And slowly, but irrefutably…
life goes on.
new little faces come and go through our revolving door,
and we slowly let out the breath we didn’t know we were holding.
Somehow we start doing normal things again and try not to crumble under the weight of them.
Though it’s behind us, mostly, and we’re moving on…
we’ll never quite be the same.
I turn this over and over in my hands and try to figure out how it works. This holding on and letting go and moving on and embracing it all.
The world feels bigger and I feel smaller.
My heart races more quickly and doubts crowd in overwhelmingly.
I feel like I’ve lost something.
That’s what it is.
I second guess my every move and the instincts I once relied on dance in and out of the shadows, evading my grasp.
One day at a time we try to rebuild what’s collapsed around us.
I say yes, and pray for strength to be able to love another little soul placed in my arms for a week, a few days, or until further notice.
Those little faces that walk through my door start to piece my soul back together.
I remember I am not alone in this broken world.
There are so many others.
I plan and dream and set aside the what if’s that want to destroy it.
I leave my son in capable arms and enjoy the time away with my husband, realizing my shoulders relax from their alert stance.
I find time for His Word to soak into my heart again and I start a Bible Study with a friend, grasping to understand brokenness and hurt and being stuck.
We go back to the hospital.
We come home.
We go back again and there are two more small surgeries.
We come home.
I file the hospital discharge papers and organize my son’s medical records into something recognizable; putting the sheets of paper carefully in chronological order.
My daughter starts a story; propelled by my own love of putting life into words. She calls it “My Family.” It is equal parts adoption, foster care and her little brother’s medical journey. I know she is processing and healing and I look forward to each new addition she chronicles.
I start doing other things again.
Parent teacher interviews.
Dinner with friends.
Sleepovers with our god daughter who we have missed so much.
I call our social worker and smile down at the envelope of paper work she gives me. It smells like a brand new notebook and looks like hope in my hands.
We decorate the house for Christmas and celebrate National Adoption Month.
Slowly but surely, the beautiful Truth sets in.
We’re all ok.
My son has a new sparkle in his eyes, and despite some scars he is beautifully, wonderfully whole.
My daughters keep stepping forward and I see a new confidence and grace in their stride. I savor the trust and security I see glowing in their eyes. I had feared so much would be lost but instead I am reassured. I had no idea they could be so brave and strong.
The little, normal moments of life fill up my heart.
And suddenly I see we’ve come full circle.
Steadfast love has been there all along.