I feel fear.
I’m terrified, humanly, of what might happen day in and day out.
I fear not raising enough money for our adoption and to bring our baby home.
I fear the hatred toward me, my family or our new son or daughter if we end up with a child who is not caucasian…because despite every good intention that we have and every bit of love we already have for this child, not everyone feels the same way.
Some people still see the world in black and white.
Some people still see the world through the lens of hatred and racism.
I feel incapable.
I go to bed at night and wonder if I can handle a third child. Heck, most days I wonder if I can handle the two that I have right now.
We order take out more often than we cook dinner at home, just because our schedules are so crazy busy.
Most days, all of the laundry gets done on the weekends. Clothes get washed and dried, but typically get put aside and folded on the weekend.
I have more schedule than spontaneity.
And I have more tasks than time.
Likewise, I have more love than I know how to give.
I feel unworthy.
I feel completely undeserving of the blessings that I’ve been given.
Of my husband, of my children, of my family and my friends…
Of the ability to do a job I love from home: providing extra for our family so that we can give extra and able to work from home and raise my babies while simultaneously enjoying every single second of my job.
Of the opportunities that have come my way in life: the chance to visit places all over the country, to see things and meet people that are completely different than I am but who completely opened my eyes to new ways of thinking.
Of the mercy that comes my way day after day after day from my Jesus-even when I monstrously screw things up.
I feel love.
From my husband when he wakes me up first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee and a kiss; when he empties the dishwasher because he knows that’s my least favorite thing to do; when he lets me shower first so that I get the hottest water.
From my children when they snuggle up beside me in bed and tell me how much they love me. When they run into my arms when I’ve gone to spend a few hours alone or with a friend and they smile up at me saying, “Mommy I’m so happy you’re home! I missed you!” When they hold my hand walking down the hall at school, even though they had previously said that they were “too big” to do that.
From my friends when they sit and listen to me spill my fears or my frustrations or my excitement day in and day out whether via text, lunch or FaceTime. Or when they just simply offer a hug and tell me they are praying for me or surprise me with things that “thank you” doesn’t even seem like an appropriate response for.
From my Jesus when He gives me multiple forms of affirmation that my family and I are walking in His will. When He provides constant assurance that HE is in charge and that no amount of work on my part will ever earn me His love…because it’s always been there. When He whispers to my heart,
“Keep going. It’s going to be hard and it’s going to stretch you beyond anything you’ve ever known. But it’s going to be worth it.”
I feel Blessed.