More on learning to love...

    Now for more of my story... my journey of learning to love. I hope that term doesn't make you gasp. Have you ever babysat a child and the things that child did annoyed you more than your own child? You do not mistreat that child (God forbid). You do not dislike the child, but you haven't learned to know and understand that child and therefore you struggle with tolerance, with forbearance, with long-suffering. So often we pardon to the extent that we love. Learning to love can be a process, a journey. It may be described as "the cup not full", "the foundation not layed", "the anchor has not caught hold", "the chasm not bridged". And yes, it is hard, because, well, you must learn to love. This is not babysitting and the child, the precious yet hurting child, doesn't go home for the night.    
     Now a bit about me: I struggle tolerating weakness, especially in those dearest to me. I was raised in a "buck up and get over it" environment. If you were tired it was "in your head". If you were sick it probably was "in your head". Feeling sorry for yourself was not allowed (I still do sometimes, tho! :)  It was pounded into my head to "be happy". Oh yes, I had a wonderful childhood and a loving home! My parent's taught me about life and life isn't easy. BUT...along with it... sympathy doesn't come easy for me. I don't like tears with a reason, not to mention the ones without.
     One day the Lord gave me a child. A perceptive and sensitive child. A child who searched my face hourly for what it would reveal. One day that child started crying. For months she cried. Some weeks were better. Many weeks were worse. She cried when she rubbed her arm on the table. She cried when she "almost" stubbed her toe. She cried when she went to bed. She cried when she woke up. She cried when she ate breakfast. She cried when she ate supper. We tried lots of love. We tried holding time. We tried ignoring the tears. We tried time outs. We tried positive positive positive. We prayed and prayed and prayed, but nothing worked for long. Many days it felt like we lived in a house of doom and gloom. It grated on my nerves like many splinters. Many days I cried because of the half-filled cup, the lack of foundation, the chasm unbridged, the drifting anchor, the void of trust. And there is no fairy solution for trust. It's like trying to build a castle on water. No, I'm sure you never noticed. It looked good on the outside most of the time. No one else knew how we watched when she would wrap herself around a nearly perfect stranger. So sweet, so endearing, everyone thought. (Some of you adoption experts who are reading this are saying, " It's RAD -reactive attachment disorder-, read Nancy Thomas!" We agree, it is partially attachment difficulties, but I'm not focusing this post on RAD.) Yet we knew something was not right, something was missing. It is not so hard to handle behavioral issues, when you see results, when you see improvement. But the lack of results for months and months... the coming up to the surface for a few days only to be plunged under again and again with only tears...no answers, no reason, no light... it broke me, it broke us.
    The breaking was a gradual thing. Yet slowly God and I found a little word called "grief" once again in a cracked room of my heart. Of course, God knew it all along. The grief of forgiving myself again for being strong, proud, and independent, which may have lead to the events that followed our firstborn's birth. Why is forgiving myself so hard? I've rarely struggled forgiving the doctor. But ME, how I have hated myself. And once again I find myself facing the need to accept, to submit. "Lord, I'm so ashamed, so humiliated. Why? When you have given so much? When I wouldn't change my life if I could! Why am I struggling with this again?" I feel ridiculous. Maybe the Lord needs to show me how weak I am.  Or maybe it's because of the loss, because it is what it is, it is "loss". Loss with horrible memories. Memories that the Devil loves to taunt me with. Maybe loss must be grieved and maybe grief is a journey, too.
    With my heart open and grief exposed once again, it changed me. It softened me again, she who needs softening. In laying down my will, in accepting life again, I found a deeper acceptance of her, my tearful child. I, me, couldn't change her. No matter what we tried. We were at the end of our rope. The Lord was working with me. He wanted to quiet me. He needed to humble me. He needed to teach me again that I am so small, so destitute, so depraved, that I cannot even fully love my child without Him filling my cup daily with love, love overflowing.
    And sometimes we must learn to love on purpose, diligently, slowly, absolutely on purpose. I'm learning to grit my teeth and smile. Hug when I feel like glaring. Talk kindly when I feel like shaming. Go slow when I feel like hurrying. I'm sure most moms can relate! Yet children with whom the relationship foundation is laid, you can mess up, you can back up, and they trust you again. A child with whom you are floating one mistake can take months to repair.
      The last couple months have been amazing. She has almost quit crying for unknown reasons, almost completely! Yes, she's changed, yet probably the biggest change has been me. I have accepted her tears in a deeper way. I have accepted her in a deeper way. I'm learning to love and it's deep and it's full. I know God is filling my love-cup. It's a journey and still too many days I find myself being the unsympathetic person I so dislike. But hopefully through it all day by day, hour by hour I'm learning to be more understanding, more sympathetic, more accepting, more long-suffering. And maybe, just maybe, she needs me as much as I need her.