When I moved into my house, I had to replace the big front window. Very expensive, but now I LOVE my front
window. Its sides can crank open and let
a terrific cross breeze through the house.
Actually, only one side cranks open.
The other side, G broke a couple of years ago, so it’s permanently
closed. I remind G often that he is not
allowed to touch the crank.
But recently, he did. And he
broke the window. Broke it permanently
open.
I was angry.
My first move was to confirm he had done it. I asked.
He hesitated. I asked why he was
hesitating.
“Because then you won’t want me any more.”
Mercy.
We have a routine, started during our visits in Haiti, where I tell him
he’s my son, I’m his mama, and I’ll love him forever. Every day we go over that. We talk talk talk about families and what it
means that we’re a family. He tells me
that he never wants to leave me when he’s “a big man,” and I assure him that he
can choose to stay if he wants. Over and
over and over.
I often turn down invitations so I can give him focused attention. Since Joseph came home, he has commented on
the constant efforts that I make to pour into G’s love tank.
Yet he would consider that I wouldn’t want him any more over a broken
window?
And this makes me truly angry.
The years spent in an orphanage, molding G’s core beliefs, carving a
deep pit of need in his baby heart. Now
our years are spent filling it up, by God’s grace.
“I could never not want you.
You are my son; I am your mama; I will love you forever. Even if you made the biggest worst choices
and I was the most angry, I would always still love you the most. I will always want you because we are a
family.”
I’ve read that, worldwide, at least 18 million children
are living in orphanages or alone on the streets. No one
to pour mama-love into them. Does
that make you angry?
