Shattered Glass

Two days after the girls left I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the energy. I was emotionally wiped and physically drained. At one point I did a load of laundry, but I couldn’t fold it. I had nothing left.

But that didn’t last long.

I got motivated; motivated to move. To do whatever it was that I could do. To buy, to sell, to initial and sign. Not to mention the needed recovery from 5 weeks of no house work, no yard work, no work. Its was 5 weeks of all play. The weeds were my proof; they were up to my eyeballs.

Then, as if punishment for spending two days being brain dead, I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking. I had and have so many ideas. Ways to fundraise, errands to run, graphs to make, things to check up on. Grief, memories, laughter, pictures, updates, questions, answers, more questions. I couldn’t focus on one thing. It was debilitating.

Shattered Glass.

In my hollow head splinters of a thousand thoughts floated  without purpose. It was beautiful, but deceitful. It wasn’t enticing, but instead threatening.

I realized what I was doing wrong.

Instead of taking practical advise on how to prioritize my day and schedule each minute; instead of sucking down caffeine in supernatural quantities, or figuring out how to go on 4 hours of sleep, I knew I just had to quiet my brain. And to be able to quiet my brain, I just had to trust. Just trust. Nine little letters that don’t seem intimidating. Wrong again.

Just trust.

Trust that the girls know we love them. Trust that they still love us. Trust that they miss us. Trust that the paperwork will come in. Trust that the money will appear by the grace of God. Trust that we won’t be delayed. Trust that this will happen. Trust that “the powers that be” approve. Trust that countries get along. Trust that planes land safely. Trust that they are safe. Trust that God ordained this.

Because He did!!

And in all of this I fail; over and over and over again. I’m getting better, but I’m no where near perfect. I stress, I fret, I work. I turn my energy in productivity. I get things done. Then I’m reminded that everything I can do is nothing compared to what is needed.

I only have one choice.

Just trust in our Great Heavenly Father. That he will  sweep up this shattered glass and make it beautiful in the end.



Sometimes when you’re in the shower shampooing your hair you smell a familiar scent. It reminds you of a little girl’s wet hair under your nose wrapped in a towel and giggling with glee. She was perfectly capable of getting ready for bed on her own, but she wanted Mama.

I had no intention giving  up any of those precious moments of bonding, exhausted or not.

The scent reminded me of those adorable freckles on her nose and the way she could amaze me with her endless silliness and creativity. She had her own world and we often got to be a part of it.

It reminded me of the moments where my hand became an uncontrollable monster tickling her on the floor until she was out of breath; begging for me to stop and hoping I never would.

It reminds me of those moments when she initiated a kiss good night. When she said “I love you Mama too.” Using the word too incorrectly.

It reminds me of those hugs when she squeezed me with all of her strength because that is how much she loves.

I never got tired of holding her even though my back ached and her shoulder strangled my neck.

I savored the early morning cuddles on the couch while she was still sleepy and just wanted to be held.

I miss the moments when I felt perfectly at peace just being her Mama; happily waiting for her sister to descend the stairs so we could start our day.

Sometimes when you’re in the shower washing your hair, you miss that little girl. You hope and pray that somewhere on the other side of the world she is missing you.

We pray that she is safe, not fearful of the dark, warm and well fed. We know much of this is not realistic in her world and our hearts ache for what we wish we could give.

And we can do little but pray that God will be generous and allow us to bring her home so I can shampoo her hair again.