I was folding laundry, large piles of laundry, as I talked with my friend. She is traveling a similar winding adoption road with children who have been wounded beyond what we can imagine and whose hurt spills over onto the family each day. We are each other’s best therapists.
I was talking about how badly I want Dimples to heal. We’ve tried so many things, and some have helped, but we have a long way to go. I yearn for her to be whole, but sometimes that yearning is less focused on her and more on me. I want her to “get better,” so we can live a tidier, calmer life. I want to “fix” the problems that plague us. I want answers, plans, schedules, techniques. This desire grows heavy and becomes a weight I don’t bear very well.
My wise friend shared that God is showing her something new about her child. Her only job is to love him. That’s it, just to love him.
We can’t heal our children. We can help, a therapist can help, but only Jesus can reach into a child’s heart and mind to touch those deep places of suffering.
I feel called back to being her mommy. She may resist my efforts, but who else is going to tuck her in at night, pray over her as she sleeps, ponder her future, hope for her, and believe in her? I can hire therapists, doctors, tutors, but there is no professional who can love my child like I can. That’s my job, my calling, my ministry.
#121-130 giving thanks
good words from my friend
Honeybee’s excitement over her birthday tomorrow
meeting with our church small group last night
an extra hour of sleep
an invitation in the mail
plans for Nashville – Empowered to Connect
hand prints made at camp
older sisters teaching math to little brothers
the sounds of little boys playing outside
Let the morning begin.
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