She is the one who drives me to the ends of crazy
and she is the one who remembers.
She is the one who at just five days shy of four, arrives home from her overseas travel with my husband to finalize her citizenship, snuggles deep under the covers, grabs my neck and says, "I'm just so happy to be with my mommy."
She is the one who pushes me to grow in my depth and understanding of compassion when she talks about her "tummy mommy," comprehends she was not well enough to care for her and then says, "mommy, we should pray for her."
I agree and say, yes, but this girl of ours, she takes it another step and says, "you pray for her right now, mommy."
And so I do.
We say amen, and she says with certainty, "now tummy mommy get better."
I don't know what to say; I know that my ways are not always God's ways.
And that I can't see the future.
And that I don't know if she'll ever be well enough to see her beautiful daughters.
But when I look at this girl
and listen to her subsequent prayers
for a mother who just couldn't mother
my prayers grow in strength and boldness
and my faith becomes much like that of the child
who was born from her body and of my heart
and will ever be a connecting thread that tethers us together
and prompts us to continue patiently in prayer
because no matter the hurt, the pain, the grief
she is the one who remembers
and she teaches me to do the same.