I’m sitting on my closet floor typing this.
Because sometimes a mama just needs to do that, you know?
The door needs to shut. The voices need to fade so that all I can hear is myself think for a moment. And when the silence continues to press down on my eardrums, the voice of the One who sees all of this insanity swirling around me and somehow calls it “good” can be heard a little louder.
Gosh. I wish I had a candy bar right about now.
The door isn’t thick enough… the walls continue to seep as if they too have reached their saturation point of noise. Even in silence, noise echoes.
Someone shared a thought about adoption recently that has been rattling around in my head and like the crashing of cymbals, the sound of this thought has left my head ringing. It was in relation to our cups not being automatically filled with love when we meet our newly adopted child. If you read that and you’re horrified, I’d encourage you to read no further.
Yes. It’s true. Though we know this child is ours when we meet them, they don’t necessarily feel like ours automatically. That’s not the case with the birth of the children from our bodies. As women, we are flooded with hormones created by the One who calls all of this good so that we can automatically and completely love this squalling, red-faced, wrinkled tiny human we hold. And it’s bliss. Nobody’s baby is cuter that a freshly minted mama’s baby. Truth.
Those hormones aren’t there when we meet our new children via adoption. There are emotions, sure, but the hormone rush is conspicuously absent. We love our child, but it feels like more work than it should at times.
We press on.
The cup of love that is filled to the brim and overflowing when we first lay eyes on our children-by-birth is handed to us empty when we meet our children-by-adoption. We hold the cup, feeling a little silly to be holding an empty cup. There’s a deep part of us that knows this cup isn’t made to be empty. It’s made for a holding of something holy and precious and yet it’s utterly failing to meet its purpose.
Drip. Drip. Drop.
Slowly. EVER so slowly, the drops start to plink into the cup.
Our child looks at us and makes eye contact.
Our child lets us hold them without stiffening their back and arching away.
Our child lets us snuggle them, fix their hair, feed them food.
Drop after drop after drop.
The drops require real work from us. We have to fight for those smiles. Fight for the safety our child feels. We fight for their hearts and their hugs. And it takes so much out of us. The cup that is slowly being filled is constantly requiring to be emptied into the lives of our child, and there are times when it feels like it will never be enough.
On my own? It’s not enough. It will NEVER be enough for me to fight for the filling on my own. I AM NOT ENOUGH. But Him? The One who breathes stars into existence?
He is always more than enough.
The One who sees this crazy mama sitting on the floor of her closet about to completely lose her ever-loving mind whispers, and the whisper darts quick and sure straight to my heart…
I got this.
And, He does.
And the cup is able to be poured out. It’s purpose, MY purpose is found not just in the filling but in the pouring.
From the floor of my closet, I’m hear to tell you this…
I may not know much and I may mess up mightily on a daily basis, but it doesn’t matter. According to the One who knows exactly how badly I’d like to curl up under the covers and hide from the world sometimes… I’m worth fighting for, too. He walked me into this crazy and has never left my side.
So for tonight, I let him do the filling. He’ll have to use me when it comes time to pour out, and I’m okay with that. Humbled, even. I’m far from worth the goodness being spilled over into my heart right now.
And when it comes time to whisper the words of truth my mouth is weary of repeating, I find new strength; a strength not my own.
“Mom? Why you love me?”
“Because God put enough love in my heart to love all of my babies, including you. Forever.”
Drip. Drip. Drop.
The cup begins refilling all over again.
It’s tedious to watch the drops slowly fill the cup anew, but it is a filling worth fighting for.