Words Like Water

Sometimes the words come like water in a stream… flowing quickly; smoothing out the rough places in my heart.

Other times they are like a leaky faucet… barely dripping; hinting at the force held back by the cinched-tight handles.

I don't understand why sometimes the words flow and other times they don't; all I know is that when they don't, I miss them. I feel like part of me is gone -- absent and forgotten in the busy day-to-day. These last few months feel dry… my mind is wrapped up elsewhere - with never-ending lists and impending motherhood and a bustling foster home and a growing sewing company. But my heart longs to spill out in words.

So many things I want to share…

Her tears came with a choking cry. "I miss her!" was all she could utter before the sobs came out. A staff member at the foster home looking at pictures of a recently adopted little one… happy Kodak moments trigger tears of longing for the one who used to hold her small hand. I wonder if the adoptive families know how much their children are loved? How much they are missed? I wonder at the strength of the human heart… able to love when it knows it will lose. I'm amazed at her momma-heart, aching for the little girl she loved… finding room to love another.

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I met them as they were climbing out of the car. A new baby, just arrived. Three months old but looks like a newborn; the only thing that gives her age away is her bright and alert eyes, craning to find mine as she nestles into my arms. Cradling her against my chest, I quickly discover she prefers to be tightly cuddled facing in -- safer that way. I think I understand; I would do the same. Asian babies have bluish-black eyes when they are born… the color of stormy seas. Hers reflect the first stormy weeks of her life. Born and abandoned and already moved at least 3 times… She fits snug against my chest, little feet dangling inches from the place where my own baby's heart beats. As I hold her close, I whisper a prayer for her mother. I know how throughout my own day, my thoughts often turn to the baby swirling and dancing within. How would you turn those thoughts off? Just because your arms are empty does not mean your heart forgets… I wish her mama could count her toes and see her stormy eyes. I wish she could know that she was being held with arms of love.

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I am surrounded by what can go wrong. Yet I have a peace that passes understanding. I don't assume that this baby will be born healthy, though of course it is my prayer. But I do have the deepest peace I can imagine having… that no matter what is around the next corner, it's going to be ok. We will be equipped and encouraged and sustained. Yet this peace astonishes me. We're having our first baby in a foreign country, far from the comforts of home and the wisdom of family. Our future is uncertain, to say the least. I spend my days with children whose special needs widen the eyes of the most seasoned doctors, so I don't assume it-won't-happen-to-me. I breathe dirty air, eat questionable food, ride in cars without seat belts, and drink uncertain water. Yet I truly have a deep and abiding peace. I often wonder where God is when I pray. Where are the answers that I seek? Sometimes it seems I'm mostly talking to the sky. But I've come to realize that sometimes He answers so quietly and intimately that I don't even know He has answered. He is closer than my skin, and right now I see it and I feel it.  In spite of all the reasons I might have to worry, I find that I am not -- astonishing, most of all, to myself... for I know this is not something I'm accomplishing by mere act of will.