• God has Promised Grace

    Saturday, October 27, 2012


    A months’ time has passed, sweet seconds reverently bowed with the deepest of praise. Patiently I have waited for the heavens to write her poetry, whisper words graced with sensitivity.

    As a Mother I wish every moment of my children’s lives were strokes of pure silver, eloquently draped along lines of love, yet the page of our daughters are blotched with broken that I never imagined would become so intimate. May Grace be a delicate scribe weaving my heart into a written letter of love.

    When the house’s quite wraps around a midnight feeding,

    A curl of cozy under a canopy of beautiful black

    Moments filled with heaven, I hear the whispering of something holy, details strung together miraculous as the millions of blended stars. I store our moments like the Mother Mary, tucking each miracle

    In her heart and thought of them often
     
    It was a kick that first imprinted her life into the palm of my gentle touch, placed there by a mother,  she, one of the many I met through mentoring under a roof of safety, a home where love opened shelter to the most needy. Instantly I knew that stately stride of Africa with the strong that conceals a continent of wounds.

    My heart beat thick with thoughtful care for the life sealed beneath her dome of darkness.

    As God knit his most profound miracle within another, a powerful surge of expectance welled deep within my soul, somewhere soon I felt a babe was to be given into our family. We used all logic, thinking our next would be birthed into our life through agents of social services; we filled forms, read books, researched and spent many a day talking and praying.

    An urgent certainty filled my moments that right beyond today our child waited.


    Then faith’s crux stirred something deep inside. A silent knowing that I was being guided to lay these God birthed hopes down. Three tear blurred hours I knelt in a sanctuary of prairie sky, golden fields witnessed the wrestle to release all hope over to trust. Each tear was for the loss of a child I felt so near.

    The very days that God lead me away from the perusal of adoption God spoke adoption to another Mother.

    She had birthed her daughter beneath a haven of hope with summer’s full choir singing lullabies.



     
     
    She bravely attempted the challenging role of Mothering. Bravely she made a decision only the strength of a Mother could carry out, placing her daughter into the humbly honoured life of another.

    Tenderly I wrapped arms around a babe I have loved forever. Instantly she filled a chasm of longing within our family, so wide and deep only the wonder of her life could fill.
    It feels beautifully whole to watch her sweetness of smile warm a deep part of our heart, reserved for this child alone, to feel her heart beat strong with life, causing your own to shudder with the thoughts of how close hers came to fading into a sorrowful sea of statistics. I see in her the beautiful velvety brown of her heritage and the hope of all heaven within her soul. I as a parent with all the passion of Motherhood will breathe daily my love over her; I will clasp and cover her tight against my own heart fiercely sheltering her from the dangerous ugly of a world she was released from. I will pray a million humbled thanksgivings for the tremendous gift of
    Mothering this precious girl.
     

     Grief will also be carried on the grace of this blended blessing. Just beyond the good of my life, a young women lives lonely with ever ugly truth, completely crippled by the horrors of abuse and abandonment. 
     During the midnight hours of wrestling through the birthing of adoption, Roger and I wondered if life could have been different if love were to have met her in those recent childhood years.
    Outwardly this one is the look of every other with her smart phone, skinny jeans, tremendous smile… if you can witness one during those teen years.
     Anger is desperately concealed by normal.
     Her life exposed a difficult, that lost will never be found sitting in our ‘holy’ temples of safety.
    The scoffing person with their eyes averted is the one screaming the loudest.
     Where was I when the Mother of my daughter needed the flooding warmth of love covering and caring for her?
    Where was I when she felt the hunger pains of childhood weeping in an ally of darkness for rescuing paternal arms?
    Where was I?

    I wish I could turn back tides of destruction. I look into the thrashing wild of this young women’s soul and search for a beacon’s guide to safety. On the shoreline of my life I see a beautiful stretch of silver hope.
     

    My daughter once adrift brought still by the breath of all things lovely a true Holy Grace.
    ~