Saturday, August 23, 2014

God-Sized Dreams: Cracked Wide Open

For days now the air has hung heavy in the midwestern sky, dripping daily with gray and rain.

My youngest son asks where the sun went and if that is it -- is summer over?

I assure him it wasn't even though I don't really know; it's only August, I reasoned. But really I only am following the patterns of seasons I've known for 31 years. I tell him we could pray we'll have more summer sun to soak up before autumn emerges.

The forecast doesn't agree. Rain and more rain on the horizon from now until as far as forecasts stretch.

We wake this morning to more of the same.

And it doesn't just sprinkle; it pours and it thunders and the whole day is lost to more of the same.

These days have been like a mirror of our adoption journey for the last week and day since our communication came to a screaming halt with the girl we already think of as daughter. She is silent with me day after day after day.

I am a broken record of reassuring love, and still she is silent with me.

I pray this evening --

as my little family curls up on the couch together to watch a movie

as a friend messages me that she has witnessed so many tiny miracles at the school where our kids all attend, whereour girl would attend if and when she comes home, that would make it possible for her to enter in smoothly, comfortably

-- I pray

that the clouds

the sky

the silence

her heart

that it all might just crack wide open, shine something glorious and beautiful. That there might still be something lovely left yet.

The light shifts in the corner of my eye, so drastically that I immediately rise from my seat and walk to the front door

to see it all cracked wide open --

glowing something beyond bold-beautiful.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

God-Sized Dream: A Runaway Heart

I have a runaway heart.

It's been beating inside my chest for as long as I can recall.

So I know.

I know when I hear the words on the phone that our girl suddenly and unexpectedly "no longer wishes to be adopted"

that she's running away right now, too.

Maybe it's gotten too real. Eight weeks of incredible bonding and connecting only to be returned right back to the comfortable safety of what she's long known may be more than what she can breathe in and handle right now.

Decisions about the rest of her life too much to bear.

The here and the now of the comfortable albeit temporary is too good to turn and walk away from into a new life that seems so promising ... yet so unknown.

and so she runs.

She runs from us.

She runs from the thoughts.

She runs from the memories.

And she runs from what could be.

Because when you've been running from one thing or another your whole darn life, you learn to run real well.

My own adoption story into His forever family mirrors her into our forever family too well.

I have been wooed by Love; I have known Love,

and I have forgotten.

I have walked away from Love, thinking I knew what was best for my ever-running heart only to have realized I've run from what I most desired.

I have writhed in fear at the change that comes with being adopted ... only to realize later that Love never needed me to change before I received.

I have looked Love in the face and tried to match it against arms holding me, never understanding that the life I was leaving behind could never match being in the secure arms of a Forever Family.

I have been lonely and restless and torn, failing to realize that my acceptance of daughterhood would buy me more security than I could muster and make for myself.

I have been pursued by Relentless Love and asked that Love to prove itself over and over again.

I have tested it and tried to break it and run away from it ... only to find it a Bridge stronger than any of my effort to sway it.

I have had my very own adoption journey, and I know what it means to be a runaway heart in a weary land.

I know what it is to be a daughter, adopted


so I will run

after her

and toward Him

because right now

that's the same direction.