It is midnight in Uganda.
I am sitting in the common area listening to the family with three teenagers giggle down the hall.
I just rocked my littlest back to sleep. She is sure it is playtime.
You need to know that today was a good day. Twelve hours in with our boys and I know that for a first day it was a good day.
But it was a lot. I am physically, mentally, and spiritually drained.
The intense and acute pain of living in a fallen world rolled all over our family today. The pain that births adoption blistered and festered right in front of our eyes. It as if we stepped off the ledge in the shallow end only to realize we weren't even in a pool anymore, but in an ocean of roaring waves.
Feed snack. Say a prayer. Play with toys. Recite a memory verse. Settle in for nap. Read a Bible story.
We know how to swim. But the waves seem so big. So we just did the motions we know to do. We treaded water today. But still it washed over our heads.
Russ and I sat next to each other at the table tonight after all the littles were fast asleep (thank you Lord) with tears in our eyes because there is a difference in knowing it will be difficult, and knowing it will be difficult.
We felt the sting of loss today. We felt the weight of institutional life. It as if we got a goose egg on our forehead and because we can feel how acute the pain from that little bump is, we can better empathize with how bad the pain must be from the head wound that is bleeding out for our boys.
As I write this, I am staring at a painting that says, "The joy of the Lord is our strength."
The words are going in and out of focus, both with my eyes and with my understanding. Here in the dark and quiet. With just a minute to rest from the treading of water, I stare at the verse. I stare longer.
He is enough.
His grace is sufficient.
I feel a tug.
He is ENOUGH!
And deep down, I submit that it is true.
I am not enough for this. I cannot heal this hurt. I cannot speed up redemption. I am not enough.
The same waves that washed us out to the deep in will carry us back to set our feet on solid ground.
"Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me."