Five Year Meltdown

Such a mixture of feelings:  excitement, fear, hope, pain, gratefulness, confusion, anticipation, dread, and more. . .all jumbled together like my Christmas Chex Mix.  Five years.  Though the pain doesn't typically take my breath away or make me nauseous anymore, it's still there, a constant companion, a deep and heavy ache.

We pulled out the ornaments last Friday to adorn our beautiful, fresh tree (freshly slaughtered, if you ask Scott--see his warm thoughts on one of my favorite traditions here).  Ella uncovered a baby blue bell, given by my sister in sweet acknowledgment of a precious, short life.  Our first Miracle looked at me with deep sadness that no little girl should ever have to carry.  Someday, our King will come again and set things right, and no little girl will ever again have burdens such as this to carry.  But for now, this is her reality.  This is our reality.

5-year-old Ella with our little blue treasure box

Five years ago, all we could do was choose to trust, and - oh - how difficult was that choice.  We certainly didn't feel like trusting, and in the craziness of new grief, we tried to see good while gazing across an impossible, raging sea of pain.  Raw anger, confusion, and excruciating pain will send anyone to the brink, and we've been there and back more than once in five years.  Maybe you have, as well.

Christmas became permanently different that year.  It's no longer just warm fuzzies and celebration.  There is significance to life like never before.  Not just the Infant King's life, but our lives, and life in general.  Life became a precious gift to fight for. . .all because of a boy's 19-week life.

Who knew?  Who knew that Ezekiel was not an end, but a beginning?  Who knew that the healing I need is not healing of the brokenness of my heart, but of my soul?  Who knew that I would appreciate my kids more and love children more?  Who knew that Scott and I would become advocates for women and babies?  Who knew that after 5 years of healing and softening, our Father would have us on an adoption journey?  He did.  And if he had told me then?

Our social worker was to come and determine our suitability as parents today in preparation for this adoption.  Try to imagine our anxiety.  Yet the pretty flowers meant to brighten our dining room and destined tomorrow for Ezekiel’s grave sit unobserved on the table.  Our social worker called in sick.  Perhaps it is coincidental that our home study interview was cancelled today and Ezekiel’s 5^th birthday is tomorrow. . . .  Perhaps we have the makings of a full-blown, atomic meltdown!  Perhaps God knew that we needed a journey with a few adventures along the way.

God sees the beginning and end of our life journey and says it is good.  And it is.  Five years is pretty insignificant in comparison to eternity, and think, we’re five years closer to being in the arms of Jesus ourselves and holding Ezekiel, Sam, and Glorietta in our arms again.  Life is good.