family day moments

It's been a long time since I've written. I've been feeling like it's time to get back to this place. It's a haven for me. I often feel like what I want to say often comes out more freely on a page. But then there is this weird hesitancy, like if I come back here another piece of me must be made vulnerable. I must share the greatness of the God I serve. He must become greater, I must become less.

Today was the fifth anniversary of our little family coming together. What a special day it always is as we are reminded of the deep sacrifice of those that gave Tate life, and the long road of infertility that led us to adoption. It's hard, a little painful, but very special in it's own right.

Tonight we went out for supper at Chipotle, a little play time at the mall play land, and then a trip to the Lego store for a little treat for Family Day. Tate picked out a set that you can build 1 of 3 creatures with the pieces. He wanted to hurry home to build one so he'd have a little time to play before it was time for bed. He's been a bit of a crank today, but it's a pattern we've grown to expect this time of year. It's the time (whether he cognitively gets it or not) that his body went through a major transition. The science and research that our bodies hold memory resonates with me. (This is not something I remind Tate of, we've just learned to watch for the signs and be extra gracious with him when we need to.) He went from being lonely to being set in a family. He went from the warmth of Ethiopia to the chill of Minnesota. He went from familiar dark faces to strange light faces in his every day. He was and is an absolute champ. He has weathered an incredible amount of change and come through it with flying colors. These first five years have been a great start to the process of grafting together. This precious process that is ours to navigate.

So I went into my "get 'er done, Lego Master Builder Mommy mode." I built him a great big red dragon. It's pretty sweet. I was emotional today, it's partly because it's that time of month, but it's also the gravity of the day. I've also had a few things on my mind that are a little heavy, nothing earth shattering, but things that weigh on my heart. All this adds up to being a little weepy. I've been taking deep breaths, blinking back the welling tears, and building a dragon. Daddy put on a little music as a buffer, and headed up to take a shower. Danny Gokey's Tell Your Heart To Beat Again came on.

Tate - an ever intense, feeling attuned little boy, picked up on the lyric, and said "Mommy what does this song mean?" Since I was already feeling melancholy I just decided to dive right in...

"Honey it's about this man who had a wife who got very sick, and she had to go to Heaven. He was very sad that he had to say goodbye, so he wrote this song to ask God to help his heart feel better."

"Well, it makes me feel sad, it kinda makes me want to cry."

"It's ok to cry honey, how come it makes you want to cry?"

"You know Mommy....you know....cuzza what I lost."

"Are you talking about your birth Mom and Dad?"

"Yes!" (Big wet tears starting to slide down his face, and mine too.)

"Do you need a big hug buddy? Mommy sure does."

We held each other and sobbed for a few seconds. It was brutiful. (A word I've added to my vocabulary from a friend who has walked a deep road of grief and loss.) I whispered in his ear how much I loved him, with all that was in me. I reminded him that Mommy gets sad too about my babies that had to go to Heaven, but I was so thankful and grateful that he was part of my life. That God was helping our hearts to feel better.

After a few more seconds, He sniffed really big, climbed off my lap and said, "Can we finish building the legos?" I smiled really big through my cloudy eyes and said, "for sure we can!"You simply have to love the resiliency of children.

We finished the dragon and off he went to play until bed time.

There are times when my mind just reels at the absolute goodness of God. How He takes the unthinkable, something the Enemy wants to destructively eat away at a person until they are no longer able to love or be loved, and He changes it. Every cliche thing you can imagine about beauty rising from ashes, insert that here.

I share this simply to reflect Christ's redemptive work in that precious boy's life. I share this to give adoptive families hope that, indeed God can give you moments of victory amid weeks maybe months or years of struggle. I share this from the deepest places of my heart where joy abides.

JOY runs deeper than despair. 

Corrie Ten Boom