Sitting in the Ashes of the Broken

Sometimes love doesn’t seem like enough.

Sometimes there is so much broken that it seems impossible to meet the deluge with love.

Sometimes things don’t magically fall into place.  The pain doesn’t go away. The goodbye still happens and the choices others make seem completely wrong.

None of it feels good.  Or right.  Or the way it was supposed to be. And there aren’t any clear answers.

But love is the thing that helps the breath go in and then out again.

It’s been a long year.

A failed student visa for Peter Pan.

A romantic relationship on the brink of engagement that fell apart suddenly.

A dear one battling addiction.

Loss of my church and community.

Struggles in parenting that took me to the brink of my resources.

Friends who have had intense strains in their adoptions, even to the point of deep family loss.

Pain and pain and pain.  It feels like love isn’t enough.  Hope seems far away.

And then today, I saw a picture I took a year ago.  We were in Latvia on the first adoption trip20150901_115218 to get Sprite and make him a part of the Wilkins family permanently.

Only a year ago.  We were on the brink of a life-changing, family-making adventure we couldn’t even comprehend.

And then I remembered, too, other things from this last year.

The months I had the pleasure of homeschooling Sprite the days his mom worked, and how much our relationship has grown, partly because of that special time together.

The ways Little Man has matured in how he handles hurt and anguish, and how we have found each other and our sweet rhythms again.

How my relationship with Sunshine has deepened as she prepares to become a mother herself.

Was it really only a year ago that we were different people?

So much has changed.  So much has broken.  So much has been built.

And this gives me hope.

The broken still hurts.  It is dark in this place, and most days it feels like I could choke on the smoke of the things that are burning down.

But love sits next to me, and I hold its hand and I have to believe that it is enough.

So I sit most days, quietly.  Little Man joins me, and we make our circle very small and we huddle around the embers of love that we find among the ashes.

When I find them, I can feel the healing seeping back into my bones.

Next year I will be different, too.

Because true love truly doesn’t fail.


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