She lies quietly in the Pack-and-Play we have set up in the living room. We want her near us at all times—to see us, to hear us, to know the sounds of our voices, to know that someone is near, to be touched by little passersby and gently spoken to by those who love her so.
Our hearts ache. We’re longing to pick her up, snuggle her, and smother her with hugs and kisses. But right now, we cannot do that. Movement is terribly painful. And so we keep her still until she can tolerate being held again, until her fractured femur is somewhat healed.
We anxiously await the day.
I watch my newest daughter lying in her safe place, and everything in me longs for things to be different, to be made new.
Because sometimes (no, most of the time!) I’m impatient and I want things fixed now!
This pain she endures.
This needless suffering is sometimes more than my mother’s heart can bear. I get all emotional and my heart feels like it will break in two when I ponder how different things could have been for this child. My mind keeps wanting to go back there—to that day.
The day when this precious angel was born exactly fifteen years ago today.
That day when she was taken out of her mother’s womb and an incomprehensible journey of sorrow and suffering was about to unfold.
That day when a birth mother felt like she could not parent this child.
And my heart breaks all over again.
For this sweet, sweet child.
(Pictures taken last week–before her broken femur)
And for the mother who made a decision more painful than my heart can fathom.
Because life is cruel and life is unfair. And children are born into societies and cultures where they are considered “less than” if they are born with “defects.” And new parents are not equipped, nor prepared, nor even encouraged to raise special children such as these.
And our seriously messed up fallen world that strives for perfection at all cost says of these precious ones who struggle in this life, “This one is not perfect. Try again.”
And unimaginable decisions of abandonment are made which I’m sure must pierce the hearts of mothers like Hasya’s for all the days they have breath on this earth. (We know that Hasya’s mother tried to be a mother to her.)
And for those of us who bow to the Risen King?
Abounding grace is what is required in this too.
Just as it has been lavishly poured out upon us.
Because the amazing, unfathomable grace and forgiveness which we have been so freely and undeservedly given is meant to be given away…
…and given away.
Until we are emptied of ourselves and only the glorious light of Christ can shine into a world desperately needing a Savior.
Grace and mercy. Even when we don’t understand why .
As with every adopted child’s birthday we celebrate, today too is so bittersweet. I cannot help but think about Hasya’s birth mother—the one who gave life to this precious and amazing child.
The one whom I know is thinking about her daughter today.
Because how can any mother not think about the child she gave life to on her birthday?
She remembers her birth.
She wonders where she is.
I know this. I’m a mother. She’s a mother. Surely a child from the womb can never be far from a mother’s thoughts?
And the whole thing just makes me weep. I think about this woman and there is so much on my heart that I wish I could say to her on a special day like this.
But I cannot. And so I find myself begging God to please, please let her know…
Let her know how much her girl is loved.
Let her know how grateful we are that she chose life for her child.
Let her know how thankful we are for the gift that Hasya is to us.
As she now sleeps soundly in her cozy bed, cuddled up warmly with medication to keep her aches at bay, with food in her belly to help her grow and become stronger one day at a time, and with a team of doctors to help her to overcome many obstacles that lie ahead of her, I know this one thing with all my heart.
She is going to be fine!
The road to her healing may take years and years.
The journey to restoring her health and helping her to become the best that she can be may even take a lifetime.
But Hasya has hope.
She has a family who adores her.
Even her heart, which has been so desperately hurt by those who were meant to care for her, will eventually heal too.
But her sweet birth mom?
I wonder if her heart will ever heal.
For the rest of her days, will she wonder about this darling girl who is now one of our treasures on this earth?
And so I pray for her today with all of my heart. I ache for her. I pray that God will hold her tightly and that He will make Himself so real in her life. I pray that Hasya’s birth mother will find healing in the hope that we all have in eternity, in what is to come.
That glorious hope that promises us that one day every tear will be wiped away.
And there will be no more pain, no more sorrow.
And I pray that someday, when I enter the gates of heaven, that she will be standing there, and I will be able to hold her tightly to thank her myself for giving me one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given.
The priceless gift of her precious daughter.
Happy fifteenth birthday, my beautiful Hasya!
How we [all] love you so!