I rarely get called out for excessive movement. My18-year old daughter, on the other hand, had to keep from knee-jiggling, finger tapping and even sitting on her knees while she spent 90 days in a residential treatment facility for eating disorders. Those behaviors constitute subversive ways to exercise and needed to be eliminated in order to address other issues. But who is this girl who thinks so little of herself she inflicts pain, withholds and purges food and exposes herself to other damaging behaviors?

Agonizing, we sent her away for treatment. Leaving her in the desert, I realized somewhere between the third and fourth child, the magic parenting formula I sprinkled on all my children, had lost its potency. My love and my actions were not enough for her. Someone else needed to fill in the gap.

The miles apart proved therapeutic and as the weeks went by, I began to see her from a different perspective. In an effort to understand what was happening inside our family, I sought God with a new fervor. He met me whispering, “she is mine and she has her own unique story. I have plans to give her hope and a future.”

When this ache doubles me over I sense Him nearer. Instead of the pain building a wall between us, my despair acts like a surgical knife, slicing into my soul and putting virtually nothing between us. I don’t like this season of life but I’ll suffer the pain in order to experience the nearness of God and hear His whisperings.