Surrender

"Childhood scenes rushed back at me out of the night, strangely close and urgent. Today, I know that such memories are the key not to the past, but to the future. I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do." - Corrie Ten Boom

After returning home from a family wedding and reunion, I broke down. I cried endlessly one night into the next morning and all the way to work. I'd just spent wonderful quality time with my great-nephews, all of whom are charming, loving and well-behaved. I absorbed them and loved each and every minute of it. I met my new great-niece, Iley, who is and will become a great beauty, inside and out, because of her parents, grandparents, and family. So what was this breakdown? Why the grief? (And it was that deep, penetrating, pulsating-through-and-down-into-the-toes sort of grief.)

I was mourning again for the children I don't have.

(But I thought I had gotten to "the other side" of that. I thought I had "come to terms.")

Ha.

As if it's something you ever get past. Despite that knowledge I am surprised at this involuntary emotional meltdown. I'm rethinking adoption. Foster adoption. I go back and forth. How does one ever really know?

And then, while amidst all the brothers, again, always feeling alone and separate, I know that they are men, plain and simple. They're not ignoring me. It, in fact, has nothing to do with me. Yet as I look around and find myself in the company of males, continually being the only girl, I am baffled by God's plan; the timing, the dynamics, the choices. And while sitting there amongst my siblings...

"Childhood scenes rushed back at me out of the night, strangely close and urgent."

And my life back home seemed far away and chaotic. Though I'd recently come to terms about my future and had been elated with my new decisions, my enthusiasm fell flat here, where I grew up. Because I know God, I know that He has a plan, and every time I think I've figured it out, I find myself in a cocktail of my past and my future, shaken—as well as stirred.

"Today I know that such memories are the key not to the past, but to the future."

So I surrender again, give it all to Him and realize for the umpteenth time that I need to stop running around doing all the things that keep me stressed and tired and which, ironically, keep me from spending my time in His presence and just breathing in His spirit. I find my excuses in dustbunnies under the table and in computer software that keeps breaking down. Lunches, exercise, classes, meetings, shopping, repairs, decisions.

"I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do."

He keeps pushing me toward the white flag.