2009 July » The Chronicles of Munchkin Land

An Apology

Jul 242009

Dear Munchkin,

I am so sorry.

I hate when I deny your existence, even by a lie of omission. It’s not who I am, who I aspire to be or who I want you to think of me as in your life. I want you to know that I am proud of you, that I am proud of your existence and your presence in my life. I don’t want you to ever doubt that pride.

But I didn’t tell someone about you this week. And I feel horrible.

A friend from camp who hadn’t made it in ten years walked through the door of my cottage. She hadn’t aged in that time and I knew her immediately. Both boys were sitting at the table, eating their lunch, and she asked their names. I told her. We discussed our husbands, her current (first) pregnancy, jobs. I never found a way to tell her, even though I know her to be a loving and kind person, about you and the joy you are in my life. It was hard enough to talk, between convincing my oldest son that he needed to eat his cottage cheese and my younger son to stay seated.

But there’s no excuse.

It’s true, of course. That I have two sons, a wonderful husband and a job that I love. It’s true that I still sing and am still a big book nerd. It’s true that I’m busy and happy and that life is good. But there’s another truth: I gave birth to an amazing, smart, beautiful daughter. I believed that I wasn’t who I needed to be at the time and I placed her in the loving arms of another mother. She has grown up in love and continues to wow the world. She may not be an everyday presence in our home but she is a presence in our family.

I’m sorry I didn’t just say it, that I didn’t break the flow of conversation and just lay it out on the table. I can tell you things like, “If she would have been there for more than a day,” or, “If the boys had taken a nap.” But it still sounds cheap.

I’m not a perfect mother. And, so it seems, I am not a perfect birth mother. I will let you down from time to time, just as I sometimes let these brothers of yours down. I don’t do it intentionally. I am proud of all of you.

And… I hope… someday… you might be proud of me as well.

Please accept my apologies and my love.
Forever and always.

Faith Like a …

Faith 4 Responses »

Jul 152009

A song on repeat.

They say that love can heal the broken
They say that hope can make you see
They say that faith can find a Savior
If you would follow and believe
With faith like a child
-Jars of Clay, “Like a Child”

I’m currently procrastinating the actual finishing of the packing process for our annual trip to church camp. I know, I know. The world laughs when I say such a thing, claiming that church camp is just for kids. I need ten days (eight days, this year) every year in which to get away from the hectic nature, the true chaos of the life in which I live. I need that week and some change to re-prioritize my life, to find my way back to the meaning of it all.

I don’t often talk about my faith. I don’t often find that I need to as, so rarely, do I call it into question anymore. It’s simply a part of my life, my being, my soul. I study my Bible. I attend Bible studies. I listen to Christian music. I don’t often think to write about these things because they’re just a part of what I do, who I am. I don’t write about my morning ritual of waking, going to the bathroom, staring in the mirror at yet another new zit and brushing my teeth before returning to my room to make the bed and read my devotional… because it’s all just second nature.

Recently, however, certain things have been weighing heavily on my heart. Not about my faith, exactly, but the faith of those around me. To tie it to adoption (and thus let other people off the hook), it sometimes catches in my throat, the thought that maybe the Munchkin won’t know the Lord. And then, reality smacks me upside the head and I realize that my parented sons might not either. Before it all gets overwhelming, I just have to give it over. I can’t worry too much. I just have to live this life as I can, be an example, answer when asked and, of course, pray.

I was once berated for admitting that I had hope that my daughter would one day follow Christ. I don’t understand why that person felt it necessary to be so nasty with me, to me. I didn’t say I wouldn’t love her if she chooses another path; I will. How can I not love her? She is my daughter, despite the legalities of it all. I love her with an unconditional love. Just the way I love my boys, even on their very worst days. (Today being one, mind you.) I can have hopes and dreams for my children, can’t I? I hope that… maybe… someday… she’ll find a faith that isn’t damning or judgmental or that makes her feel guilty… but one that wipes her shame, eases her fears and comes to her as a second nature.

And if that makes me a bad person in the eyes of the world, I am okay with that. I relinquished my rights to my child in hopes that she would have a better life, one that I didn’t believe I could provide at the time. I didn’t relinquish my right to hope and dream… and pray. And so, I do.

I do.

_
[Back the 25th. No new user comments can be approved before that time.]