{written yesterday}
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I have lived a lifetime this week and it is still only
Monday.
Baby Girl (who is 9 these days) was baptized in beauty and
love and living water, surrounded by family on Sunday as she said yes to Jesus.
My open-aired barefoot church split at the seams with family old and young, and
even the nonbelievers among us lifted hands to Him and it was the kind of
beauty that is still making me weep 28 hours later.
I was asked to be a part of somethingso incredibly close to my heart, so vital to this blog community, so honest
and real and out of my league that it, too, made me weep for good things.
But I am weeping today for things that don't feel good or
right at all, things I don't know how to justify or make sense of, things that
shouldn't be and searching to find God in it all.
A phone call with our adoption caseworker left me sobbing
into the phone, as muffled by red tape as the pleas of our boy caught in the
system have been, and equally as unheard, then later, louder, into the nape of
my husband's neck with pounding fists at the injustice of a child whose future
is reduced to manila and copy paper and black ink while his heart swells with
anger and nobody hears.
She heard, though. She heard me when I said I will fight for
him, lady, and keep fighting and sucked breath sharp and mean and bit my lip to
keep the rest of it inside.
Brokenhearted people have to clean their floors too, it
turns out, so I mop the floors with tears and soap and scrub like I can lift
the dirt off the world with elbow grease, taking out anger on the tile while
polishing it with apple-scented solution and somewhere in here is a Garden of
Eden metaphor but I'm too tired to find it.
I nauseate and the sky tumbles dark and green too and bolts
of lightning flash in the distance, sky all sad and angry and it's Him to my
heart saying, "Yes, I know, dear One. Me too."
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Linking to Imperfect Prose, a sacred space where our souls can breathe... so, so blessed to be a part of this. Join us over there, will you, and be blessed?
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Linking to Imperfect Prose, a sacred space where our souls can breathe... so, so blessed to be a part of this. Join us over there, will you, and be blessed?
