Writing is wonderfully cathartic for me, so as you read this, you must understand that at this very moment what I am typing seeps from the deepest part of my heart - the very fabric of a tender spot within my soul.
Recently, as I posted earlier in the blog, I felt God calling me to give my daughter Madilynn a precious gift. That gift required sacrifice on my part, but it was so evident that the result now and in the long run is the absolute best for her. The Lord laid on my heart that her stepmom should be able to adopt her. Frankly, to call this woman "stepmom" isn't fair, when the reality is that she has been Madilynn's Mom much more than I have. Introducing and explaining why I haven't been there would take the next decade to explain, so just take my word for it. Anyway, I emailed "C" today and briefly shared my thoughts. My inclination was that she would of course agree, but that the final workings of all this would be played out in the months to come. You can imagine my dismay when after a short time, minutes in fact, I saw a response to my email. C told me that she filed a petition and it was granted in June 2009 (I was unaware of this petition). Honestly, I just sat and cried. I wept for the moments I've missed out on, for the goodnight kisses hoarded in my imagination, for the unfamiliar feel of her hand curled in mine. Those same tears flowed with joy, as I thought of such a deserving Mom who took my stead and the little girl who has not gone without love in her life because of it. I wept out of grief, I wept out of jealousy, I wept with relief.
Lately, it has been difficult to show any level of vulnerability - to let people see the real me. Running away in various forms has become a pastime of mine. I keep thinking about a quote by C.S. Lewis that basically says that God whispers to us in our joys, yet He shouts in our pain. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world. Faithfully, His shouting has been relentless of late and it has broken through the slumber of depression. The process by which I must sort through the tattered shreds of my life feels daunting. Yet, I am reminded that it is God who weaves the fabric of the tapestry together. From my perspective underneath this tapestry, I see only threads, remnants of loosely sewn experiences, the bits and pieces that make up my life. Ever the Master, He sees the tapestry on the proper side. Is it a gilded work of art that displays forgiveness, grace, redemption, willingness and humility? Does He guide the needle gently to intertwine His Spirit through my heart and mind? Will the sum of His efforts someday manifest a creation worthy to be displayed to others, or more importantly, collected in a gallery that reflects His handiwork? It matters not where this galleria is. What matters is that I offer myself to Him, a continuous supply of threads that can be woven and spun.
The cord of motherhood is a part of His design for me. I am sad in some ways that the ribbons I chose have been set aside and replaced with the light of someone else. Yet I hope, that the thread I call Madilynn, will somehow be crafted back into my life as this tapestry is made. I once saw a tapestry of the face of Jesus. There was the slightest sight of a glorious gold ribbon. Without it, His eyes would not have glimmered, attention to His hands would remain unnoticed. This delicate yet sparing gold thread made the tapestry what it was. Perhaps Madilynn is my gold thread.
For the work you are creating, I give thanks that you weave with perfection. May the tapestry of my daughter be the most splendid display of your artistry.
