🌿 A triple ping sounds as I’m savoring the day’s first cup of vanilla flavored coffee and the shaded, early morning coolness of our covered patio. Just out there “being” before the heat rolls back.
Opening the incoming text, I see a line of photos from my daughter, Jillian. Her first official mother-daughter date with her “new” two-year-old, Brielle—officially adopted just yesterday.
🌿 As I gaze upon the two images of head-to-head silly faces and, the last one, a happy little pixie-girl… I get hit with all the feels. Leaky eyes and a pressing on my heart.
It’s not like I haven’t received a few photos like this over the past year, but they were never labeled: mother-daughter. They’re the same kind of goofy-faced-girls selfies she used to send with her firstborn, Cadence—and knowing that first girl will soon turn fourteen brought its own wave of sentiment. And it’s all punching new love-and-wonder corners into my mama-gramma heart.
🌿 Life is so wonder-full and fragile. That a little life can be plucked out of brokenness and planted into a path of redemption moves me to tears. Tears for what was shattered and for these sweet and silly glimpses of hope for a mended future.
Our hearts have poured love for Brielle since our first FaceTime. And we’ve known she would likely one day be ours. But there is a reality of this grafting-in that takes time to settle, unpack… make a home. I can feel my heart opening that new space for her today. A real and forever space. A stretching that recognizes the broken-world labor pains that brought her to us, as well as the endless power of God to bring life and healing to her precious heart and soul… to her story… to all our broken stories.
🌿 And for this little one, He has chosen to set her into our family’s story… into my story… knowing we will not be perfect, but that she can grow alongside us. We will make room for her days of joy and of struggle and show her that this is the way of life on earth. Weeds and blooms and making space for each other—together. Letting our stories breathe in the arms of the One who writes and tends and holds us close on quiet, patio mornings where new pictures ping through and new chapters begin.
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