November 19, 2014 was my first day
as a mom. The day I took the first group of 5 girls home from the government
orphanage was a day that I had long prepared for. Two months to the date of
being in India and I was driving to the orphanage to pick them up
and take them to our home. Prior to this day, I had made frequent visits to the
orphanage and did the best I could to get to know the girls while we waited for
the government to approve paperwork for their transfer to SCH. Still, with
everything they had been through trust did not come naturally or easily for them.
I will never forget that day:
watching the five of them come running down the hall with everything they owned
filled in their small backpacks and the look of excitement and wonder on their
faces. Initially, they looked at me with assurance knowing that they were about
to come home and live with me. As I took care of logistics with the orphanage
staff, I would look over and see them talking happily to each other and
giggling while they waited for me.
Finally, it came time to leave. Time for them to leave the only place they had ever known, the only form of
security they have ever felt and faces they knew to be familiar. I didn’t realize the severity
of the moment until I reached my hand out to the littlest one in the group-
five year old Jayla. With my arm stretched out and my hand ready to grasp hers,
I immediately saw a real sense of fear come over her. She looked right at me, eyes wider
than I’ve ever seen them, while she calculated what this moment entailed of
her: trust. I did everything in my power to ease her fear and convince her with
everything but my words that I was a safe person. I knelt down to her eye level
and held by hand out again. A few seconds later, I suddenly saw that little
hand of hers place itself into mine. With bravery and courage like I have never
seen out of such a small person, we walked out of there together without
looking behind us. She still has never looked back. To this day, I
couldn’t give you a story about Jayla that describes who she is as well as that
one.
I haven’t felt so brave lately. I
have very quickly found myself in a season of deep heartbreak and loss, wondering
who I am and what my purpose is now that I no longer have the word “mummy”
attached to my name. I have come back to what has felt normal to me for so many
years only for it to feel displacing and overwhelming. I have encountered the new reality that who I was a year ago and who I am
now are no longer the same. I have felt frustrated that the life I left behind in
Seattle doesn’t seem to fit me as well as it used to. I have
realized that when your life changes for the better, sometimes it feels more
painful than it does joyous.
In
my moments of uncertainty, when I am standing in the middle of one giant
unknown place, I know the outstretched arm of Jesus is towards me. When I have
felt tangled in doubt and confusion, I have seen His hand beckon itself to mine. When
the sudden waves of grief overwhelm me with surging impact, I have heard His
still, small voice ask, “Do you trust me?”
When
nothing makes sense and the fog in the distance is still thick and full, I try and remember the courage of my five year old in taking my hand on that day in
November.
And then I ask God to give me the same courage to take His.
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