Hanging Laundry and Chasing Rabbits

Sunbeams break through. That tall, tall tree watching over, sways just so. Leafy green orbs  light up and rays burst through their gaps. My long hair wrangled and stacked high on my head. And my dress billows up in the breeze. One more clip. One more pair of jeans washed clean. Perfect. Just enough clothes pins. I breathe deep and stretch my arms. This is hard work for my short self, reaching high and long. Picking up my basket and empty jar, glance once more at the curtains of denim and khaki. I wish I could say I do this often and write something thoughtful about the simple life, but really, I just ran out of quarters. Or rather, the good man put them some secret place and I cannot find them for the life of me.  

I smile because I am grateful, for this small moment of quiet, where clean dry clothes can be the biggest worry. Where grace overflows as the leaves blow and joy can be counted in clothes pins. And I want to drag this moment on…

Walking in my mind returns to worry. Another wrench thrown into the plans. Our plans, so we should have known better. Of course, we aren't surprised. Learning we are set back six months, a year? I said, cried to the good man, face in my hands, "I'm tired! I feel like we're chasing…chasing rabbits and they always get away!"

There was a time we would think ourselves lost by miles. But today, we're chasing rabbits. It's tiring work, at least we're moving forward. And it is discouraging work -- just when we think that we are finally there, finally close enough to grasp it…it scurries away. But we're not lost, and we're moving still.

This is a familiar place of distain -- those ceiling tiles counted over and over, to memory, while the cold steel of instruments touches teeth. The low echo of tense voices while waiting in line after line, the DMV. The smell of disinfectant, sterile all around and white, with the scratchy similar-same blue pattern gown, and the draft. 

We know this place well. And hate it completely. Waiting. Waiting still, with no end in sight.

The pages I'm clinging to promise that God is in control, that there is a plan, that He knows and is the beginning and the end, He finishes what He starts, and nothing is too big. I know these things. And I cling tight this morning, for in this moment I am fearing. 

Will this ever happen? Were we getting ahead of ourselves? Are we destined to be childless forever? Did we make the announcements for nothing? How embarrassing. Does this mean we should just accept it, no children, ever? I thought this was what You were telling us to do, was I wrong?

This journey has been long. And has been made longer. And I am running on steam. Hope, the sight of it, its being within grasp, gave a much needed boost of energy and peace. But now, I'm fresh out. Restless, weary and I'm struggling to just keep walking. So I cling.

And I worry we've lost it, the rabbit we're chasing (aka: the adoption). I worry so I cling. We've been here before. This Barren Land left with nothing but dry dirt and exhaustion.  Wondering how on earth did we get here and how do we keep going. 

We've been here before. And I am grateful -- to know that there is value in the wait. These familiar places of distain we hate completely have purpose. This too has purpose. We've discovered it before and live by faith in its existence. I can feel it, heavy, something is building but my impatience just wants to catch it and be done. 

I'm clinging and praying -- for strength, for peace, for hope, for sight of the reasons, to value the adventure, and joy to be found and counted along the way. 

I return to the line and breathe thanks with every pin retrieved and bit folded. Remembering simple truths learned on dusty roads in the Barren Land:

The journey is not over.

This is not my home.

God is good, even when life is hard.

So for the moment, all I need is the breeze, the birds, that tall, tall tree, and the wild bun of untamed hair atop my head. This moment I cling. And the next. And the one after. Until it is habit. Until it is second nature. Until there is no more worry. 

And in the sun I hum…

"My God is strong and mighty. My God is faithful. My hope is in the Lord, for He is able…"