My Iowan friend, the one who was the early tangible proof of God's care for me during my reconnection to faith nine years ago, just called. She brought me to tears, reminding me of how she viewed my maternal relationship to my daughter. The current disappointment always burrows into me, making me feel like a failure. I release and understand it, but it floats down into my spirit at times, and I nurse my losses and inability to do anything.

She was adamant that I did everything possible. She reminded me of how much time and devotion I gave to that girl. Together, my daughter and I drew comments of the bond we seemed to share. One woman approached us at McDonald's and said we were beautiful to watch together. There was love, good exchange, appropriate maternal nursing and giving. I can be confident that I did my best and tried hard.

Now, there's still absence and lingering hurt and deep disappointment. I feel robbed. I feel like I didn't know or do the best. I know the reasons, the forces that I can't control, the requirement that she learns this way, no other will do. Yet, there's grief.

However, my friend is still the tangible proof of God's care, as she crochets and prays for us on the rows of her current yarn project, up there in Iowa where they've since moved. She's a mother, guided by Mary and Jesus, who knows that the process and the questions can be painful. That the best we can do is lift it up for the ultimate care and deliverance. Blessed reassurance.