Reflections on life, faith, work, adoptive parenting, and everything in between
As I held her face in my hands, kissed her forehead, and told her I was proud of her, any frustrations I bore up to that point over the last several years since she came to us at the impressionable age of eight didn’t matter so much anymore.
I acknowledge you’re never really finished with the job of parenting, but there are a few satisfying stages I still hope to cross, this being one of them.
“I never was fond of teenagers, even when I was one”
“I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth,” said John in his third epistle to his “spiritual” children. But it’s an easy fit for parents.
Relief commingled with grief choked in my throat, as I held back the bitter emotions when she spoke the long-expected yet unwelcome words. “It’s over. He’s gone.”
It’s said that time heals all wounds, though this is no guarantee. While I was not the wounded party, we could only hope this would hold true for the trauma our children might have experienced, even as we learned to become the parents they needed, albeit imperfectly.
More than a picture . . . it’s a critical lesson for times of trouble or misfortune. Joy is present and available if you choose it.
“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” – Romans 12:12
It was rapidly apparent and unmistakable to me that one of the chief aspects that was going to make parenting so challenging was the fact that I couldn't address them like a task on a to-do list.
Before I knew it, the brief but cutting words shot out of my mouth like a cannon, aimed squarely and unequivocally in our child’s direction.
Time in a Bottle 