other, we are a little protective over,
she is small as a bird, and sweet beyond bearing,
he checks on each night.
Yesterday morning, before dawn,
I heard him checking on her.
He prayed with her.
She had a Big Wisdom Teeth Deal in a few hours,
and she was being a brave twenty-year old.
But she is still his little girl.
He called once in the morning to check on her, finding time in his busy day,
and on the way home, at the end of a twelve hour shift, covered in a fine, sooty dust from the factory, he stopped for these.
He walked into the back door where I stood at the stove, holding them in his calloused hands,
and everything good about life was in the gesture.
I sent him to the garden for a few roses to tuck inside, and slid off the cellophane, dumped the packet of preservative in a vase of water, and trimmed the bouquet.
The roses were between-times for pruning, and so when he returned, he held before him three, plump, blue hydrangea.
Then I watched as he carried the vase around the corner to the sofa where she lay,
chipmunk-cheeked and groggy from surgery.
And I wondered what it did to a little girl's heart when her daddy brings her flowers.
I believe it protects her.
I believe she feels cherished at her core, and protected from trying to please the wrong kind of man.
I believe she will not settle for a false love that she has to work to maintain.
I believe she will soar. . .
I know because that is what the love of my Heavenly Father has done for me. . .
In a desert land He found me,
in a barren and howling waste.
He shielded me and cared for me;
He guarded me as the apple of His eye . . .
~Deuteronomy 32: 10