To my precious one,
I know you don’t know about me just yet. Your sweet, strong daddy reminds me of this in {failed} attempts to comfort my breaking heart. He reminds me that although I ache for you with a desperation that words cannot possibly give appropriate credit to, you are not crying out for me in the night. You are not crying yourself to sleep pleading to God to move swiftly on your behalf. You are not hoping for a life here in our family.
Yet, here I am. Doing all of those things. I fall asleep with tear stains on my pillow. I long to hold you. I cry out on your behalf. I pace the floors of our home, circling the room where you will one day lay your sweet head, pleading to my Heavenly Father to bring you here to us quickly. I hope against hope that He will move mountains on your behalf.
Once again, this week has been full of tender moments that have brought me to my knees, calling out to the One who loves you even more perfectly than I. Moments that have pierced my heart in a fresh, painful way for you. Moments that have reminded me how hard this road can be. Moments that have caught be off-guard.
As I shared in an intimate study of God’s word with other women yesterday, I found myself in tears as we discussed the places God takes us in order to become desperate for Him.
another letter to S.
“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you, there is more of God and his rule.” {Matthew 5:3; Message}
Oh, sweet one. I am at the end of my rope. I am at the end of the place where I cannot smile and stare at your photo without an all-consuming ache to comfort you and ensure you are safe. Here in this place, there is room for God to rule. Here in this place, God is in control. Here in this place, I have surrendered all. Here in this place of desperation, I am sitting at His feet begging Him to move.
Here, in this place, at the end of my rope, I find myself unable to breathe when confronted with baby food options. Today, I took an innocent walk over to the baby aisle while picking up a few groceries, and found myself unable to see clearly through my tears. I was overcome with emotion as I contemplated all of the food available to growing bellies. I knew that you were not receiving any of these things.
Ultimately, simple rice cereal sent me over the edge. I considered buying some to send with a traveling momma at the request of Dr. L, yet, I wasn’t sure what kind of cereal they would feed you at the orphanage. I wasn’t sure if they would sell it the way they sold all of the other items I sent for you last time. I wasn’t sure what you were eating. I wasn’t sure if you were eating. Most of all, I wasn’t sure how I could stand there, in that aisle, with all of the selections, knowing that the possibility of your little tummy rumbling from hunger was undeniable.
That’s why I had to run out of that store. I had to run out into the rain. I had to be drenched with that rain shower to catch my breath. I had to sit in my car, in the parking lot, and cry out in complete and utter desperation to my Jesus. My Savior. My Hope. My Steadfast, Faithful, King of Kings.
This wait for you is the hardest, most absolute torturous, gut-wrenching thing I have ever had to do in my life. I am grieving for you. I want you to understand that you are wanted. I want you to know that you are loved. I want you to feel the Holy Spirit surrounding you. I want you to see and feel Hope.
I want you to be here, laughing and smiling. I want to see a light in those big, dark eyes.
Most of all, I want God to be glorified in all of this.
I cry out to Him again and again, questioning WHY you are there. WHY you are waiting in that deplorable place. WHY you are so sick. WHY you are stuck in a system that makes no sense to me.
And, again and again, I ask that He use all of this pain, all of this hurt, all of this grief. All of the loss you are enduring. All of the fear and confusion and brokenness.
All of it.
For His glory.
He makes ALL things beautiful, my love. Even, all of this. This is not too much for Him. This is not out of His reach. He is sovereign. His love is all-consuming. He holds this whole world in His hands. This whole wide world.
A dear friend reminded me today that there will come a day when you are asking questions that I will not be able to answer. There will come a day when you are asking WHY all of this loss had to occur. And, on that day, I will not have all of the answers. Yet, I will be able to share in a small part of your grief. I will be able to explain to you the depth of my love for you as I waited to hold you. I will be able to explain the broken, hard, dark places I have walked during this wait to hold you in my arms. It will not be enough, I know. Yet, I have confidence that my sweet, sweet Jesus can heal all wounds. No matter how deep. He will heal and restore.
I’m steadfastly praying for your heart, precious one. I’m never going to stop fighting for you. I’m never going to stop loving you. Angel armies will continue to surround and protect you. Jesus will continue to whisper your name in the Heavens. He will continue to hold your hand.
The Heavens will tremble. The earth will shake. The mountains will move.
This beautiful story is still being written. I am anxious to turn the next page.
Stay strong, sweet one. Hold on.
All my love,
Your momma
