Sometimes,
when you least expect it, the extraordinary happens. You open your hands wide to receive the gift,
and find that it is more amazing, more remarkable than you could ever have
imagined. You find that you are holding
something beautiful, a priceless treasure wholly undeserved.
I know,
because it happened to me.
I watch
this little one running down my driveway, full steam ahead, hair streaming
behind her like long brown ribbons. Her
strong legs pumping with energy and enthusiasm, her back strong with
confidence. And my heart overflows with
love for her. With gratitude for this immeasurable
gift. Moments like this almost take my
breath away. I look at her, amazed, and
can hardly believe that this beautiful child is mine.
Three years
ago, I had no idea that when I answered the phone one winter afternoon, that my
life, and the lives of our entire family, would forever be changed. I said yes to the woman on the other end of
the line, asking if I would please come to the hospital as soon as possible, because
there was a baby, a precious newborn there in the plastic bassinette, waiting
for a family.
Of course, I
have received many such phone calls during the 22 years of our foster care
journey. Many stories of children in
hospitals, children waiting for families.
Stories of abuse that have left broken bones, ugly scars, and brain
injuries. Stories of neglect and
malnourishment so severe that survival was doubtful. Stories of babies already battling addictions,
even before they have taken their first breath.
Babies born to prostitutes and drug dealers and parents behind bars. Babies that no one wants. Babies that have been forgotten.
To be
honest, this was not the ideal season for us to be caring for an infant. Our three older children were nearly grown, one
already graduated from high school and navigating the world of a new college
campus, and two in their years when teens need their mama to be present. Who need their mama to teach them how to
drive, to listen to their stories of friendships and dates and new jobs, and to
help them navigate the world of endless possibilities. It was a time when most of our peers were becoming
empty nesters or experiencing the thrill of having grand-babies.
We were already
pushing the limits of our parenting years with our youngest son who was just 6
years old. My husband had already run
the numbers and realized that he would have to postpone retirement a few years
later than he had originally planned. If,
by chance, we did welcome any more
children into our home, I reasoned, wouldn’t it be perfect if they were school
age? Close enough in age to our youngest
son so that he would not feel like an only child? Somewhere in the middle years to fill that
huge gap in our family?
God must
not have gotten my memo. Or maybe He did
see it and laughed. I may have been considering
an older child for our family, but He had another child already in mind. A wonderful gift beyond my wildest dreams.
When the
woman on the other end of the phone asked me if I would be willing to go to the
hospital right away to meet this baby and to consider bringing her home, I did
not hesitate. Yes! I said. Or maybe I
shrieked. A thousand times yes! What an honor to be asked. Of all the billions of people on this planet,
it was me who was chosen! It was me who
would have the great privilege of being her mother.
I had cared
for the most vulnerable, the most broken, the most fragile for so many years,
that I had almost forgotten what a healthy baby was like. How hearty and solid and unimpaired. Not one blemish or defect or scar on her
skin. Not one tube or wire or monitor connected
to her anywhere. Every organ, every
limb, every neuron in her brain working exactly as it was designed to
work. Her wholeness seemed nothing short
of miraculous.
Every month
when I filled out the paperwork that is required for foster children, each line
that was left blank would remind me anew of how entirely ordinary, of how altogether
typical she was.
Medical specialists: None
Therapy sessions: None
List of medications: None
No medical
equipment or oxygen bottles or specialized training or nursing care. No developmental delays. No behavioral concerns.
Each new
milestone she passed was cause for great celebration. Look! She’s making eye contact! Those beautiful brown eyes would stare deeply into
mine, as if searching my face with a hundred unasked questions about her life,
about my role in her life. Who are you? those eyes seemed to
ask. How
did we both end up here, together like this?
She would tentatively
touch my lips as I sang lullabies to her, giving her full attention to my
voice, as if trying to memorize its sound.
As if trying to understand each syllable. And each time, my heart would celebrate the connection
that was forming between us. Mother and child. Love.
Trust. Joy in each other’s presence. Could there possibly be anything more
beautiful?
As she grew
and matured and developed, perfectly measuring up to Ideal according to the pediatrician’s standards and charts, she
seemed to also be growing into her big personality. Before she was a year old, we began to call
her She Who Will Not be Contained. This girl, from the very beginning, has a
whole world that she is eager to explore, a boundless curiosity that would not
be limited by mere mortal parents.
Safety gates are meant to climb.
Crib rails are meant to crawl over.
Seat belts are meant to be unfastened, preferably as the car is zooming
down the highway. Grocery carts and
strollers and high chairs, she firmly believes, are for other children, surely
not for her.
Some day
before too long, She Who Will Not Be Contained will be grown, and she will find that front doors are
meant for opening and walking through.
That cars are meant for driving away.
That airplanes are meant for traveling to faraway places. I am already bracing my heart for impact.
Today I am watching
her run down the driveway as she does most days, full steam ahead, legs strong,
back straight with confidence. I think
of the brokenness that she was born into, and shudder at who she might have
become had she been left in that unthinkable situation. I am overcome with gratitude that she was
rescued from certain harm, that somehow she escaped the horrors that surely
would have been her experience there.
Instead,
she found her way into our family where she is utterly adored and loved. Where she is protected and safe. Where she is wanted.
And I am
amazed at how, out of the billions of people in the world, somehow we ended up
together. At how a perfectly healthy,
wonderfully ordinary child can bring such joy to one family. Such amazement to one undeserving mother.
How is this
possible? Doesn’t it make sense that every
ounce of my love has already been used up, caring for dozens and dozens of
broken children throughout the years?
That the reservoir, the spring from which all those emotions flow, would
at some point simply run out? But that’s
not what happened. Instead, I have found
that my capacity to love has grown exponentially. I have found that the more I pour out, the
more it continues to flow. And the
pouring out, the love that so completely fills my heart, seems nothing short of
miraculous.
Three years
ago, I had assumed that I knew which child would be the best fit for our
family. A baby? Starting over again with a little one, when my
other children have already been raised?
When the finish line was almost in sight? That just seemed Insane. Laughable even.
I never saw
it coming.
When I
least expected it, the extraordinary happened.
I opened my hands wide to receive the gift, and found that it was more
amazing, more remarkable than I could ever have imagined. I found that I was holding something
beautiful, a priceless treasure undeserved.
Right here
in my hands is an unexpected gift.
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