The Grand Plan.

I’m sitting in the dark in a completely silent house a little after 9:30pm.  This is my time to unwind, to relax, to pray, and to consider how I might be able to do better tomorrow.  It’s my time.  FPD worked a shift in the ER all last night, then he worked at the hospital all day today.  He’s asleep.  I was with sick kids all day.  Four have Strep throat, three will get it, I’m sure.  Giggles has asthma and whenever she gets any kind of illness she needs nearly round the clock Albuterol.  I’ll be doing that overnight tonight, at the same time I hand out Ibuprofen like its candy.  I’m tired, but this is what I love.

I love the crazy busy that comes with having a houseful of kids.  I love the chaos.  I don’t love when they’re sick, but I love when they’re cuddly, and I love being the nurturer.  I love that I haven’t had all these kids all their lives, and they still want me to fix it when they don’t feel well.  I love that they trust me enough to make it better.

As I scrub the counters with bleach one more time, I wonder if this was the grand plan.  I never imagined being mom to this many.  I have a diary from high school that has the names for five boys written in the front of it.  I didn’t want daughters.  Teenage girls were scary (I should know.  I was scary).  Five.  That was my max.  I met FPD shortly after I scrawled those names in that diary.  He thought five was scary.  His max was three.

We settled on seven, and I’m not done.  FPD is coming to terms with that.  Slowly, just like he always does.

Hope may have surgery in Liberia.  We’re working on it.  Slowly, but surely, we’re going to make sure this little girl doesn’t fall through the huge crack that African children often tumble into.  Was she part of the grand plan?  Yes.  She’s part of someone’s plan.  Everyone is.  Unfortunately, it may not be in the plan that I get to call her my daughter.  I’m coming to terms with that.  Slowly, just like I always do.

People who know what it means to come to terms with this type of hurt ask if I think that losing Hope was a way to lead us to the child that’s meant to be ours.  I have no clue.  As much as we, as humans, like to think we have insight into what the grand plan is, we don’t.  I’ll never know until the very end, or the very beginning, depending on how you look at it.  All I can do right now is grieve, and look for a way to make sure Hope is as safe as she can be.  Maybe there’s another child out there for us, I don’t know.  If there is, he or she will find us when the time is right.  

Until then, I’m okay.

I’m okay sitting here in the dark, after handing out Amoxicillin and Ibuprofen, after scrubbing counters, after kissing hot little foreheads, after making it all better (well, as much as I can anyway).  I’m okay with the grand plan as it is right now.  We’re okay.

who is still updating her home study.  You know, just in case it’s part of the grand plan 😉    

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