Making Memories

Summer is slowly winding down and similarly my thoughts are turning reflective. It’s hard to believe that it’s been four and a half months since our joyful Little One became a part of our family. I wish you could see the way his beautiful blue eyes light up in wonder and innocence when you read him a book, or how his grin spreads wide across his face when you say “I love you”. How he loves to cuddle and hold your hand when he is having a bottle or going off to sleep. How he’s learning to grasp his toys and hang on tight or how he growls at his elephant while trying to shove it in his mouth. Or how his brothers dote on him and introduce him as their new baby brother to random strangers, even when you think the newness would have worn off. How they follow him out the door four times a week, yelling good bye and blowing him kisses all the way to the car as he heads off to another birth visit. And every day these and a hundred other moments leave my heart bursting open, overflowing.

As one unforeseen complication after another has cropped up week after week along this journey, we have spent the last couple of months hanging on to hope, trusting that God has us right where He wants us, and making as many memories as we can together in the time that we have. Sometimes, it’s just little things, like a going for a walk in the neighborhood, dinner at a favorite restaurant, playing at the park, or going for ice cream – celebrating the little “firsts” with our Little One – and sometimes we have been a little more adventurous.

We have done things this summer we always talked about, but never made happen. Like when we went to the Cooks Creek Medieval Festival and took in a jousting competition, a fencing demonstration, the exhibition of mounted archers and the training requirements of a squire, toured a replica Viking village, and the boys even participated in the Highland Heavy Games. The day was so hot, but we had so much fun. And the best part is that we did it all together. Granted, Baby slept through most of it and won’t remember a bit, but the rest of us will always remember that he was with us when we think back on that day.

We took Baby on his first “road trip” to spend the weekend at my aunt and uncle’s cabin and enjoyed a boat ride, swimming, rock collecting, exploring and wild raspberry picking, a fantastic thunderstorm, a soak in a wood-fired hot tub, and lots of laughs and time with family.

We took a day trip to Steep Rock Beach Park, a place we had never been, to spend the day with friends. The boys had a blast playing on the slack line and chasing frogs with their friends, then heading to the beach where Baby had his very first dip in the lake and seemed to enjoy himself. On the way home we ate snacks in the car and listened to the antics of Mr. Popper and his penguins. Then rolled exhausted little boys into their beds before collapsing into our own.

We spent a day at St. Malo Beach and ran into friends that we haven’t seen in a long time. The boys made castles in the sand and defended their walls with battalions of rock “soldiers”. We went swimming, had a picnic and explored the campground, then took the scenic road home and imagined what our life might be like if we lived in the country.

We’ve spent days exploring new places and revisiting some old ones. We’ve connected with family and friends and even made new ones this summer. We’ve introduced our Little One to dozens of people and he has shared his smile with them. We’ve been buoyed by their prayers, surrounded with support and felt the love of our community.

It’s interesting to me. That when you know that your time together may be short, it can make the moments shared sweeter. More poignant. How much easier it is to shrug off the little things that might normally irritate or annoy you. How you forgive more easily, because you recognize that to poison the moments with those you love is to rob you of potential joy. You become more intentional. More careful with your words. More caring in your actions. You hold your loved ones a little closer. You live life on purpose.

As I reflect on these things, I am so thankful that our Little Gift has been just that. He has brought so much joy into our lives. Perhaps he will be with us forever, as we so desperately hope, but perhaps he was only sent for a time. To be infused with the love we had to give and to be introduced to the Father that will be with him always. And as much as we are being allowed to pour into him, he has also been teaching us in the process. Teaching us to live life to the fullest and embrace the time we have as a family. To passionately wring the marrow out of every available moment and savor it’s sustenance. To appreciate what we have. To be content and to be thankful. To understand that family isn’t just blood, but rather it’s made up of the people that you love and those who love you.

This summer, we’ve reveled in our Little One’s growth, his emerging personality. Marveled at his strength. Celebrated all the little milestones that he is making. And yet now as fall approaches and we get closer to the next court date, it’s hard not to feel as though something is ending. The uncertainty of his case continues to hang over our heads and the list of unanswered questions grows longer. We have managed to establish a congenial relationship with his birth mom and we are so thankful for that. And yet with that the heart tugs. Wrestles with knowing that we love him deeply, but so does she. Wrestles with wanting what is best for him. Wrestles with knowing that the decisions to be made are entirely out of our hands and that God alone knows what the future holds.

And so, we hang on to hope. Like a drowning man on a life rope. Daily choosing to stay in that place of trust, that place of peace, yet allowing ourselves voice the questions, to pour out our raw and shattered emotions before our Father and be real with where we are in this journey. And in the stillness that often comes after the weeping, He faithfully whispers to my soul “Be still. I’ve got this.”