Though we are in the home stretch of the paper chase phase of our adoption process, I am recently encouraged by some unexpected progress. This sort of progress does not involve checking off documents from our list or growing our Orphund, though we're still working on both. What I've realized over the last couple of months is that as I look at my children, my view of them is changed, and the way I mother them has changed. Now, I am not the patient, gentle and quiet mother I wish I were. I confess that I struggle terribly with this, and the Lord is faithfully healing me of the spiritual flaws at my core, despite my weak flesh. And He is using the pain of losing and gaining children to do it.
As evidence, lately, particularly when my little ones are especially needy and just wanting me to sit and hum their favorite hymn, hold their hand, just be with them (which seems to be so much more lately, or maybe it's just that I'm more aware of it), I'm struck. In those situations where only Momma will do, my mind goes to those little ones who wait. To my little waiting ones who have no one, not one person, to block out the world and pour out her heart in patience and time and hugs and love. They have no one whose heart's perpetual burden is their eternal salvation. This is what separates the boys in my home from those who wait. It's the unbreakable bond of a parent who joyfully bears the weight of loving so hard it hurts.
So in that moment when before I might have been frustrated that I have to sit still and just be there for my needy one for the umpteenth time today, I am reminded of the blessing it is to me to be with my children. Children the Lord has allowed me to keep on earth. Children who don't wait and hope for a mother. There is such a very fine line between my little ones and those who have no one. And though I would like to think that orphans are just better at dealing with being alone, the truth is that in the very same way my little ones do, they too need a Momma to sit quietly and knowingly and reliably and patiently and prayerfully with them.
My boys lately have a habit of calling out to me:
Boy: "Just making sure you're there."
Me: "I'm here."
What a heartbreaking thought for me to imagine my little ones sitting without the comfort I know they need and that their Daddy and I are blessed to give. So because I know they're waiting, and because I know there are so many who wait, I am more patient with the children I've already received, and more impatient to have the ones I can't yet hold.
My children are reaping the benefits of a more patient, quiet, gentle mother, because their siblings wait for theirs. The thought of my child waiting motherless physically hurts me. Who but a sovereign, powerful, good God could work that kind of suffering out for good? But we know that for those who love God, all things work together for their good, for those who are called according to His purpose.
This is the beauty of obedience to a patient, quiet, reliable, loving Heavenly Father. Though He requires it, God does not need me to obey Him, and He does not need me to mother an orphan. But I need to obey Him, for my own good and to His glory. He has transformed a mother with a mourning, bitter, hurt heart, into a mother who grows daily in patience and joy, because of my loss and because of my future children's loss, and because of His trustworthy promises.
This isn't the only change that has come to our family since we decided to adopt, but it's a precious consequence of God's faithfulness in keeping this promise. If you're a mom struggling with anger and bitterness, and I know it's a dirty little secret for so many Christian moms, then please let me recommend this post by one of my favorite mom bloggers, over at Raising Arrows.
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