My oldest turned 10 a few days ago. A decade of the great experiment called parenting–the growing up ourselves, the falling down and picking up again, the long days and short years. It’s hard to believe I’m this deep into … Continue reading
This week I thought we may need to take a day to be a family of four again. But we are still five. Gratefully, surprisingly, tiredly, five.
Another twist in the road of foster-to-adopt. Another plot twist that leads our imaginations with new anticipation and wondering.
Throughout the past three months, each day has come in rhythm. Each night there is sleep. Each day there is activity. And we chug along. At the same time, there are the outstanding questions and trailing prayers that backdrop any normalcy. Under the piles of girl laundry. Hanging in the sleepy rooms of children’s nighttime breathing. Between the rows of bottles and the crowded stretch of carseats taking up the width of the car. At times, though so entrenched in the Daily, I feel the tense waiting as though I am in an amphitheater, waiting for a show to start. The stage holds no clues to the plot; the passing of time is unmeasured and undefined. In a crowd, I watch. I fidget. I try not to write my own script.
Through all the waiting, there has been divine grace. Grace I never knew I would – I could – bear witness to and definitely could not muster. A growing compassion for the woman whose baby I hold. A friendly calm and feeling amidst an assortment of their family members I have met and spent time with. A forgiveness for unfair behavior. A peace that allows us – all five – to sleep at night and wake in the morning.
This past week has held much upheaval. Aside from our personal phone calls and turn of events, there have been attacks, bad news, injustice, and poor decisions in our surrounding community. In these times we know with painful poignancy that we are small. That our definition of safety is not what it used to be. That anger and despair could take us. That we have grown spiritual muscle for this walk in the desert but maybe not enough and it is time to reach out and it is time to feed our souls and minds with life-giving things because the rest is life-taking.
And that is not all bad.
When our life pushes our faith to become less invested in things going our way, going easy, our love for Him becomes more disinterested and less false.
And the weaker my attachment is to a comfortable, self-defined plot, the more I can appreciate and sit in spaces of ambiguity and waiting.
So I will be thankful for that. I will be thankful for one more day of rising as five. One more way Love is introducing me to Himself. One less limit I have placed on His character and plan.
Psalm 6:3-6 – O Lord, how many are my foes!
Many are rising against me;
many are saying of my soul,
there is no salvation for him in God.
But you, O Lord, are a shield about me,
my glory, and the lifter of my head.
I cried aloud to the Lord,
and he answered me from his holy hill.
I lay down and slept;
I woke again, for the Lord sustained me.
I will not be afraid of many thousands of people
who have set themselves against me all around.
Psalm 4:8 – In peace I will both lie down and sleep;
for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.
Proverbs 3:1-6 – My son and daughter, do not forget my teaching,
but let your heart keep my commandments,
for length of days and years of life
and peace they will add to you.
Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you;
bind them around your neck;
write them on the tablet of your heart.
So you will find favor and good success
in the sight of God and man.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.
Come sit with me in worship.
We hum if we have no words.
Still, we also can apologize, record, mourn.
Until the weight is lifted.
We will not say to the seers, “Do not see.”
We will not listen for smoothness or savings.
We will be reluctant with plans, and wary of rushing.
We will be waiting, waiting for the Teacher.
The loudest will not drink our attention.
The resting, the returning, is our sound pool.
The setting out follows long after the asking.
The reflexes are relaxed. Aged. Attuned.
We have full, big view of the high walls.
Still Grace bends around, under, before.
In resolve and stillness, we are saved quietly.
Our bleeding guts announce, Justice nears.
Waiting tries the weeping being saved.
But hurry destroys the Shalom Plan.
Soon, soon, we are helped.
We hear, “This is the way.”
And by then we are filled.