You have been audaciously fought for and passionately welcomed home.
As Easter Sunday nears, it takes intentionality to pause and remember. To quiet the hum of the everyday and walk to the foot of the cross. The world around me becomes distant in the presence of fierce love. Slowly, and without the usual fight, my lens of self begins to change and I find my worth in His decision to see me, just as I am, and chose me.
We have been abundantly pardoned.
I am grateful for this adoption story I own. My life needed a decision made that I was worth it, that I deserved the sacrifice only love could withstand. I could never claim to know the fight of the crucified Christ, but I can claim the taste of the worth of a life.
I stand a woman who knows a good fight. The road walked was not for the faint of heart, and honestly, I still carry hurt that constantly needs to be surrendered. I still mourn the life that I knew but never got to hold. I still struggle with infertility and knowing my chance at growing a family comes with the ask of miracles and impossible things.
To say to a child you are so worth it all is an understatement to the truth of how eagerly they are welcomed into this home, into this life, into our hearts.
We all want to be worth a fight, to be loved so passionately that we know without a doubt where we truly belong. Christ is that for us.
“This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.”
1 John 4:9-10
Such healing comes from genuine love. Norah loves to walk around and mutter, “mum, mum, mum…” and I love the sound of it. I beam at the title and stand taller at the honor. To say she was so worth it all is not saying enough about what she is to me. Adoption has been such an amazing picture of hope to this family.
“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.”
1 John 3:1
These days, I practice the whisper, “Father, Father, Father…”. I know my Savior beams at the sound.