When we first met in a downtown shelter, she was only sixteen and had been sent to Toronto from northern Canada for treatment at a health clinic. Soon she was on the streets of the city with drug and emotional problems and ended up in the shelter where we met. 

She was a regular at the spiritual group I ran, and within a few months she was in the shelter’s four-month rehab program where our friendship grew. Having graduated from the rehab program, she kept in touch with my wife and me as she struggled financially and emotionally for several years living on her own. 

We had several emergency trips to meet up with her when the loneliness and the temptation of drugs became too much for her. Finally, she decided that it would be better for her to make the long trip back to northern Canada where her mother and father would be waiting. 

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My wife and I helped her pack and off she went home. It was not an easy transition with many ups and downs, however over the years she always kept in touch with us. Recently, she resurrected her artistic talents, joined a local church, and started writing about her experiences since she landed home. With her permission, I am sharing her spiritual thoughts as she reminisces about her life since she got home.

“I was told I would never be a mother, and there were nights I did not want to survive long enough to find out. I know what it feels like to lose everything, not just once, but over and over again. To bury your mother and have something inside you die with her. To hold your brokenness a secret because no one else can carry it with you. And then, three months clean of drugs, I’m pregnant. Suddenly a heartbeat inside me, tiny, impossible, mine. She saved me before she ever spoke a word. 

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“My daughter was the reason I stayed not just alive, but present, awake and feeling hope. Just when I thought I had nothing else to lose, I lost my father. My daughter cried for him, like she lost her whole world. I kept going, I kept choosing the light. My daughter looked at me as if I was her whole world, and maybe I am. 

“Our story is not just about pain; it’s about rising. It’s about God who shows up in the middle of the fire and walks you out of it. It’s about choosing love and it’s about God and us. It’s about the ones who are motherless and fatherless who have lost everything but dared to keep on going. For the ones who were never moms but became warriors instead. 

“It’s for the ones who met God in the rubble and chose to rebuild. Tonight, I whispered the same bedtime prayer my dad used to say with me when I was little, and my sweet girl repeated every word after me. Dad always used to tell me, "Because your mom and I had you, we’ll always be a part of you we’ll always be with you." Tonight, I felt that. This tiny prayer has been carried through generations, from my dad’s voice to mine and now to hers. 

“Hearing my daughter say it out loud brought back every memory of safety, love, and bedtime comfort I felt as a child. Even though Dad isn’t here, a piece of him lives on in this moment. in her voice, in my heart, and in our prayers. 

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"In my little bed I lie. Hear me Father, hear my cry. Lord, protect me through the night, and bring me safe ‘til morning light." 

Some memories become traditions, some traditions become treasures, and this is now one of mine. If you ever felt too broken to be loved, too lost to be found, too far gone to be forgiven, this is my story.”