Four different draft posts have been started and ditched in the last two days. I typed words with enthusiasm, made sentences that I agreed with, and then didn't like where the post was going. Bland, bleck, blah. One was about responding to hurt in love, seeing others in the light of their very fragile and broken selves. One was a letter to "you" with a marriage that is crumbling and breaking and you have no idea if God can glue it back together. One was about waiting. Another about adoption.
I am currently at a loss for condensed words to share on this sweet space.
[I could tell you] I feel tides of transition, that I don't know what it looks like exactly, that I am trying to hold my hands open in surrender and let my heart be His, all His.
[I could tell you] our [adoption] home study paperwork was finally submitted along with our certified ten hours of education courses. That almost all of our reference letters have been sent in by lovelies, that we will soon be scheduling our in-home-interview, and therefore the intense cleaning will begin inviting more cracked finger-skin and bleached clothes and not enough fresh air.
[I could tell you] we bough a box fan. It isn't quite cutting it, but then I think about how blessed we are. How incredibly much we have. How we have a home, a bed, clothes, and so. many. things. to make us comfortable. And then the fan is suddenly more than enough.
[I could tell you] my heart for the homeless has reopened, nice and wide. That I see them again, more than I had been, and they are precious human beings. That though they have made decisions to be where they are at, though they are surely responsible for some of the misfortune handed to them, they are still just as human as you and me. And though our wallets feel tighter than ever, Jesus has reawakened my heart to give more and give freely. To be reminded that our money is His and that He asks us to feed His people. His people have names, so I do my best to ask their names and shake their hands or hug their bodies, if they're female, and ask why they are on the streets. It is always interesting to hear their stories. I feel so rich when talking to them and not in a good sort of way. Me in my clean clothes, fresh hair, and pearly teeth. I feel that my appearance puts up walls of misunderstanding, exclaiming that I think I am better than them. I don't want them to think that I think that, but maybe I do. And I really don't want to see them as less than, because I know that if anything, they have the opportunity to know Jesus far more than I do. But here I am, they and me, me and they. I have so far to go.
[I could tell you] yesterday I prayed this prayer: "Jesus open my heart wide open for your love." I wonder if I have closed myself off to Him more ways than one, out of a fickle attempt to protect myself. But if I have learned anything, it is that He protects me and I will only hurt myself by closing myself off to Him.
[I could tell you] my lunch with Allan yesterday was a blessing. That he teaches me so much about humility. The way he doesn't expect anything from anyone, the way he doesn't expect special treatment, the way he remains and resides in His presence and holds steadfast to His word. Allan teaches me so much about humility and Jesus and I can't help but wonder how I am so blessed to have him in my life.
[I could tell you] I don't know how to handle high school dating relationships delicately. I don't know how to balance grace and truth and honesty and loving gentleness. I don't know what I am doing or how to do it. But what I do know is that I want so desperately to love them, to point them to Jesus.
[I could tell you] I am learning more about waiting than I want to. That waiting patiently will not be a skill set I ever place on a resume. I would share with you this well-rehearsed verse: "Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not grow weary; they shall walk and not faint." Isaiah 40:31. That I so badly desire Jesus to renew my strength through waiting. I am beginning to see patience as the illusive virtue which corresponds to the dreaded condition of waiting. I read somewhere that "it is not patience when I am gloriously unaware of the waiting."
[I could tell you] my heart aches for families with marriages crumbling to pieces. Snippets of my soul begin to snap when I see human beings walking under the weight of such agony, such heaviness hurling their hearts to the pits.
[I could tell you] we wrote a letter to our potential birth mom and we closed it off with letting her know that if she chose us, we give her our word that we will do our best to raise a child she would be proud of.We told her that growing up in our family, he will be taught to dream big. That we will protect him with our lives, love him with our entire selves, and reveal to him the grace of Jesus Christ.
[I could tell you] I am falling more in love with Jesus. I am praying more, a lot more, and in those bold and courageous prayers, I find Him beckoning me to keep asking. To keep submitting. To keep dreaming big. To keep believing that He is bigger than any resources I currently have or see; He likes big dreams. Big dreams reveal my faith in Him, not in myself. Because we all know that there is no way I could do all of these big things swarming around in my head; not without Him.
"But the Lord still waits for you to come to him so he can show you his love and compassion. For the Lord is a faithful God. Blessed are those who wait for him to help them." Isaiah 30:18
I could tell you all of these things. And I guess I did. What could you tell me?