One Thousand Gifts-Week 43

For a while now I’ve been struggling with the thought, reality, that this pregnancy may end in a miscarriage too. Part of it is because I feel exactly the same as I did last time when I miscarried. Yet there is nothing to do but go on, until I know one way or another what is happening. I’ve faced fully the possibility that this child inside of me could already be dead, gone forever without me even knowing. I’ve wept and prayed and hoped I am wrong. I still don’t know. I hope to find out this week.

Surprisingly, a blog post by a 21 year old girl named Katie, who lives in Uganda, has adopted 13 children there, started a school and feeding program for several thousand more and goes into dirt poor villages to bring food and medical care every week, helped me more than anything else. (Sound warning, if you click through) It’s surprising because in it she is angry. She is angry that the boy she brought home from the village has white hair because his step mother doesn’t feed him and he’s severely malnourished. She vomits after cleaning the jiggers out of his little feet. She’s angry about an 8 month old baby girl, who’s mother wasn’t nursing her because she thought she had aids, weighing only 10 pounds and pooping parasites the size of earth worms. She’s angry at a world where so many claim to follow Jesus yet so few do anything to help these children. Even after caring for these children and saving them from death, there is no guarantee that when she takes them back to their families the exact same thing won’t start all over again. In fact, it probably will. But then she ends with this paragraph, and it’s stuck with me ever since.

My anger is gone and I am just a mom who is tired and going to make another bottle and tuck her children into bed and love them the best that I can, as we as a family love the ones God has entrusted us with. Tomorrow I will brainstorm and pray and come up with the best way to take Michael and Patricia back to their homes, possibly find their parents jobs, or supply them with food and medicine. Tomorrow I will remember that they were never mine to begin with, that they are HIS and He will go with them where I cannot.

The job is only to love as well as I can, for as long as I am given. These babies, these children I have borne, “were never mine to begin with, they are HIS and HE will go with them where I cannot.” I just have to love them as well as I can, while I can. The rest is out of my hands and, as far as is possible, I am at peace with that now.

There are still gifts to be found, gleaned perhaps in the harder times when I need to look more carefully to find them, but they are all around nonetheless.

• A day to just sit around by myself and read or sleep or do whatever.
• hugs and kisses from my boy. They never get old.
• Little making up songs in the back of the car.
• The Boy made me tea.
• Hugs from good friends who understand.
• My little sister-in-law may be the sweetest girl ever.
• The Girl’s crazy what if scenarios and the way she belly laughs when telling them.
• Falling asleep with the GH curled up next to me.
• Long sleepy chats after the day is all done.
• A talk with my sister.
• A birthday card from my grandma, with her hand drawn pink hearts and letter on the inside.
• Girls splashing around outside in the pouring rain, having a blast.
• Little lovingly adorning my hand and fingers with stickers.
• Extended family to watch children and help with transportation when there are multiple appointments in a week. As in, drive to my house and watch my kids while I take their car somewhere.

The gratitude community is here.