The more I think about it, the more I realize Cinderella sold me a tale that I actually bought into. She lost her mom (now as a mom, I consider this highly unacceptable!), which is really sad. Then, she lost her dad-completely heart-wrenching. To top it all off, she ended up with a money-squandering abusive step-mother who was hateful at best. So, Cinderella's early life was not anything anyone would desire. Suddenly, though, all her pain was over. Prince Charming rode in and swooped her off of her feet. From this point on, all of her working, cares, financial woes, and pain were over. She had reached the "pinnacle of pain", and her suffering was over.
It seems ridiculous to admit, but I believed the premise of the story. Not so much with my pre-husband life, although he's pretty awesome, but with my kiddo's. Two boys on the spectrum and four miscarriages seems like perhaps I had reached that "thresh hold". My perfect little joy baby should grow and develop exactly (if not slightly better than) the norm...right? As she is about to reach her eighth month, she is behind in almost every area. She won't eat solids, and will gag if anything larger than a drop is placed on her tongue. She is very small and close to underweight for her age. She cannot sit up, nor is she even close to crawling. She can roll over one way, and then gets stuck on her tummy. Once again, for the third child in a row, we needed to start Birth to Three services. I was fine with that, until I had to call the County. Just hearing the voicemail message was like getting hit in the stomach. It took me back two and a half years to the beginning of our journey, and I almost couldn't speak for the message I had to leave. It took well over a day for me to "recover."
With the swiftness completely a-typical of a government office, a few days later our new case worker was in our home. I had not even noticed all of my little one's delays. Not only is she behind in physical development and in eating, she is completely non-verbal. This realization sent me into a tale spin. My heart was broken, and even though I spent hours in the Word, I could not stop mourning for what was, and what could be. I knew I was borrowing trouble from tomorrow, but my heart would not respond to the Truth I know. And then there was Grace...in a mirror. I saw the reflection of me holding her in her incredibly awkward position, and He whispered. If we were not able to have a final biological child, we knew we wanted to adopt. As I stared at her, I knew in my heart of hearts that I would have "chosen" a baby with some kind of special needs. Not because I'm a "good person" or even a good mom, but because it's my God-given passion. In my very short time being a (paid, out-of-the-home) teacher, my passion was for the kids too difficult for everyone else, and I loved them. The Lord, in His abundant grace, reminded me of my passion, and gave me the quiet assurance that that passion was "for such a time as this."
My Joy baby was chosen for me, and I chose her. Over the next few days, I quietly whispered to her, "I choose you." I know this might seem silly to horrendous to you, and I know my words cannot do justice to what the Lord did in my heart, but the healing that came has refocused me to just love on her and all of our children. It wasn't a quick "zap" of spirituality, but the culmination of hours spent in the Word and on my knees. And the peace that the Lord provided won't stay if I don't stay close to Him. Forgive me for my soap box, but it is awfully hard to hear a whisper when you aren't so close to the Speaker.
For now, I will relish her, and all of our little ones. I will chose each one, with all of their needs-"special" or not. I will be grateful for the passion He gave, and the grace He daily gives.
