it's one of those days...

I sent a text last night that read:

Pray for us. It's getting rough.

Can you imagine only knowing tolerance? People endure you, but never encourage. People notice you, but never listen. People permit your presence, but never empower your voice. The romantic notion of adoption is quickly wiped away by day in and day out life of living with a child who has never known the true love of a family.

Love can overwhelm. Emotions suffocate. Trust is built moment by moment, coming close and then running away. Hugs turn from timid to hesitant to real. Love must be tested, pounding hard to determine if it is trustworthy. And then, with your hair frazzled and your resolve withered and your kindness thin, you are rewarded with one of those hugs that only a momma knows, those hugs that melt into your entire body, and you think you might break under the heartache of it all, but you know by grace you can manage the strength to handle the weight of a haunting history.

Sleep is supposed to restore. Sometimes, though, the love must be tested the following morning. Perhaps it was just a dream. And so it begins the next morning and you just might wonder if you will have enough gentleness and joy to sustain a love that must be tried again and again.

Yet, I feel peace. It is a peace much bigger than I am, and I know this is from Him who cares more for his children than I can imagine. My hope isn't to get this parenting-thing right, my hope is I won't do more damage.

I steel myself for another long afternoon and evening of constant push-backs and redirecting and reminders to choose kind. I remind myself it takes time to heal. I cling to the truth that we are exactly the family we were created to be. I know these growing pains will yield more joy than is fathomable.

And then a miracle happens. His spirit yields and the boy we have only glimpsed shines brightly. He pays his consequences. He learns when he makes positive choices good things come his way. He licks the beater from the cookie dough. He makes us laugh at dinner. He graciously hands over his video game controller when he loses the match. He hugs his siblings at bedtime.

And they hug him back. "I'm glad you're my brother."

I blink back tears, knowing this is one of those days when miracles happen. Just when I wondered if I am capable of being the mother they need, I'm granted the vision God has for our family...eventually.

There is still much work to be done by the healing hand of God. I'm sustained because tonight I lived a bit of the family life that will come after the trust is established and the love is built and the hearts are healed.

Join us at Two Writing Teachers for Slice of Life Challenge on Tuesdays.