What can I do for you?
I stand behind, holding Riley’s hair in my hands, twisting the damp lengths into Dutch braids while she thumbs through notifications on her phone. With practiced fingers I smooth the hair, which is honey brown when wet and, in places, darker with shadows. I weave, my hands trapped in the loom, and slowly an elegant rope begins to rise, beginning at Riley’s forehead, traveling the slope of her head to the nape of her neck, and suddenly plunging through the sky, bridging to the elevation of her shoulder blades.
I free one hand and reach over her shoulder, and she, without breaking attention from her phone–scrolling, scrolling, scrolling and tapping with one thumb, drops an elastic in my empty palm. We know this dance; we have memorized the steps.
Light from the device glows cold on her cheeks, and from above, I survey the things that now hold my daughter’s attention. Love makes me aware of what captures her heart. Right now she opens a text from her boyfriend Josh.
What can I do for you?
He asks profound things simply. She taps the phone with her thumb, considering what to say, and I smile wider, struck by beauty and serving love. Despite a thousand challenges that could inspire self-centeredness, instead, these two look for ways to take care of each other.
Before COVID-19, when I dropped the kids off on school days, I watched Josh come to the door looking for Riley. She met him on the sidewalk that curves toward the entrance, where almost daily he would begin to empty his pockets of treasures, things he’d collected from his room before school just to have something to give her. I thought of God, the way He wants our hands full of sacrificial gifts (Exodus 23:15 and others), how He wants us to fill the hands of others (Deuteronomy 15:13). In scripture, to leave someone empty-handed is to dishonor them. Every afternoon, Riley unpacked honor with the remains of her day–one day, a drink and some cookies Josh had made; one day, his baby book, which she sank in a chair to read intently; one day, two hats and a Pokemon card. I watched this thinking about how love makes us give ourselves away, how every day she brings parts of Josh back home with her.
Now, separated from Riley physically, Josh looks for new ways to love her.
What can I do for you?
In the question I read no reluctance, no stuffed-down, half-ignored hoping she won’t need. Instead, I read a longing to love her, a desire to serve her. I hear, implicitly, another question: How else can I give myself away to love you? It reminds me of Jonathan, who told David, “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do for you (1 Samuel 20:4).” It reminds me of Jesus, who often asked those who approached him, “What do you want me to do for you (Matthew 20:32 and others)?” It is a question that understands the full extent of love, something children like ours aren’t supposed to understand.
The cursor blinks, and I continue to braid, wondering what she’ll say.
And finally, very slowly, she begins to type. How to say that what I need is just to be with you?
Well, you can video chat with me.
She taps send and joy bursts out of her mouth in cascading laughter. Her head bobs beneath my fingers.
