Baptized with tears...

My chest is heavy. My heart within thumps as if weighted down, and my breath feels thick and uncomfortable. Maybe that is why I find myself sprinting up the stairs to answer the cries coming from my little one's room, even though I am sure she is fine. I am not fearful she is hurt, or sick. She is over tired from the busy day, and always sleeps fitfully on such days. No, I sprint because being the comfort she craves soothes my troubled soul. Something about scooping her warm jammied body into my arms, feeling her hot tears brush my cheek as she nestles her head into my neck, where I breathe deeply the sweet scent of her slightly sweaty hair, and feel her sobs ebb, tears back the grip of sadness that has been building in me. Sadness for the loss of a dear friend, sadness for those near me who have yet to finish their battles, and for those who have just begun. Cancer. It is all around me lately. Swirling like a cyclone, pulling so many people I love into it's evil embrace. Too many, too soon. And, so, I am heavy. Yet, as I stand and sway with my girl in the darkness of her room, I come back to her tears and how it lifts me to collect them, hold them, until they have run dry. She so freely trusts in me, her imperfect mother, to hold her tight, and pour out the mighty love that burns in my core for her in such blessed moments. It feels sacred, being here with my sadness and her tears. This is how it must be for Jesus when my soul cries out to Him. When I let myself sink into His bosom, crying hot, messy tears. Pouring out my pain, my sorrow, my weakness. How my tears must bless Him the way my little one's bless me. For, like me, He, too, knows that there is nothing to fear from these tears I cry. He knows that sorrow lasts for a night, but joy comes in the morning. He is the morning star. So, I will cling to this precious girl, baptizing me with her tears tonight, and I will in turn, bend to wash my Lord's feet with mine until the morning comes.

Aunt Sylvia, Dad, Jaye, Caroline, Aunt Chris, Jen, Grandma Jan...

Adoption...

An old friend of mine shared photos of their adopted son's (long awaited) arrival recently on her blog. No words, just images, incredible moments captured revealing so much more than words ever could. An expectant mother's heart bursting with love, and hope, and joy, and pride. Brother's and sister's, friend's and family, gathered with excitement. Dad and son, hand in hand walking through the airport toward open hearts and arms. Brothers touching hands. And, finally, the son's own sweet smile. It was absolute beauty. When I see that last image, the thought, "he is theirs" swells in my spirit. They are his. Theirs. His. One. The whole thing made me ponder the miracle of adoption. For, it is truly miraculous. How two separate become one. One family. Joined together by choice. Chosen. Purposefully. And, then I began to think about how God has chosen me. How I was a stranger in a strange land. Lost, and wounded, and in need. I was desperate, and separate. Still, I was chosen. And, yet, my own adoption could not have been made complete had I not in turn chosen Him. God had already set His heart for me. He, too, just as my friend, waited in anticipation, expectation of me. He knew all about me. Where I was from, the circumstances of my desperation and need. He knew the traumas and hurts that I endured. He knew the hopes of my heart. The silliness of my humor. And, His heart beat with love for me. Yearning for me. Making plans, and setting things in order for the moment I would become His forever more. I had never looked at my relationship with God in such a way before. Being a Christian, I have heard so much about love, and grace, and sacrifice. Of sin and forgiveness. And, if I'm being honest, there have been mountain top moments in my journey with God, but, likewise, there have been moments of questioning and doubting, lacking the swell of the emotion of the mountain top. And, in the day to day, the truth of my closeness with Jesus fades into something less tangible, and easily marginalized to the corners of my consciousness. Some how, my friend and her new boy have awakened my heart anew to true love, and the miracle of my own adoption into the family of God. Which made Jesus not only my Savior, but my brother as well. I was chosen, accepted, longed for, desired, long before I in turn chose to love back. The love of God for His creation, all mankind, me, is marked by this same purposeful, persistent yearning, desiring, moving towards, as my friend for her boy. His heart is expectant for His children. He set out before us. Knowing us. Loving us. Extending His hopeful hand, just waiting for our hand to reach out and grab hold, making us bonded in relationship and love. Forever. Being a christian is being apart of a family. It is loving, and caring for, laughing and rejoicing, but it is also doubting and questioning, hurting and healing. To everything there is a season… It is family. Whole. And, it is beautiful. I am my beloved's and He is mine.