I feel the need to apologize for my last post. The one where
I ranted a bit and complained a lot about what is really a privilege – the daily
drudge of life with so many little people, the rundown of love when it gets
hard…
And it does get hard.
There are days like those.
There are also other kinds of days, like ones with giggles
and 2-hour naps. There are beautiful treasures like the number of times a day
they all hug each other and say, "I love you," and pray in unison with
miniature whisper voices. There are enough peanut butter sandwiches to go
around and when he thinks I can't hear him, my boy tells Little M that
she looks beautiful today. There are days like today where my broken car gets fixed by someone willing to give up their evening to help us out, where a phone conference
brings our adoption one big step closer, where we hear the quiet voice of our
boy in Texas on the other line and have hope that we may hold him close within
60 short days.
If this practice has shown me anything about myself, it's
the depth of selfishness I'm still learning to let go of. It's that I sometimes
think I have a right to complain about the hard things just because it makes me
feel better when I do. I want to tell the truth and tell it whole, and the rest
of the story is that there is always, always redemption at the other side of
those tearful moments. He is always only working out the kinks in my selfish
heart the way a baker kneads air bubbles out of the dough.
I can gripe and wax poetic about inglorious things, but then
I am brought back to earth, where God humbles me in a visit center lobby, where
a mixed-up mama with a Tattoo Jesus wraps her arm around me and tells me thank
you for loving her babies, for caring for them so well, when I'd thought judgy
thoughts about her moments before. A woman I'd withheld forgiveness from
reaches across the divide and reminds me what love looks like and I recall what
it is I'm trying to do here… just. love. And that means loving her, too, and
the Texas caseworkers I've been so angry at for making the adoption harder, and
my husband when he doesn't respond the way I'd like him to.
Because Love loves anyway, and not just in words.
This week, I've been stressed. I've been busy and sore and broken
down on the side of the road in 102 degree weather with four babies that had to
pee. I've been short with my husband and annoyed by life, and I've chosen sin
out loud and over and over, knowing full well what I was doing. I appreciate
your words and kindnesses, but I am not a saint. I am impatient and often
irresponsible and I secretly believe I should have control over my world. He
knew I would do this Christ-like-loving thing poorly some days, and He gives me
an extra measure again and again so I will see how.
If the woman with the Tattoo Jesus can love like He does, maybe
there's hope for me. These babies are a right step in learning, I know. And our
boy in Texas ,
too. And the freckle-faced children of my womb, my very beating heart in three little
blonde bodies. And you. And her. And them.
