I cannot believe it has been 18 months since we brought her home. Little did I know the path we were walking. Little did I know the heartache waiting. Little did I know the joy we would find in small pieces along the way. Its funny how I don’t remember a lot of the hard, even though it was full of hard things. I remember instead the small things. The little tiny specks of shimmering gold in the mountain of a hill we were traveling.
It was the healing we were seeing. If “healing” were a color it would definitely be gold. A golden hue so bright, and shiny you couldn’t help but gasp. Sometimes hard to see in the middle of the pain and wasteland. It would be there, though. As I picked up the pieces of my heart, I held them in my hands like speaks of gold. Dirty. Unwashed. Misshapen. Just lumps of something that used to be.
When I looked at our daughter, her heart was the same. Although our eyes, hair, and skin don’t match, our hearts were so similar. Mine had broken from my own selfishness coming to light. My own sense of control shattered my heart when I tried to hold close in perfectionism my heart. Hers was broken from the hurt of others.
In the middle of the climb, we picked up a piece here. A piece there. The first smile. The first time she accepted me. The little joys of family. Of seeing true unconditional sibling love. The clinging to each other during the days of survival.
So the tiny pieces are being molded. Healed. Put back together. Not in my hands. No. Only when I handed them over to Him does He heal. Forgive. Cleanse. Wash and begin to make new. Restoration is never too far away. And the pieces of healing may seem small, but in my Father’s hands, the healing will always shine.
He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Psalm 23:3
Five Minute Free Writes – Every week I join a special group of writers to write for FIVE MINUTES. No editing. No revising. Just WRITE. Each week the prompt is revealed Thursday evening.
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