I am her mother

Lucy crashes most afternoons on the couch in the den...

I've thought for some time to share a moment with you that I experienced a long time ago. Way back when we lived in Idaho (that seems like forever from our life now) and when we were thinking of adopting. The story of our adoptions is long and has exciting twists and turns-surprises, suspense. Laughter and tears. This is one moment of that crazy magnificent story.

I had known for some time that it was time to find Lucy. I had felt impressions that I could not deny. I had wanted so much for John to feel the same. He trusted me, and he encouraged me-but this wasn't an experience that would be only for me, and I desired greatly that he receive a portion of the revelatory thoughts, feelings, dreams and whispers that were then part of my daily life regarding the need to find a dark haired, fair skinned, ebony eyed girl and make her one of ours.

I prayed God would give John the ability to feel the texture of our little girl's hair. I knew its fine corn silk softness though I had never touched it. I wanted John to know the depth of her eyes-the deepest and most full dark color that I had ever peered into, though I had never seen them. I cried for him to know her as I had come to know her. And I felt such confusion and frustration that all he could do was trust.

One day as I was talking to my mother on the phone I was describing my emotional longing. She listened patiently. I paced around the house as I expressed this sincere desire that "John could know her the way I do." I thought it would make sense that he, being her father, was entitled to the same revelation about her that I had been given (unsolicited I might add). And as I spoke to my mother I cried.

"Why doesn't God show her to John?"
"Why does he leave this to me?"

in my expression and question I felt a quiet and yet an undeniable answer come; it came through my heart, and it permeated my soul

"Because you are her mother".

In that moment, with that thought, I felt something I had never experienced before and have not had the privilege of knowing, really, since. It was power. It was power to do for another what she could not do for herself. It wasn't just peace, though peace was there. It wasn't understanding, though that had become sure. It was power-and I knew in that moment who I was in all of the eternities.

I am a mother.

And with my motherhood I have been granted power. Not power over those I rear, but power to aid them on their way. Power to call down from Heaven help for the sake of my own. Power to hang on when they choose to make choices I wouldn't . Power to trust that all of the heavens look down on them (and me) to get us home safe, if we will come.

I knew what I knew about Lucy because I am her mother.

Do you know the power of your motherhood? The conduit of pure inspiration that is available to you for the sake of those whom you rear? In this world where "experts" and friends and family have opinions about how we should raise our little ones, I encourage you to experience the reality that is the power of your mothering heart. To call to the heavens for help. To sincerely want what God wants for your children. To set aside what the world says you should say or do or be as a parent and seek out what God wants you to be-for the children He's asked you to mother.

In so doing you'll feel this power. It is quiet but it is sure. It is patience when anger is justified. It is calm when the household is chaos. It is inspiration when you don't know what to do or what to say. It is the ability to forgive when we are hurt by those we love, and the beauty of trust in a God who watches over them when we cannot. I know this power is real. I have experienced it in my motherhood. It is for any woman with a mothering heart who thinks of her children before herself.

It is for you, and it is for me.