Somebody's Daughter

I saw her as she got out of the car at the mall.  A young man with a hoodie over his head and pants nearly falling off exited the car from the other side quickly gathered her up in his arms.  They made their way to a parked bench outside the smoking area and sat down.  She was practically sitting on his lap when he became “Mr. Octopus” and started putting his hands all over her.  She giggled and gave him a succession of playful slaps, which only encouraged him to continue. 



After a few minutes the young man got up and motioned for her to wait there while he walked away.  From my vantage point I watched as he went around the corner and met another young man pacing anxiously back and forth.  They each reached into their perspective pockets and exchanged something with one another.  They then slapped hands, bumped knuckles, and walked away. 



I glanced back at the young girl.  She was checking out her makeup in a mirror.  I wonder how old she is; fourteen, fifteen, surely no more than sixteen?  Behind the lipstick, eyeliner, and a pound of makeup you could see a hint of the innocence of youth.  Sitting exactly where she had been told to, she was smiling and kicking her legs like a little girl waiting for her Daddy to pick her up from school.  I wonder if her Daddy ever told her how special she was?  Did he ever take her out to dinner, just the two of them?  How about a father-daughter dance?  Did he have a special name for her like princess, honey bunny, baby girl?  When was the last time he told her he loved her?  Does she even know who her father is?



Tears began to form in my eyes as I thought about my own daughter and how special she is to me.  How I would so jump out of this car and beat that guy to a pulp if that was my daughter sitting there.  It’s not my daughter, but it is somebody’s daughter.  I began to pray for this young girl and her father that somehow they both would realize how much they need each other.  I prayed that her daddy would just hug on her and tell her, you don’t need a guy like this.  You are special, God made you in His image and He has the right man and the perfect plan for your life.



When I looked back to the young girl, the thug grabbed her by the hand and headed back to their car.  I watched as they drove away knowing I would never see her again, but I know that my Heavenly Father heard that prayer and I know He’s working on that situation, so she doesn’t end up being a statistic; another 21 year old mama with three kids to take care of because “Mr. Octopus” decided he has had enough and decides he wants somebody younger without any attachments.  No, she wasn’t my daughter, but she is somebody’s daughter.  She is a precious daughter of God.