The Weaver

Last night, we had another first as Daniel's parents. He came into our room and said, "Mama and Dada, I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?" As he crawled into our bed and wiggled between us into the safest place this little person could find, I wondered what his dream was about. With all the things he's been telling us about his past (I shared a bit about it here), I honestly don't know how he doesn't have nightmares every night.

The first five years of his life (before being taken to the orphanage) were nothing but extreme poverty, hunger, abuse, and neglect. I will not share the details, for this is Daniel's story to tell, but he's shared things that I'd expect to see in a movie or read in a novel. Not things told by a child who calls me mommy. Who laughs at my dinner table. Who snuggles up with me in my bed.

I remember renting the movie "Slumdog Millionaire", but halfway through I just had to stop watching because it was too heartbreaking. Even though I knew it would certainly have a happy ending, I couldn't hang on long enough to get there. I guess I wish I could do the same with Daniel. I know what happens later in his story, that he finally gets a family, but I want to pretend that the years before he got here were just a bad dream. I want to rewind his life and erase the bad. I wonder why this little boy had to go through so much before coming home.

It reminds me of one of my favorite poems. It more eloquently says what I was trying to write on Sunday.

THE WEAVER

By Benjamin Malachi Franklin

(1882-1965)

My life is but a weaving

between my Lord and me,

I cannot choose the colors

He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow,

and I in foolish pride

forget He sees the upper

but I the under side.

Not till the loom is silent

and the shuttles cease to fly,

shall God unroll the canvas

and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed

in the Weaver's skillful hand,

as threads of gold and silver

in the pattern life has planned.

I was given a beautiful Guatemalan tapestry for my birthday by Brad's cousin (thanks, Suzanne!).



She had won it at a fundraising auction and thought of me. She'll never know what an encouragement this gift was. It was June 2008. We were almost a year into our adoption and just weeks earlier found out that our dossier (completed in October 2007) had never been submitted to the Guatemalan government. We had missed critical deadlines, the Hague had gone into effect December 31, 2007 closing adoptions to Guatemala, and it looked impossible to ever bring our son home. There were some dark threads woven in those months. All we could see was the tangled mess of the underside.



But I knew God's hand was working on this tapestry. Our hearts were already tied to Daniel's. We knew God could fix man's error and provide a way for Daniel to come home. Oh how I wished then that I could have had a glimpse of the finished tapestry of our adoption and what beauty is being woven now.

Daniel has many dark threads in the tapestry of his life. Rows of black that I wish I could rip out. I want to show him my tapestry and say, "I understand hurt and pain and loss. See, I have dark threads, too." But to be honest, my darkest ones look gray compared to his.

Today I brought out that tapestry that Suzanne gave me along with some others that I plan to have framed and displayed with a copy of the above poem. When Daniel saw it he said, "Oh, it's beautiful!!! Where did you get it?" I told him that it was given from a friend who believed his adoption was a work in progress, but knew it would someday be a beautiful masterpiece.

And here's two brothers who stopped long enough with their play to say, "Mom, take our picture with this pretty blanket!"

God's busy weaving today--but as the mom, I play a large part in what colors are added. (A humbling thought.) My daily prayer is that I would have wisdom, patience, and strength in parenting so my words and actions would add only cheerful colors to their lives.

Ava once said that when Daniel got home, she wanted his life to be so full of happy that he wouldn't even be able to remember what it was like to be sad. We've already been so blessed to witness these threads of happy being woven into our lives. Such a beautiful contrast to the dark threads of the past. And these moments--these threads--are certainly silver and gold.

May God weave beauty into your tapestry, too!

Much Love,

Kathie