Dear G

I wanted to capture some memories of each of the boys during our first months, so I decided to write them each a letter.  Perhaps someday they will read them...

Dear Getu,

Your wink and smile,
they're dangerous.
(Maybe a bit manipulative at times,
but charming nevertheless.)

You've come from such pulsating heartache,
such resonating fear,
strong boy.
Much braver than I was at 8
when my only careless concerns were what to pack
in my Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox
for a quick picnic at the dredge ditch or
whether or not my best friend 
could come over to play Barbies for the afternoon.

I knew my friends' phone numbers by heart
and I would dial their number on the rotary dial phone
in the carpeted kitchen.

At 8 you know how to survive and
what it feels to be hungry
and when to shut down
to avoid more thinking, more pain.

Your coping mechanisms equally
scare and stun me.

You've lost so much,
miss so much, brave boy.
Not a day goes by that you don't mention
your friends from Ethiopia,
your love for your home country.
Please know that with me it's always safe
to discuss heart matters like that.
I'll hold your soft secrets carefully.  
I promise.

(Just promise when you're a teenager
that you'll still want to talk to me about the
things that cause you tear-stained cheeks
and deep belly laughs.  
Pinky swear?)

When you have a seizure, my heart stops
for a minute or two and it feels like twenty because 
you look like you're in such tremendous pain
and I want to do whatever I can to stop it.
But I can't.  

I can't even help you understand why you have
to take such dreadful pills twice a day,
why we let the doctors poke and prod.

The other night you prayed for our family, 
and Dad and I tried to repress our giggles
when you said to the Father, 
"Mom Dad peace.  
Getu Endale peace.
Inner peace".
(Then we realized that perhaps we've watched
Kung Fu Panda 2 a few too many times.)

Photo credit

I want to bottle up the sweaty kisses
that sloppily land on my cheeks because I know
there will come a day when it's just not
acceptable to cozy into Mom's lap.

And your creativity?
Mind-blowing really.
You make helicopters and houses for birds
and wings to fly from cut-up boxes and string.

Please also never ever lose your unashamed joy after 
scoring a goal in soccer or
beating your record at Bop It or
sounding out a difficult English word or 
getting your face rubbed by Dad's "chin hair".

I can't promise you forever, Getu,
as nice as that sounds.
It's a promise that I might not be able to keep.
But I promise that we're your home now,
that I will love you even when you maybe
don't want me to.
(Or at least you pretend you don't.)

I promise to daily lift you up to the One who heals,
who loves,
who sustains.
The One who can promise forever.

I love you, buddy.  So much.

xoxo
Mom Dear 

Eight Years

We met at a Waterdeep show at the New Earth when I was all "hipster" before "hipster" was even a word, and I lied to you when you asked if I could knit. Your wool peacoat sheltered Eli's "Maryland is for Crabs" t-shirt, and your dark eyelashes sheltered your brown eyes. Our car doors nearly bumped and our profuse "excuse me's" and "you firsts" were really undignified attempts at unabashed flirting. 


It worked. 


I told my friend Sara with a wink, "I'm going to marry that boy," and she and I giggled together like only old friends can giggle.  How did I know?  Just over a year later, eight years ago today, we said "I do" and began an adventure I never would have planned.

Eight years from our wedding, here we are.  And "here" doesn't look much like I imagined it.  

Why do we think our plans are so much better than His purposes?

I pictured fancier cars and a trip or two to Europe and maybe a home tucked in the mountains of Colorado.  I also pictured myself with tighter skin and a better tan and hair that finally learned how to stop being frizzy.  


Why did I think marriage brought about miracles?


It does, though.  Just not the kind that miraculously transforms my humidity-stricken hair.

Our here is way better than anything I could have planned.  My previous "here" definitely didn't include Getu and Endale, and just last night after another long, hard day, we both admitted that now we can't imagine life without them.  Sure, our anniversary celebration this year (Taco House take-out after the boys are in bed) might be kind of lame, but we're together.  I would rather be at home watching reruns of Castle on the DVR with YOU than just about anywhere in the world without you.  


I'm more me because of you.  So now I pick the "here" that He planned for us.


And that's a fact.

'Cause see, I've since discovered that the fancy cars and bigger house and expensive vacations are like cotton candy at the county fair -- good for a few seconds, but when the sugar high wears off, you're no better off than you were before you spent the money.  You might even be a little bit sick to your stomach.


I don't mean to get all weepy, sappy, gross for the giant interwebz (or the 22 people who occasionally read this blog), but I love you.  As our boys would say, "I love you very very" or in the line they steal from some animated movie, "I love you soooooo much."

I wanted to come up with a list of sweet similes or metaphors, but these boys have me so exhausted that I can't even compose coherent complete sentences.  So I'll settle for this simple song.  

Eight years of growing and stretching.  Eight years of crying and laughing until we cried.  Eight years of holding on white-knuckled as we navigate this road He's carved for us, trying to stick to the plot that He's writing.  Eight years of living life with my very best friend in the entire world.  If the next eight are anything like the last, get ready.  I have a feeling He has even more adventures up His sleeve for us.

I completely agree with Waterdeep in "Both of Us Will Feel the Blast".  I believe Jesus knew what He was doing when He gave me you.  


And oh, that communion wine we will one day taste...

Happy anniversary, love.

xoxo

Hope

We interrupt our regularly scheduled depressing blogging to bring you some hope from The Word -- Psalm 71.  I've read this many times in the past several weeks.

In you, LORD, I have taken refuge;

let me never be put to shame.

In your righteousness, rescue me and deliver me;

turn your ear to me and save me.

Be my rock of refuge,

to which I can always go;

give the command to save me,

for you are my rock and my fortress.

Deliver me, my God, from the hand of the wicked,

from the grasp of those who are evil and cruel.

For you have been my hope, Sovereign LORD,

my confidence since my youth.

From birth I have relied on you;

you brought me forth from my mother's womb.

I will ever praise you.

I have become a sign to many; 

you are my strong refuge.

My mouth is filled with your praise,

declaring your splendor all day long.

Do not cast me away when I am old;

do not forsake me when my strength is gone.

For my enemies speak against me;

those who wait to kill me conspire together.

They say, "God has forsaken him;

pursue him and seize him,

for no one will rescue him."

Do not be far from me, my God; 

come quickly, God, to help me.

May my accusers perish in shame;

may those who want to harm me

be covered with scorn and disgrace.

As for me, I will always have hope;

I will praise you more and more.

My mouth will tell of your righteous deeds,

of your saving acts all day long --

though I know not how to relate them all.

I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, Sovereign LORD;

I will proclaim your righteous deeds, yours alone.

Since my youth, God, you have taught me,

and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds.

Even when I am old and gray,

do not forsake me, my God,

till I declare your power to the next generation,

your mighty acts to all who are to come.

Your righteousness, God, reaches to the heavens,

you who have done great things.

Who is like you, God?

Though you have made me see troubles, 

many and bitter,

you will restore my life again;

from the depths of the earth 

you will again bring me up.

You will increase my honor

and comfort me once more.

I will praise you with the harp

for your faithfulness, my God;

I will sing praise to you with the lyre,

Holy One of Israel.

My lips will shout my joy

when I sing praise to you --

I whom you have delivered.

My tongue will tell of your righteous acts

all day long,

for those who wanted to harm me

have been put to shame and confusion.

You might also enjoy this song.  I know do when I'm needing some hope.