Last week, the passage we're studying at church spoke of the hearts of Jesus' disciples being "hardened." That phrase jumped off the page at me, and my quiet prayer all of last week was that God would soften my heart.

On Saturday afternoon, Wendy and I attended the wedding of some friends. As the music swelled and the bride walked down the aisle on her father's arm, I felt strong emotions stirring in me. It was exactly two weeks from the day I would have my eldest, Taylor, on my arm, escorting her down the aisle. As hard as I fought, I couldn't hold back the tears seeping out of the corner of my eyes as I watched the father giving away his daughter.

For the past nineteen years, I think I've had a pretty objective view of my role as father to Taylor and Madison. I realize that my role as daddy has been to instill in them a clear understanding that they are loveable and valuable, and raise them to be capable young women who will walk their own journey faithfully. I realize that God is, ultimately, their Father. I am a steward, blessed with the task of participating in the miracle of their birth, loving them, providing for them, teaching them, and caring for them as they prepare for the day when they head off on the path God has appointed for them.

As I sat in that pew and watched the bride and groom make their vows, my emotions swelled over me like a tidal wave. "I'm not ready to give her away," I thought to myself with sudden realization. This is the most precious gift I could ever give to anyone. Taylor is absolutely priceless, and I'm just going give her away. My brain could argue all it wanted about this being the natural order of things and this being just another waypoint in the journey, but sitting there at the wedding I could feel my heart ripping apart.

Trying desperately to rely on my stoic Dutch genes, I fought back the overwhelming grief in my heart the rest of that day. Evening came, and I couldn't hold it together any longer. The emotional dam burst and I sobbed out my grief on the shoulder of a very surprised and perplexed Wendy.

In the midst of my tears, I was gently reminded of my prayers all that week. My heart of stone had, indeed, been softened so that I could feel this sorrow. "I know," I heard God's Spirit whisper in the midst of my grief, "and now you have a hint of what I felt to give away my Son to a world that would reject and kill him."

The following evening, Taylor and I shared a few tears together as I told her of my experience that week, and my emotions. Despite those feelings, I look forward to this important waypoint in our shared journey. No parent looks back without a few pangs of regret for mistakes made and things left unsaid and undone. Yet, I realize that Taylor was a priceless gift given to my care over nineteen years ago. While my role in her life will never be completely finished, it is time to walk her down the aisle and "give away" that which was given me. Then, to celebrate, love, and support both Taylor and Clayton as they become one flesh and start their journey together.