I stood in the doorway of my daughter Micah’s bedroom, not wanting to step into what resembled a toxic waste dump. Black garbage bags bulging with stuff she insisted wasn’t trash. A tower of overflowing storage bins. Mountains of clothes all over the place that Micah was randomly sorting through.
How at 20 years old was Micah completely incapable of keeping her room clean and tidy? The craziest part was she didn’t even live here anymore. She just dropped by our house occasionally to do laundry. Her first two years of college, she’d lived in the dorm and a sorority house, where presumably there had been some accountability.
In less than two weeks, she’d be moving into an off-campus townhouse with her sorority sister Aja. It was a question I’d been asking God a lot lately. I’d wantedMichael, had supported her desire for independence, and finally I’d just shrugged and gone along with them.
