This week’s events have been quite the pendulum, swinging so easily from one extreme to the other. Not giving care or thought to its method yet somehow forcing time on earth to slide forward. And when the hour strikes, oh that sound…
This summer,a friend of mine had her routine sonogram done. Is it a boy? Nope. Is it a girl? Yep! Two of them, actually! Now where I might have had a holy heart attack, my sweet friend Vanessa squealed with joy. It was just what she wanted.
But these tiny babes were conjoined at the chest, sharing a single beating heart. Doctors explored options. Second opinions. Third opinions. Surely there must be a way. But their one heart was missing some major ventricles, and hope apart from a miracle was not offered.
On Tuesday night, at 32 weeks, Melody Joy and Madison Hope were born breathing. They felt the soothing kiss of their mama’s lips. They were swaddled secure in their daddy’s strong arms. Big sister sang the cute little song she made up for them. Love poured out.
An hour later, their breathing ceased and they stepped into heaven.
Saturday, I attended a reception held by some other friends of mine. Their family had just grown to the tune of three girls, the adoption was final, and they were ready to celebrate.
As I walked into that room full of decorations and pictures, my heart nearly burst! Angel, Mary, and Zulu had been adopted. They had been taken into. They had been chosen! I can’t and honestly don’t want to try to imagine what these girls have seen, heard and felt in their short lives. They weren’t wanted. They were either given up or taken away.
Now, they are wanted.
Now, they have a mama who will put a band-aid on their skinned knee and blow so it doesn’t sting.
Now, they have a Daddy who will let them dance on his feet.
Now, they have brothers who will chase off the bad guys.
They are wanted. And not only are they wanted, but listen, a party is being thrown to celebrate just how wanted they are!
Their new parents invited all their friends and secured a reception room. They bought a whole bunch of food and had a huge cake decorated. They set up tables and put together slideshows. All of this was done to celebrate adoption.
To celebrate that what once was lost has now been found. That what once was ignored has now been cherished. Three lives that have a distorted or even absent view of “family” are adopted into…family.
Come on y’all. Please tell me this sounds familiar!
Isn’t this what the father did for the prodigal son? The shepard for the lost sheep? The very thing that Jesus walked the earth for?
Didn’t we have a bloodline that left us broken and ignored? Didn’t we have a will that was bent and twisted? Didn’t we have a distorted view? The scriptures say that as we lie in a pool of our own blood, unwanted, rebellious and forgotten…He died so that we could be adopted (paraphrased).
He orchestrated a plan so great, he arranged the details, he planned a celebration. Why?
Because He wants us.
Read that again. Let it soak.
He. Wants. You.
Many of us have tasted the need for redemption. I have a Creator, one who not only knows me and wants me, but is celebrating my adoption? Are you serious?
The pendulum of my soul strikes that fateful hour.
Today I watched as a two foot long white box was lowered into the ground. Bare voices sang strong.
when peace like a river, attendeth my way
when sorrow like sea billows roll
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say
it is well. it is well with my soul.
A man clad in muddy jeans and work gloves shoveled dirt over what we knew of two babies.
That’s really it, isn’t it?
We live. We breathe. We love and we sing.
And eventually, whether it be an hour later or a century later, our breathing will cease and dirt will be shoveled over.
Vanessa and I have talked much about that day. We can’t help but imagine the saints preparing a similar feast for the adoption of Madison and Melody into the heavens. A party to celebrate their arrival home. A celebration for two purposes well served!
Jesus comes to the middle of the room and whistles. He demands the floor. He is beaming. He is proud. He is Daddy.
He introduces the newest members of the heavenly realm. His creations. His daughters: Melody and Madison. Finally home. I bet it seemed like forever to Him.
Each is in our DNA. Each makes up our being.
And the pendulum swings…
There is a line of a song written by some friends of mine:
It’s a long, straight uphill climb where all the grief and pleasure intertwine.
Oh, drink it down like a bottle of perfect wine.
Something about grief stirs me hard towards Jesus. Somehow the same spirit who celebrates this heavenly adoption can meet a grieving mama in the middle of the night. He can welcome them home while aching with my friend over brokennes. There is a place so deep that only He can meddle with. Maybe we must grieve in order to be comforted. And maybe His comfort is so satisfying that the grief is redeemed.
The clock lets out a ring as if to celebrate the two extremes of emotion and I can’t help but be so grateful for adoption.
Earthly. Heavenly. Me. You. Melody. Madison. Angel, Mary, Zulu. We are all wanted, right?
If you are interested in or feel a tug towards adoption, please check out The Archibald Project. But not unless you have tissues nearby. Mascara alert.