It's been one of weeks where almost every encounter held a deeper meaning and, quite honestly, despite my desire for shallow, things got deeper and deeper instead of lifting up. Hence, again, why I needed to come unload. My sweet man, I know he's thankful I found my blog for a minute again. I'm positive his ears hurt and I've used way over my limit in words and emotional empathy the last two weeks.
I should know by now. You'd think I'd be prepared. It’s basically my third Mother's day on this side of motherhood. The one where internally feelings rage, bouncing from one extreme to another. Making zero sense and landing me face down in prayer.
But, that's sort of how God and I work. I could always hook myself up on Amazon Prime by ordering every self-help book out there on adoptive topics and reach out to my friends who I know juggle the identical roller coasters. However, for me, that just welcomes unneccesary noise that buffers out the One who I need to hear from most.
Sure enough, gentle whispers that He sees and He knows the battles stirring in my heart have been evident nonstop all week.
Hand in hand, every single time; with the hard, came the beautiful. I say "beautiful" not because it was all tied up with a bow, but because He saw my mess and He knelt down into it with me. Call me "old" or "crazy," but lately, nothing in this world is more breathtaking than a....
~ completely RAW, exposed MESS.~
Today, my ballerina walked out of the first three hours of the 8.5 hours of ballet she would get in training before bedtime with her usual soft, genuine smile. She beamed as her brother ran and jumped in her arms. But, I'm her momma and I've been where she's been plus I know when a smile is just weak enough to be hiding some sort of pain. I glanced down at her feet and I could almost see them throbbing from across the room. The fresh blisters oozed and the skin was raw. She kept smiling when I hugged her close. No tears, actually just the opposite. She was proud. She's an old soul. One who's smart enough to know that shiny, satin slippers can only hide the ugly underneath for so long. Eventually, exposing the raw and the real is where healing comes. She was genuinely happy to be able to push through the hard to create beauty within deeper places.
Witnessing this simple, common aspect of her everyday reminded me why it’s so important to find joy in the heartache. To be totally okay with widely exposing what is underneath the surface......those parts of us that burn, sting, bleed, ooze, throb, ache.
So, here it is.....a few of the happenings from this week in raw form. Things that cause blisters on my heart even when I'm tempted to cover them up.
I sat in a pew this past Sunday morning when the pastor began to open his sermon with a preface that he felt called to change the topic midweek. Last time I sat under teaching where this was the intro, it was the same day I audibly heard the Lord speak to me as a I lay face down at the altar beside my man. We were waiting on God to answer my cry on whether or not to say “yes” to this little angel you see below.. Clear as day, He answered. “It’s not flesh of your flesh, but he’s mine. And, I’ve prepared you for this.”
To this very day, He’s still preparing.
See, I’m very much the momma to this boy. I do “all the things” mommies do. But, the one thing I did not do was carry him inside my womb. I didn’t get to know him before I held him. I didn’t get to birth him and hear his first cry. In fact, there wasn’t one. Instead, 18 months after the fact, I got to sit in the fetal position myself on the cold tile floor of my laundry room while reading over 200+ pages of paperwork describing the first few minutes of his life. Through the blurriness created my water flooding my eyes, I tried to read about how his little life began. It wasn’t long into the medical jargon that I came completely undone. Overwhelmed with the images of what a real life miracle looks like. What is now, without Jesus, could never be. Our Savior, MY Savior, saved my baby boy. Jesus breathed life into his blue, motionless little frame.
Just last night cradled in a bath towel, he looked up at me and gently said "you keep me safe, mommy? You and Jesus do that for me." He gets life on such a different level than most three year olds.
I sat in a pew this past Sunday morning when the pastor began to open his sermon with a preface that he felt called to change the topic midweek. Last time I sat under teaching where this was the intro, it was the same day I audibly heard the Lord speak to me as a I lay face down at the altar beside my man. We were waiting on God to answer my cry on whether or not to say “yes” to this little angel you see below.. Clear as day, He answered. “It’s not flesh of your flesh, but he’s mine. And, I’ve prepared you for this.”
To this very day, He’s still preparing.
See, I’m very much the momma to this boy. I do “all the things” mommies do. But, the one thing I did not do was carry him inside my womb. I didn’t get to know him before I held him. I didn’t get to birth him and hear his first cry. In fact, there wasn’t one. Instead, 18 months after the fact, I got to sit in the fetal position myself on the cold tile floor of my laundry room while reading over 200+ pages of paperwork describing the first few minutes of his life. Through the blurriness created my water flooding my eyes, I tried to read about how his little life began. It wasn’t long into the medical jargon that I came completely undone. Overwhelmed with the images of what a real life miracle looks like. What is now, without Jesus, could never be. Our Savior, MY Savior, saved my baby boy. Jesus breathed life into his blue, motionless little frame.
Just last night cradled in a bath towel, he looked up at me and gently said "you keep me safe, mommy? You and Jesus do that for me." He gets life on such a different level than most three year olds.
When sadness comes over him now, at age 3, and he says “I miss Jesus in the sky.” I believe him with everything in me. I’m certain Jesus held him close, gave him life in a way that will stick with him forever. It’s created in him, even at this young age, a very intense yearning for Heaven.
So, when the pastor preached this Sunday on how to pray for lost souls specifically, I knew immediately who I was being led to pray for. Of course, I’ve prayed similar prayers before for his birth parents. But this time, my heart was being called to catch up with my head. A new step in the healing. I bounce back and forth between protection mode and being stricken with sadness for all that’s been lost for our son. I yearn for Heaven with him for so many reasons.
Today, I crave eternity on a deeper level. I picture us all there together. Unlike here, where his first family and his forever family do life separately because of sin, Heaven offers us a place to walk hand in hand. I began to ache inside for my son to have eternity close to a woman who first gave him life. I begged the Lord to save her. Rescue her. Offering my precious, baby boy who in his own way already aches for the wholeness of Heaven, a chance to know what sin stole from him.
It’s strangest thing. Mother’s Day now. Everyday actually. I try my hardest to cherish the little moments enough for the both of us. I try to squeeze him tight enough that he can still feel her hugs too. I sing extra songs. I pour on added layers of affirmations. I take compliments from others almost as a stranger would on another’s behalf. Our girls aren’t one bit jealous. I see them doing the same. Cherishing moments longer. Squeezing tighter. Trying to make up for what’s was stolen from the innocence of their childhood. Feeling deep in their guts a love that suffocates out all fear.
So, yeah, this week has been a doozie. One I’ll forever cling to. It’s where He called me past a boundary line I had ignorantly drawn out of fear and protection. Sharing motherhood doesn’t mean I’m anything less. It actually means together we are more. I’ll keep pounding out prayers for His saving grace to sweep over all of us.
We can miss Jesus in the sky and the wholeness of Heaven together. All while our faces offer the sweetest, most genuine smiles. All because I can rest in the truth that exposure heals the blistered, raw places.
If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. “He’s the happiest child I’ve ever seen.”
And, he truly is. I believes it’s because he knows firsthand that Heaven is real. That Jesus came to save. Even despite the hardest parts of our story, joy can be found in the everlasting love of the Father.
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