MY DAUGHTER, THE DAISY

She Loves Me

We couldn’t have picked a better name—Daisy Marissa Schaffer. It was love at first sight. Oh, she loved her Daddy, but we shared a special bond. Perhaps it was because I understood her so well since I, too, was adopted. Never did I stop to think there was a possibility…

She loves me not.

Daisy was born to an unwed mother who loved her enough to release her, granting us the privilege of raising her as our own, joining our family when she was almost six months old. She looked like a daisy—white curls graced the most beautifully rounded little face with rosy cheeks. She was the most exquisite planting of the Lord in the fertile ground of this mother’s heart. Her eyes spoke to me so profoundly…

She loves me.

As she began to develop into her own little person, we certainly had our moments. Like any wildflower, she had a mind of her own and tested the boundaries we established for her. I was sure there were moments she thought…

She loves me not.

Her third birthday arrived. Oh, the look on her face! My sister made a daisy-shaped cake with three big candles right in the middle. The flames reflected in her eyes like sunlight on the deep blue ocean—brilliantly radiating her love to everyone in the room. She smiled at me and I just knew…

She loves me.

The first day of kindergarten brought a mixture of tears—her tears mingling with mine as we experienced the pangs of our first separation. As she stepped through the door of her classroom she looked back at me as if to question why I would make her leave my side. I feared at that moment…

She loves me not.

I laugh when I look at her first grade pictures. Her teacher put a daisy in her hair right before they snapped the picture. There she is with the biggest toothless grin you can imagine. She loved school, she loved her teacher, and…

She loves me.

When she was eight years old, our church planned a Sunday school outing. Daisy asked her little friend to join us. I vividly remember sitting on the picnic bench watching them skip across the playground, hand in hand, when it hit me—she’s growing up. I prayed there would never be a day when she would look at back at me and think…

She loves me not.

Daisy had the leading role in the Sunday School Christmas Drama when she was twelve. There she stood before the entire congregation, reciting scriptures as she played Mary. She never ceased to amaze me with her talents. I loved her so much and…

She loves me.

Her teen years were typical as she struggled to find her identity. It seemed as if each year challenged her with greater temptations to give in to peer pressure. We had our disagreements and sometimes spoke harsh words. I understood her frustrations—it’s not easy growing up in this world. Although she persevered, there were times she looked at me and I was convinced…

She loves me not.

Then one day I sat in the front of the church with tears in my eyes watching my Daisy walk down the aisle with her Daddy. She was just as exquisite as the moment we first laid eyes on her. Her beautiful hair, her rosy cheeks, her sparkling eyes, her brilliant smile…Miss Daisy Marissa Schaffer would become Mrs. Daisy Marissa Clemons. As she walked past me, she smiled at me with glistening eyes and I knew…

She loves me.

Not long ago she came by for a visit with her newborn baby. I marveled at the white curly hair and rosy cheeks bundled in the pink blanket. What a miracle of life! We talked over coffee. Then I asked her, “What are the most important things you will give your child that we gave you?” Not once did it occur to me…

She loves me not.

I’ll never forget the tears of love streaming down her beautiful face. “It’s what you taught me—what I learned through the years of Sunday School. Our children will know God.” She took my hand, squeezed it and reminded me…

She loves me.

Daisy was plucked from this earth not many days after in a terrible accident. But the volumes of words shared between us—words of love and knowing God personally are forever preserved in the memory of my daughter, the “Daisy”.