A few days ago, I wrote this post in a moment of calm before the storm.
It was true then. And it still is.
It is well.
These are the words I sing this morning.
And they are coming hard.
Because here is the truth today.
I know it sounds melodramatic, but sometimes I honestly cannot imagine a life that is harder than the one that I am living right now.
This life stuck in the interminable wait for paperwork that is overdue.
This life where everyone has an opinion and no one has any particular sense of urgency about a baby who is their job but your life.
This life where all the stories of the little ones—each one sadder than the next, tear your mama-heart to shreds and you feel helpless to do anything. And you hate that.
These long days with no sun, startled awake by fear that feels ten times bigger in the dark.
Fear, still, that you will love and lose.
Fear that will not leave until you say his name one hundred times. Maybe one thousand.
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.
These days with a little one who doesn’t so much believe in sleep.
And a bigger one who is triggered by all the things at Christmas.
(And I say this with all the kindness in my heart, but until you have loved and parented a child from a hard place, don’t you dare tell me that “all kids are.” You. Have. No. Idea.)
These days when you look in the refrigerator and there is no milk, so you have no choice but to corral three grumpy people and make an appearance in a public place. For a blessed gallon of milk.
My life is full of much that I love.
And some days it feels so very, very hard.
And still I sing.
Because it is true.
In a way that has nothing to do with me.
In the calm before the storm. In the eye of the storm. In the carnage and the rebuilding.
It is true.
Through it all, through it all
My eyes are on you.
And it is well with me.