Today I Will Pray With You

Today, I will pray with you.

Even though you are small, even though you can’t talk, even though you won’t understand, today, we will pray.

A year ago, I brought you into my home.  You were only two weeks old.

A year ago, I already loved you.

But someone else did too.  Or, I hope someone else did too.  And I hope that she misses you.  And I hope that she is able to get to a place in life where she can be whole.

Selfishly, I hope that you are mine forever, but my mama heart also hurts for her mama heart.  I don’t know what she’s doing right now.  I don’t know why.  I just know that she couldn’t keep you then.

Some people celebrate “gotcha day”.  Maybe one day we will too, if you want to–if we have you–when you are older.  But right now, the day we brought you here was the day you lost your first parents.  You are in a place now where you are loved and taken care of, and you don’t remember anything else.  But there is heartbreak in your story, and I’m not sure that celebrating is the appropriate response.

So, today I will light a candle.  I will hold your chubby little hands, and you will pull up to standing and nuzzle your face into my shoulder and grab my cheeks.  And I will pray.  I’ll pray for you, that as you grow you will always know love and security.  I will pray for us, as we hold you with open arms, desperate to keep you, and willing to let go.  I will pray for her, that she will find her way, and find her way back to you.  I will pray for God’s will to be done, because He knows where your story goes, and His way is good.

Even though you are small, you are so very loved.

Today, I will pray with you.20180605_104019

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