slow healing.

Charlotte is in to everything these days. And, she is fast. I turn my head for a second and she is pulling down the wall shelving from the hair salon while Sylvie gets a trim {everyone was fine, just a little shaken up}.

Most recently, she pulled over one of my lamps and the bulb shattered leaving glass pieces scattered on the floor. As I leaned over to collect the thin, sharp bits of glass, I was suddenly struck by an unexpected imagery.

Sylvie left everything she had ever known ten months ago when she boarded a plane to join our family here. She left the people, the sounds, the scents, the songs, the familiar tastes and food, the dirt and the dust. She arrived a broken, frightened little girl. Shattered soul. Sharp edges. Fragile heart. 

Healing for our Sylvie girl tends to look a lot like that light bulb. We work to gently pick up the broken pieces.

Healing comes slowly. We find ourselves stepping on tiny shards of glass in unpredictable moments.

Even with the sharp glass strewn about, we have the most immense privilege: a front row seat to redemption. Glimpses of Glory shining through the ordinary.

Last night, little feet silently tip-toed into our room. I hear her coming. This hasn’t happened in a while. I can’t remember how long – days, maybe weeks? I remain still. Waiting. I know from experience that she will stand at the edge of the bed, waiting in silence, for someone to turn and provide comfort. Maybe it’s fear that prevents her from crying out in the dark of night.

But, instead. Instead, she crawls right over Dave’s legs onto the bed and lies down at our feet.

This may seem small. It may seem insignificant. Yet, I see it. I see the healing. The comfort. The trust building. The vulnerability. She felt safe enough to climb up on that big bed knowing that her people were up there.

I also see that trusting momma wholly is still very scary. Daddy’s side of the bed is safer. Mommas always leave. 


Not this momma, baby girl. Not this momma. I am here always. Waiting. Bending low to pick up the sharp pieces of pain and work on the mending. Fully trusting in the only One who heals and restores.