Sunday, Katya snuggled in my lap as precious little ones were brought before the Lord for dedication. Katya loudly “oohed” and “ahhed” and then turned into my chest and whispered, “I wants to be a baby in your arms.”
So much of life with Katya is the normal ins-and-outs of daily living. Bike rides, laundry, sibling squabbles, “I’m sorries,” lady bugs, dandelions …. But occasionally, the stuff of the ordinary is kissed with the reality of the supernatural.
This one I call daughter is no longer an orphan.
She is no longer one of the lonely, one of the fatherless, one of the fringe.
She is no longer an orphan.
She is home. She has a family.
I can’t rewrite her history and cheer as she takes her first steps.
Or watch for those first teeth to cut through.
Or sing lullabies to her in the wee hours of the night as she nurses.
Or live out the holy moment of participating in the eternal as she takes her first breath.
This grieves me.
But then I am reminded that although I didn’t give birth to her, I stepped into the sacred, alongside my husband, when we said, “Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes.”
So this one who gives me the occasional glimpse into her heart, shows me her wounds, and then dances away like butterfly, this one gets to be held all the way through church. My arms ache and I adjust my clothing as this one who really is way too big to be held like this snuggles into my chest. As I hold her, I give her a running commentary of what is happening. And I worship in the midst of it all.
I can’t rewrite her history. I can’t make her the baby in my arms. But I can hold her now. I can read to her at night and give her “a hug and a kiss and an ‘I love you.'” I can teach her to read English. I can cheer as she rides her bike. And I can look forward to the sweet day when she worships on her own, when she breathes in the breath of the Spirit, when she drinks from streams of living water.
As much as I’d like to erase the pain and rewrite her history, I can’t. So, I pray for healing. I trust God that He will indeed work all of her heartache for His good purposes. And I hold my nearly nine-year old while she snuggles and “oohs” and “ahhs” over the little ones.