I tucked him into bed that night, wondering what in the world he was thinking. The language barrier was one thing, but this boy was so quiet. Big eyes of wonder, slow smiles, curious to explore and adventure outdoors. But it was February in the midwest. And he had never felt the snow or cold before. And these new boundaries, restrictions, keeping him from coming and going outside as he pleased. Strangers to him, what is love? What is family? Who are they to tell me what to do? How can he know to trust us? These weepy, big smiling faces, directly in his. Holding his hands, pulling him close. What is this? Love? Strange rules and words…not alone. But alone. Trying to understand and comprehend and navigate this world so long by himself, and suddenly thrown into a place so new, smells funny, tastes funny, feels funny. Is this what safe feels like? When everyone he’s ever known have come and gone, how can forever mean anything to him?
And then there was the food. We sat around the table, held hands and prayed. He exclaimed “hallelujah!”. Amen, sweet boy, amen. But my hallelujah isn’t for the plentiful amounts of food. The variety of drink on the table. The actual nutrients going into your body. My hallelujah, sweet boy, is for you. For this family. This unexpected, unplanned blessing we’ve been given. Redemption. A glimpse of heaven.
And we raise our hands in hallelujah, not only for the hands we hold, but for the eyes of wonder, the brave boy. We raise these hands in hallelujah for redemption, for second chances and thirds and fourths. For the spunky brown-eyed girls sitting at my table. For the innocence of little brother. For the courage of a father, to love and lead and hold us all so tightly, with open hands. For the example of faith he brings to the table. For my hard-working husband. For all of these mouths to feed, and Lord, whoever else you bring.
Lord, help us to be as brave as our son. Help us to have as much faith as our child. Help our hearts to mend each other’s brokenness and lead us into love as you have loved.
Hallelujah- God be praised.
Let us raise our hands in hallelujah. Let us praise you for plenty and praise you in lean. Let us praise you in joy and in our suffering.
Hallelujah, open hands. Wanting to close and hold so tight. Hallelujah, pry them open, Lord, give us sight.
As you see, we want to see. As you love, we long to love. As you restore, we want to be restored. Redemption. Gospel, come alive. Adoption, here in our home. All of us, so broken and thankfully, no longer alone.
Redeem us, Lord. Bring back the hallelujahs. Restore us, Lord. Give us hearts so tender. Whisper to our very souls, you are near. Near to the brokenhearted. Binding up our wounds. Scars we hold, but as ebenezers as the stories unfold.
Your love laced throughout the storyline of our lives. Remembering all the ways you provide. You answer. You restore my soul, hear my cries, hold me close at night. Remembering the brave. The risk. The love. Remembering the grace and mercy from above.
Remembering your words, gently whispering to my soul. Needed to make me whole, again.
Hope in heaven and longing for the day. Come, Lord Jesus, take the pain away. From all the suffering, small eyes. The hungry bellies, the lonely hearts and sad little eyes. God, asking why doesn’t even begin to touch the agony deep within my soul for the ones without.
Without families to love them. Protect them. How can they go on to love when love is just a fairy tale to them? When the very ones put in place to care for them, fail them? And here we are, in homes of plenty. Resting in our warm beds, snuggling with these sweet little heads. Our hands are full, our hearts are overflowing and yet inside, I hide.
I hide away, shelter them from even more pain. Meet their needs, comfort their hearts. The silent tears, the far away glances, we’ve come so far. To be called on when they are in pain or hurting. To hear their deepest fears and biggest joys. Every child deserves this love. To be listened to, to be heard. For their cries to be met by a parent’s embrace…
And in the dark night I find myself reminiscing of when my children we only orphans in the giant system and my heart longed for theirs. And our eyes met and they were mine and the fight began. To bring them home, to earn their trust, to love them hard and heal their hearts.
As I thank the Lord for each tiny head on each soft pillow, both born of my flesh and of my heart, I greet the toddler with a smile. I’m so thankful to be your mommy, little one. A son, who has never known neglect or true hunger. His needs are met and still the tears pool in my eyes, because the reality is true. Not far from my comfortable, safe home, are children whose cries are not heard. Whose tears are not wiped from their big wondering eyes. Whose needs are not met.
What if it hurts? What if it’s hard? What if it’s not safe?
What if we do nothing and nothing gets done? What about the little one, stuck in a crib, day in and day out? What if being left alone is better than when the adult comes home? Neglect, abuse…my heart cannot handle these thoughts and I pray. Lord, that peace that you covered me with in the hospital? Thank you for covering these children today.
Bring them home, Lord. Redeem. It’s never too late. Hands are never too full. Hearts are never too broken. Bring them home, Lord. Hallelujah.