This week, I sat on cold tile floor painting tiny little toes sparkly purple. I fashioned pirate attire and buttoned up princess dresses and watched Mater and Lightning McQueen zoom around the playroom. I cuddled up next to our oldest as he read to me about dinosaurs, and we took off with our new friends Jack and Annie as we escaped to a mysterious tree house. I rolled up my jeans and dug in dirt and colored sidewalks with a princess donning rain boots. I visited the library and watched fresh excitement fill our boy as he signed up for his first summer reading program. I danced with bare feet hitting the floor in the living room with our 3-year-old in my arms and laughter spilling out of our mouths. I did dishes in the kitchen while our 5-year-old sat on a stool nearby and asked me questions about what it means to “not count the costs,” and I marveled at how our God teaches me through our kids.
This week, I stayed at home with our kids as you worked hard and made sacrifices so that I could. And even when you were gone, I witnessed your love for me through the way you've taught them. You can tell a lot about the way a man feels about his wife by the way he leads his kids to treat her. I am reminded of your love when our boy offers to help, when he shows respect. When he protects his sister, when he tells her she’s beautiful. I am reminded of your love when our girl says “please” and “thank you” and when she pulls my face close, pats my cheeks, and whispers she loves me. This week, I watched you sit on a porch and share life with a neighbor. I spooned strawberry jam onto hot biscuits you baked for us in the morning. I listened to you share how you were going to admit a wrong and ask for grace from a friend. I watched you pitch baseballs to our sweaty boy and a neighbor kid and chase them around the bases in our backyard with the well-warn diamond path. We cooked a college student’s favorite dinner, and she joined in on the family Bible time and marched from Bethlehem to Moab with us, and I saw Christ fill our living room when ministry and ordinary life meet the way they should. I watched you play with our daughter and listened as laughter filled a room. I ran in the morning breeze and chatted with a sister friend and felt the breath of 30 minutes away that renewed me while you wrestled kids and wished you were still sleeping. I listened to your plans for this summer’s ministry and for next semester’s ministry. I read love notes you left me on bathroom mirrors. This week, I grew by watching you and listening to you. I grew because you served me and taught me how to serve. I saw Jesus through you. I felt loved because of you. This week, I thought about 10 years of marriage—of joy and of pain, of routine and of change, of laughter and of tears. I thought of Birmingham’s green hills, Georgia’s trees all hanging low, and of Texas sunsets in spaces wide; I thought of family lost and grief shared and family gained and joy multiplied. I thought of our first apartment, our first rented house, our first home purchased (and the three other places in between). I thought of seminary graduation and celebrating a job and packing up our things and driving half way across the country. I thought of holding our first-born in our arms, of exhausting nights, and of the blessing of that first smile. I thought of your arm tight around me as we kissed our second-born good-bye and watched them wheel her back for heart surgery just six days new to the world. I thought of sitting at our dinning room table with damp faces as we saw our third child’s huge dark eyes for the first time. I thought of hurts unspeakable and joys unimaginable, and I thought of how I shared all of that with you: The man of steadiness and strength and wisdom and conviction that I respect and love. The man who loves me wholly and sacrificially the way our Father designed, like Christ loved the Church. This week, I laughed with you, tickled kids with you, talked with you, held hands with you, washed dishes beside you, discussed books with you, listened to music with you, dreamed with you, read the Word with you, worked beside you, and kneeled to pray with you. And next week, we’ll do it all over again. And I couldn’t be happier about it. Happy Anniversary, my love.
0 Comments
In the evening we bend and four sets of knees imprint the carpet. And we talk to Him (well, Libby sometimes whispers, sometimes sings), and then we all recite the familiar words together, “Our Father, Who art in Heaven …”
And as the moonlight warms the room with its haze, I look to see three sets of white feet lined up in a row next to mine, and I ache and pray for her sweet brown set to join us. “Thy will be done…” And there is a day fast approaching on the calendar. A day to celebrate for many, a day of remembering what was lost or what was never had for so many others. And as I rejoice over what I have and ache over what I don’t (and what she doesn't), I know that there are so many hurting, grieving, weary women dreading the day that feels like salt in their wound. I’ve been thinking about them as I bend down. This weekend, when the moon goes dark and then becomes just the tiniest sliver of light, I’m bending down. I’m praying for the hurting. The forgotten. The weary. The exhausted. The broken. The angry. The bruised. I’m praying for women everywhere. I’m bending down on their behalf. I'm bending down for you: The Mama who never got to bring her child home, whose crib remains empty and rocker remains still. For the young woman who tries to be happy for all her friends and their swelling bellies and Facebook pictures. And for the woman who has birthed one child or two and is struggling with the mystery and silence of secondary infertility. For the older woman who knits the baby blanket — soft and warm — she never needed for her own. The graying woman in front of me in the checkout line who doesn’t hear from her children, doesn’t know who will take care of her when life gets harder. For the mother whose child has chosen a path of bad choices and left her behind in a sea of guilt and questions. I’m bending down for you. The mom who knows there will be one less Mother’s Day card this year. For the mother whose grief is no longer new but still just as real, who feels stuck while everyone else has moved on. For the mom who would give anything to hear her child’s voice yelling through the halls and see smudgy fingerprints on walls again. For the woman who sits in the pew on Sunday and wonders if she can bear the weight of the empty space beside her. I’m bending down for you. The mommy who stays steady by the hospital bed and watches her child hurt and feels helpless and wonders if things will ever feel normal again. The mom struggling with a nest that is empty while only feathers remain, trying to remember who she was and what she did before she had kids. I’m bending down for you. The exhausted new mother who’s struggling, wondering if she will ever sleep again, stop crying in the shower, figure out this nursing thing, feel attached to this little person she doesn’t know how to make happy, be brave enough to tell others that she isn’t enjoying motherhood yet. The mother who is weary in the journey wondering if the toddler tantrums will ever stop, the teenage moodiness will be survived. I'm bending down for you. The adopting mom who wonders if the wait and paperwork and ache will ever end. The mommy with her adopted child newly home wondering if he will ever love her, ever trust her, recover from his scars. The foster mom who just said bye to one more child, wondering how much time she has to heal before she does it again. The mom who made the hardest choice to give her baby up and thinks about him everyday. I’m bending down for you. The single woman who longs for a child of her own. The woman who aches for her own mom, wishing she were still here, wishing she could still talk to her. The woman whose mom was never around, never available, never there for her. I’m bending down for you. And for the man whose hurt is just as real but is often forgotten. The father who is tucking his kids in tight, mourning the mommy that is no longer there to tuck them in too. The man who is spending his first mother's day without a card to send. The man who wishes he had a mother in his life to celebrate. I'm bending down for you too. For all the hurting people in my life, forgive me when I’ve failed to encourage, failed to remember, failed to be there, failed to pour out all the gifts of encouragement and time and love that others have used to fill me up. I am remembering you this weekend. I’m praying that I will learn to show His love by sharing mine. I’m praying for peace when it seems far away. I’m praying for healing when it seems impossible. I’m praying for encouragement when it seems unlikely. I’m praying for joy when it seems unattainable. I’m praying for His power, His glory, His peace, and His strength to fill all the wounds and gaps and empty places that only He can. I’m reminding myself and I’m reminding you: We have a Savior Who understands pain. We have a Savior Who longs to comfort us and hold us. We have a Savior Who walks with us and before us at the same time. We have a Savior Who bent down low to wash feet, mix mud into healing balm, to pick up the cross. And Who also stood tall and crafted the moon from His very command, determined that some nights it would disappear, and that the dark would come. And Who then makes the light return again. I’m praying for the hurting this Mother’s Day weekend. Thankful List for April: -our first Buckner Ethiopian family picnic day -hearing the heart of a 19 year old Ethiopian girl adopted at age 16 -watching Tucker attempt Ethiopian dancing; watching Libby only care about the popcorn -meeting other adoptive families -news on our “time frame” (a lot longer than we wanted to hear… but it was news) -“From your limited human perspective, it may look as if I’m mismanaging things. But you don’t know what I know or see what I see. If I pulled back the curtains to allow you to view Heavenly Realms, you would understand much more. However, I have designed you to live by faith, not by sight.” –Jesus Calling -The year we had with our adoption coordinator, Leah, and all the support she offered us a long the way. We will miss her!! -It's been over 6 weeks since we got the call about the "snag" in our adoption process... thankful His plans are better than ours -“Why are you cast down, O my inner self? And why should you moan over me and be disquieted within me? Hope in God and wait expectantly for Him, who is the help of my countenance and my God.” Psalm 42:11 -our families "focus" for the month of April (planned in January) and Bible verse... seemed pretty much perfect And a few other random things that have nothing to do with adoption: -My dad got to stay a few days into April -cleaning tables at church with Ben -gift card to Red Lobster and friends who watched our kids so we could go on an almost free date -grace and forgiveness from a friend -my fun putt-putt and snow cone date with Tucker -friends who are so willing to give up time to help me -Meegan and Lauren's great job at the photography workshop (and yes, I attended a photography workshop on how to use my nice camera and then took every one of these photos with my phone) -“if anyone would be first, He must be last of all and servant of all” -Mark 10:35 -Love and Respect conference -the rare joy of Libby falling asleep in my arms -Tuck’s prayer “Please, let the man that shot three people come to know Jesus. And please raise the 3 people from the dead” -that Meegan and I have a “usual spot” -pizza and “The Parent Trap” (the original) "Ultimately God's kingdom far outweighs in signifigance the personal comfort of my children. As much as I adore my children, as crazy as I feel about them, I betray them if I put their happiness and comfort over God's overall purpose in their lives and in our world." - Sacred Parenting -Tuck learned to tie his shoes -Libby’s love for coloring and painting (though I have to admit we would love it a lot more if she would keep the coloring and painting strictly to paper) -Libby’s current love for mermaids and her creativity (even though she has never seen the Little Mermaid) -celebrating Ben (and the amazing man that he is) and the day that God introduced him to the world -the way our college students celebrated his birthday -giving gifts -this blog by Jen Hatmaker... it reminded me how thankful I am for my mom, mother-in-law, and sister who work so hard in the education system impacting today and tomorrow, the teachers who so greatly influenced my life, and for the teachers who have and will make a difference in the lives of our children.
|
AuthorWe are a family of five (Ben, Beth, Tucker, Libby, and Zane). We started this blog during our 7 year journey to bring home a child through adoption. This is our story of how God is faithful in the good, the bad, and all the in between. Archives
June 2020
Categories
All
|