Before work today, I sat on my bed, atop the new orange/turquoise/green India Inspired Quilt that Mr. Wonderful bought me which probably should have waited for Christmas, but who cares, because we were both so tired of the blah Khaki comforter against the cream walls and the beige floor. Everything was so “the same” that we both knew we needed to perk it up.
As I put on my work shoes, I saw a letter that Mr. Wonderful had sitting on top of his printer. I read it. It was a letter to someone in our state government about our girls. We’re required to let them know when we move (because of the adoption, they like to keep tabs) and he had their full names and birthdates included. I just sat there and stared at that piece of paper.
After 18 months, I’m still not used to seeing their full names ending in our last name. I was struck, and I ended up on my knees in prayer, thanking God and praising Him that we got through that horribly long ordeal with Foster Care and were able to adopt our babies. And then got through that horribly awful ordeal when hubby lost his job and we had to move from the only place we’d ever lived with our sweet girls.
I am sometimes afraid of what might have been. I’m still pretty angry about it sometimes.
I was just reading an article talking about healing, and one friend said to the other who was suffering the loss of her marriage, “Go to the place where it hurts your heart so much you simply can’t stand it and you feel like you want to die. Go to the place where the infection is thick and rotting and it smells and burns. You have to go to the bottom of the wound and start there. It is the only way to begin healing.”
And then I think it’s no wonder I’m not done with feeling angry and horrified that this LIAR got away with what she did. I sit here and rage against her, even after I’ve prayed for her on endless nights where sleep would not come. I believe one day I will be healed, but I may need to delve deeper into the hurt… and I don’t really want to.
The point of writing this, is not to whine about the hurt. It’s that we went from one ordeal to the next, and I never took the time to celebrate the good.
So before I go on my journey of prayer and healing, I am going to live it up and live in the fact that I AM a Mom and Mr. Wonderful IS a Dad. And we have kids in THIS house (our dream, always) and that the enemy of our souls did NOT win. God tells him you can go this far, but no further. We are loved. We are blessed. We are protected. Praise God.