Molly

It was 32 years ago that we drove to Los Angeles Airport to pick up someone very special.  We sat in the waiting area for the passengers to come out.  Lots of people came off the plane, then our social worker went on the plane and came back out with our 6-month-old little girl from Korea!  Joan, our social worker, placed her in my arms, Josh peering over to get a look, lol. 

I had no idea that little girl would one day be my best friend.  Molly came pretty compliant, comes from being in an orphanage with little attention.  She was quiet and serene.  Her dad had just got his pilot's license, so the day after we got her, we got in a Cessna and headed from Oxnard, CA to Grants Pass, OR.  She was good the whole way, as was her brother.  This was not the best idea, but I won't go into that. 

She loved her Auntie Sue and responded to her right away.

Molly did find her voice and came to realize if she cried, she got what she needed, lol.  She was fun and creative, making doll clothes from leftover fabric, lace, etc.  She was and is cheerful most of the time, a blessing to those around her.

Without going into details, Molly & her brother had a really rough time after our divorce, the effects still being seen.  L  But Molly found Jesus when she was little and has never left.  She clung to Him and He has seen her through.  She was a joy growing up, so very sweet and thoughtful, and those words describe her to this day.

She met Will, and I met his dad, what joy!  Now they live closer and we are thrilled.  I could never have envisioned how things would be 32 years later, I never would've dreamed.  But my little girl, such a HUGE blessing is still spreading sunshine everywhere she goes.  She means more to me than I can say, as most mothers feel.  But to have come from so very far away to land in my heart is a miracle and a gift from God.  Thinking of her today, of all the years, and how she looked in her little pink outfit when she arrived.  Thank You Lord!!!!

Josh

The blinds slap at the window sill, the coolness rushing in on a breezy day.  And it hits me, how can everything just seem so normal?  How can I talk with him casually as though there's nothing wrong?  That his grown man decisions are so wrong, but i'm not allowed to warn him?  In respecting his autonomy and adulthood, I let him careen over a cliff in the distance, even if it's at 30 miles an hour.  Eventually, he will sail over the edge, too late.

I've pretty much made peace with all that, I just keep praying.  But every so often, like today, when that breeze tapped me on the shoulder, I want to run to him, to plead with him, to let him know the building he's living in is on fire.  But I know he doesn't wanna hear that from me, so the attempts have ceased. 

But here's the thing, once you're a mom, you held him, loved him, suffered with him, celebrated with him, you just can't sever the tie lickity-split.  "I asked the LORD to give me this boy, and he has granted my request." I Samuel 1:27.  I have loved him more than I thought possible.  And he loved me back.  Now his love is distant, I believe it's there, he says so, but hard to tell.  And when my mind runs to past viewing of little boy days, the tears just naturally come.

I don't believe I know anyone with as much God-given talent or potential.  Handsome and funny, full of style and personality, but I cannot support his lifestyle.  It is heart-breaking.  People, girls especially, left in his wake, hurting.

The thing is, this heart that is aging and preparing to go home, longs for a few sweet moments with the boy, the man.  And they will not be forthcoming.  And this heart, more than anything, wants to know that he walks with Jesus as he once did.  I probably will not live to know.  I could not have lived through the events of the last few years without my love, my David.  Though we all have made mistakes, his unwavering support and love, holding me when I am distraught, etc., helps me stay sane in it all. 

And Jesus, always Jesus.  The wakings in the night, the fear that can grip my heart when there's a phone call later than usual, the wondering, the grieving, He holds me through it all and sustains me.

So on this blustery day in April, about a week after he turned 36, I once allow myself to feel the grief, the missing and I pray, and I weep.