Stretch Marks

Just before we traveled to bring our Little A home an acquaintance innocently said, ‘how wonderful you get to enjoy all the joys of pregnancy without developing any stretch marks.” There was much innocence in those words yet they stung. The scab on my wounded heart and womb was ripped off. Exposing yet another raw and gaping wound left as the result of secondary infertility.

Although I did not physically carry Annalise in my womb and my body does not show the physical signs of pregnancy I walked an almost 4 year journey to this precious daughter of ours. I have stretch marks. Deep, ugly, penetrating stretch marks.

Stretch marks cover my marriage, my parenting, my friendships, my faith. There are plenty of them, crisscrossing over one another. Some deep, red and sore, others faint, pale, barely there. Yes, I have stretch marks. Beautiful representations of growth, faith, and resilience.

Today marks our one year anniversary of being home as a family of 4.
One year...12 months... 365 days. What a year it has been!

9 months of sleepless nights, more specialists and doctor appointments than I can count, physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, laughter, growth, tears, tantrums, a fractured ankle, AFOs, break-throughs and breakdowns.

I don't know that I can fully express in words all that we have been through in the past year with our precious Little A. She has brought so much joy to our family. She has left an indelible mark on so many lives. She has changed us for the better. She has challenged us. She has stretched us.

The stretch marks that I bore prior to bringing Little A home are still there but others have been formed as well. Stretch marks of flexibility, learning to lay down my wants or expectations for what was/is best for our daughters. Stretch marks of understanding (and sometimes a lack of understanding), stretch marks of triumphs and stretch marks of failures.

I am thankful for the stretch marks that this past year has brought and so very thankful for the beautiful, amazing little girl who has caused them.

Overcome

I wish I could share a picture with this post but I can't. At least not a visual picture. My words will not do the scene justice, but I must try.

Good Friday. The cross. Candles. The Lord's Supper beautifully arranged around the foot of the cross.  Lights dimmed. Music being played. Voices raised.  And then.....

I hear my precious A "singing" with her loudest voice. I glance to my left and there is my little one standing with arms raised high, eyes closed, swaying to the music. I know she is mimicking behavior she has witnessed every Sunday for the seven months she has been home but there is just something about watching her join in corporate worship that overwhelms me.

My little one. My little girl. Learning about the love of a Savior who died on the cross for her. My sweet Little A experiencing her first Easter with her forever family. As I watched her I was overcome with emotion. Overcome with the heaviness of Good Friday. The reality that Jesus died on the cross for me. It was my sin that drove Him to the cross. Overcome with the sweetness that my God and Father loves me so much that He brought Little A home to our family. Overcome with the deep responsibility that I have as this little girl's mom to help lead her into the arms of her Savior.

Overcome.  Overwhelmed.