Real

Wednesday night when I returned from work, Jeff said that Julia had come down for a while after tuck in.  After finding what she needed in her Daddy’s arms, a few timid questions came.  Jeff, an expert in heart conversing, listened and answered compassionately and as completely as he could.  Origin questions.  Genetic questions.  Good questions.

Thursday night after our neighbors left, she, with dishes from the table, stopped me on my way to help her and asked if she could talk with both of us.  Conscious of the time, we almost put her off until morning.  As the dishwasher hummed, we settled into chairs, her, wearing an old high school camp shirt of mine, curled up, not looking like the tall 9 that she is.  Questions came from a tight throat and a sober face.  She had a few, but her most simple question was, “Why?”  Why does adoption happen?  How long had she rolled those words around?  How many days, months had she wondered and not asked?  What prompted it?  Who had been asking her questions, making her feel “funny”?  Who was the friend that kept asking her the same questions, making her feel she couldn’t explain well her wondrous story? Where had she heard, “real Mom” and “real Dad”?

Long eyelashes holding back a dam, she confessed real, hard thoughts, “It’s those times when adoption doesn’t feel all that special.”  Dam broke.  Parents’ hearts aching.

She had gotten it out.  She had come to us with what hurt.  She had trusted us-- that we could handle it.  We spoke freely as we always have, answering her questions matter of fact-ly and straight from our hearts, desiring to see her LIVE confidently and contentedly in her non-traditional, but absolutely planned, beginning.  We pray it be so.

As she remained curled up, with a kind of resolve in her voice, though her quivering lip threatened, she said, “I am PROUD of being adopted. I just want other people to understand.”

Parents’ heart swelling.  God will use this, surely.  She will help other people to understand.

As she straightened out from the chair, she comes to me with one of those awkward 9 year-old-in-my-lap hugs and with these words for my ear,

“I love you, real Mom”.

She had them for Jeff too.

{Father, You hold the keys to her heart.  May she sense Your Presence in all her wonderings and all her questions.  I pray YOU and the influence of YOUR Word would make her paths straight as she walks these unfamiliar roads.  Jeff and I trust You as You are ever present with her and all knowing about her.    Thank You for her.  She has been and IS a delight.}