Oh this week. It’s Friday. May has lingered long, and this week has lasted longer, and the mother guilt weighs heavy this week. And to even speak what weighs down seems unthinkable. For it seems that with our Haiti girl I’m not supposed to get tired or frustrated or discouraged. Because things are going so well when they could have gone so wrong. And I realize that. That things are going better than I ever hoped at this point. But our girl, she’s six, acts like she’s four, and has the verbal skills of a two year old. And I’m plain worn out. And sometimes it feels like such an overwhelming gift to have her here and sometimes it feels like I’m babysitting someone else’s kid. Indefinitely. And lately, I just want to hide from it all.
Perhaps some other mama, adoptive or not, can identify. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this emotionally isolated, this mentally alone. Probably since I last had a two year old. Add in moving and all that means for a family of seven and I’m ready for lengthy trip somewhere very far away.
And I listen over and over again to Jason Gray and his album A Way to See in the Dark and so many songs speak deeply, but this one puts words to feelings we struggle to articulate…
I’ve spent some days looking
For a length of rope
And a place to hang it
From the end of my hope
But where I thought hope had ended
I always find a little bit more
My heart is not lifted up
My eyes are not lifted up
But calm and quiet is my soul
Like a child with its mother is my soul
After a while in the dark
Your eyes will adjust
In the shadows you’ll find
The hand you can trust
And the still small voice
That calls like the rising sun
And bring your heart
To every day
Run the risk of fearlessly loving
Without running away
You must run the risk of fearlessly loving
Without running away
Jason Gray, Without Running Away
And here I sit, quietly waiting for God to do a miracle in my heart and move me from where I am now.
But God is good and it will all be worth it and He writes redemption and He restores and He is doing something amazing here and I’m blessed to be a part of it. And I really am thankful, even in the midst of the tired and worn. Because it is a gift. But it isn’t easy. As one introspective child said this morning, “Nothing feels the same anymore.” No, sweet girl, it doesn’t. It’s hard sometimes right now, but it’s going to be so much better. Soon.
And I go back to a quote from Pastor Jim and cling to that…
When life is at its darkest – when the Giant Despair has you locked up, and the black raven won’t leave your door, and the demons whisper ‘give up hope’, don’t do it, don’t give up, look up…and say ‘God’. The greatest faith is born in the darkest hour of despair.
For His Glory ~