My Brother’s Eyes

I look at my brother and so much floods my mind. 

Tonight, I broke. My heart couldn’t handle the daunting task before me anymore. 

And I took one look at him, and I remembered. 

 

I remembered the task of loving him and leaving him. I remember the ache in my arms until I held him again. I remember sleeping to escape missing him only to see his sweet face in my dreams.
I remembered the beautiful redemption that took place on his gotcha day. I remembered the attachments that came and when he started to say I love you. I remembered the car rides and the rocks to sleep. I remembered him in a family.

I remembered that it was worth it. 

Simon was worth it. These kids are worth it. My God is worth it. 

I have watched Him bring beauty from ashes and I choose to trust Him to do it again.

His plan may not come easily or without a broken heart, but it is beautifully written.

I look at my brother, and this is what I see. I see God’s perfect plan and stunning grace wrapped up in a 3 year old little boy. I can see these kids’ futures when I look at him. I see the Lord give me new assurance and hope when I look at my brother.

The Father gives me peace when I look into my brother’s eyes.

Simon,

I love you with every ounce of my being. The Lord used you mightily tonight & I pray that the profound honor of that will never be lost on you. You are truly a blessing and a gift.

Your big sister,
Katie

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my daughter

Leaving provokes emotions; tons and tons of unique emotions. You know, the kind you feel completely ridiculous and peculiar for having. Can’t one just say that they want 2, completely incompatible, lifestyles at the exact same time. Is it really that irrational? I think not. 

 

It’s kind of the story of this life I live.  

 

There is this deep longing inside of me to stay here at the exact the same moment that there is a deep longing to head back home. Not one longing stronger than the other, but both ever present. 

 

For me personally, the idea of saying goodbye to these kids is a daunting, all consuming, task. The family that I have made here will always be close to my heart and not something I want to separate from. On the same hand, I am aching to have my brother by my side again and my parents on the other.

 

It’s hard to be vulnerable with these feelings, sometimes.

I asked for this life.
It’s what I’ve wanted for years. 

This is the type of life I have worked towards.
I begged God for years to let me live this type of life. 

 

And now, I find it hard, and gut wrenching, and those words don’t come out without a lump in my throat. 

 

My babies will grow older and, let’s be real, their 15 year old selves won’t remember the white lady that loved their 3 year old selves with every ounce in her. They won’t recall that they were wholly loved, utterly adored, and completely cherished.

There is something natural in each of us that desires to see the people we love realize how much we love them. We want to show them, tell them, remind them.

But the Father shows me that that isn’t my job this time. That isn’t my part in this story for now. My job in their story is coming to an end and I am grabbing and holding tight to everything I have of them. Our memories, the way their bodies feel in my arms, the sound of their laughs, their (sometimes awful) smells. Everything. Those are the things He has given me the privilege of having and I will forever hold those things close.

This isn’t the way He created it to be, ya know. 

Orphans weren’t a part of the plan.
Lost parents weren’t of Him.
Loving and leaving aren’t something He desires for His people.

But, we live in a fallen world and these things are a reality of it.
And in the midst of that mess, He holds us close.

It’s a tension that we choose to live in because the Lord chose us. 

It’s a place where we learn of His sovereignty and our depravity. 
It’s a place of continued sanctification.

And in the middle of the questioning, confusion, and heartbreak, He gently pulls me close and reminds me, “I love you, my daughter.”

And then I remember.
That is why I’ve learned to love this life of constantly having to let go.

It’s all in hopes that one day these kids will here Him whisper,
“I love you, my daughter.” or “I love you, my son.”

 

“Constant through the trial and the change
One thing… Remains.
Your love never fails.”