When the Load Feels Heavy

When the Load Feels Heavy

I’ve been his mama and he has been my son now for almost two years, minus the two months he went back.

When I think back to that first summer he came, all I can remember is the rash that covered my body for six months. I used every cream and ointment you could imagine. I quit gluten and dairy. It didn’t matter what I did, the rash stayed. It was my body’s way of telling me it was too much.

I remember laying on my face every morning in my office, asking Holy Spirit for just enough grace to make it through that day. In those first days, it was minute by minute. I didn’t know how to be a mama to a then seven year old. And he surely didn’t know what it was like to live as a true son. He wasn’t used to boundaries and bedtimes, structure and routine. Love felt uncomfortable, like dipping cold toes in to warm water, it burned.

Although we have quite the journey ahead of us, sorting through so much trauma, and growing together in love, we’ve found our place together. I am his and he is mine. He’s settled in nicely to his place in our family. And we’re hoping one day it will be forever.

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A Beautiful Unraveling

A Beautiful Unraveling

I’ve been quiet around here lately.

It’s not because I don’t have any words, I do. A lot of them really. It’s just that they haven’t found their way out of my heart yet.

Also, it’s been a really hard few weeks.

I still haven’t learned exactly how to share the hard without sharing my children’s stories. In the very beginning of our journey, I shared a lot. Probably too much. As I grew as their mama and learned more and more about adoption along the way, I realized their story wasn’t mine to share.

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When You Need to Feel Safe

When You Need to Feel Safe

When I was younger, every single Sunday after church my grandma made a massive Sunday meal. In the summertime it was fresh salads, yummy vegetables, and cobblers. During the winter it was soups, roasts, swedish meatballs and butter rolls. People would become my friend, just so I would invite them over to grandma’s after church. When I left for college, I’d call her and bring a car full of my friends home on the weekend. I came home to her house during college more than I went to mine. I felt safe at grandma’s house. She was the one that was always steadfast in my childhood. She was always there for me.

In the summer I would take runs to my grandma’s house a few streets away. I cheered competitively in high school and college. I’ve discovered I’m an Enneagram 3 which means I do nothing half way. So I ran a lot in the summers. I remember the path I ran so vividly. I took a left at the stop sign and ran between two houses a little down the road on the right the next street over. I’m not even sure we knew them, but they didn’t mind. I ran through the woods and passed a pasture. We lived in the country, so I’d have to run through a little creek before I’d make my way up the next hill. I’d come out at the bottom of her culdesac and I’d get to my grandma’s house soaking wet with sweat. And every time she’d have a tall glass of ice water sitting on her island for me.

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