Sunday, July 29, 2012
time to fly
the house is swept. the stuff is gone. the last car shipped. our suitcases loaded and the front door locked. it is time to leave. as i whisk children into the car service and their seat belts, the mother in me longs for a broom. pieces. i feel the pieces of our leaving scattering still. scattering everywhere. rolling at our ankles in all directions like dropped marbles on sloped cement. how will i ever gather this sadness? my mother arms are not nearly enough. and i chide myself firmly, keep it together weak woman.
hold the pieces. hold the tears. hold the children. hold the hurt. hold the hands.
but somedays... this day... the holding feels too hard.
“daughter," He whispers. "my hand... hold it."
“overwhelmed one, I AM the broom. sweeping. I AM the arms. holding. I AM the God. leading. I AM the father. loving. I AM the beginning and the end, the Alpha and Omega. I AM enough. because...I AM.”
there is no easy leaving. no easy departure from the only place my children have ever called home. fourteen years--it is not a lifetime, but today it feels so. maybe in the great scheme of things it is a mere blink of the eye, nothing more than a drop in the bucket, a tiny speck in the universe of greater mankind. maybe. maybe, in the huge whirl of life, it is nothing more. but this blink and drop and speck belong to us and they are heavy with heart. these people and this place we have known well. loved well. been known and loved in so well. as we leave, we carry the heaviness of this great love.
memories, moments flood. faces, friends flood. wash over and scatter. wet with emotion. forget the broom, Lord. what was i thinking? it is not nearly enough to sweep up the depth of this sadness, the full weight of these pieces. not today. not this day. oldest girl with her tears in the airport, her siblings offering gum and candy and funny comments, trying to comfort. even the youngest guy with his teddy bear’s head poking out of his backpack. they tell me, “we have a plan to help emmy get through this.” they are trying. it is hard to watch each other’s grief.
loaded and leaving and soon flying. crossing from georgia to minnesota. suspended between the then and now, the here and there, the this and that. 30,000 miles high holding between the old and new. hovering in the full moment of change. seven of us.
and i want only to blink and let this day end.
shame on you woman. you have your health. you have your family. you have so much to whisper grace over. stop your whimpering and find the words of thanksgiving. toughen up girl and get a grip. but still... weak today, wild with wondering. full of fear. Lord, these hands are not able to hold. i am sure of it. but you Jesus, my Jesus, you are able. Lord, sweep up our pieces and hold us tightly to you. some days the woman seems strong and confident and capable. but not today Lord. not today. not this day.
but even on this day, i remember. july 29th -- two years ago on this same day, we were on another flight. flying back from china with our bella -- bringing her home. our sparrow girl. “even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself. a place where she may have her young---a place near your altar, oh Lord Almighty, my King and my God.” we chose that verse as the banner of this blog years ago. it seemed to fit the homebringing of our baby girl when we started her adoption. and all the while, i thought this blog was only about finding a home through adoption. i had no idea it would continue to be about life in our home and mess in our home and sickness in our home and now, the leaving of home. i had no idea it would be about finding a new nest for all of us. a new place for my young. another place near His altar. God gave me that verse in psalms several years ago... and how can i not trust my future to Him who knew that then, who knows this now. i, who know nothing. i thought the verse was only about bella and her home-coming, and am amazed this morning to find it so fitting for our family’s home-leaving.
homecoming. homebringing. homeleaving. homefinding. another home to make. today. on this day. another place near the altar of our Lord. please Jesus, hold us close. close to the foot of your throne. close in the sweep of your grace. because today we must fly.
seven of us sitting here in a busy sunday afternoon airport. bags at our feet. hands in our laps. lumps in our throats. waiting for the airplane. all of us wondering, each in our own way, what’s next.
children trying. a tired mother trusting. prayers whispered by friends and family everywhere. and littlest girl reaches for my hand, holding tight. “it’s okay mommy, it is.” i nod my head in agreement, “yes, bella, it will be okay.”
it is time to fly.