One of the things I am learning through the adoption process is to trust my gut. It’s not something new, but it’s something I’ve found to be helpful. Just about any time we get a call, my immediate reaction is to make it work. My brain starts to piece it all together. BUT... my gut starts to flesh it all out. It’s the barometer. (Not just mine, but Mr. Gray’s, too.) This week, for whatever reason, the urgency in me has perked back up. One night this week, I got an IMMEDIATE strong urge to pray for our baby. We prayed, and I asked a few friends to join us. A few other things have sprinkled in as well. Nothing has ACTUALLY changed, but that still, small voice is there. So I’ll pray. We’ll wait. One day, it’ll be time, and my gut will know.
First game in the books. A little time behind the plate, some time on the mound, and first base—this Mama is proud! ⚾️ Go, Braves!
What a day! I don’t even know where to start. Today we celebrated the marriage of my nephew and his new wife. So glad to officially welcome her to the family. Weddings are always a great time to reflect on your own marriage, vows, and commitment. I love seeing new marriages grow and flourish. ❤️ Today was also a day to remember the life of a sweet girl in our community. A wonderful friend of ours filled in the gap for us so the boy could be with his friends and take part. He walked, ran, played, and then wore himself completely out with friends and family at the reception. Pretty sure he’ll sleep good tonight! (And maybe late in the morning, too!)
Earlier today, we were out in the country with my dad. The boy asked to walk to the barn to see the horses, so I left his insulin bag on the kitchen table and we walked over to visit the guys in the barn. About that time, my brother and his boys drove up. We visited, it got hot, and we made a move—to the tractors. Up to the cab went my little guy and his T-Paw. He took T-Paw for a quick spin while I waited at the tractor shed. As he descended the steps, he asked to drive the Ranger. We headed to get it and go for ride. I backed it out for him and turned it over to him. My dad joined us, and away we went. All the while, I knew full-well that his insulin bag was laying on the table in the house. While I had been footsteps from it before, we were about to cross the creek and take a quick trip to the back. I had to think—quickly. What had he had to eat? How much insulin was on board? Did I have anything at all on me that would act as a sugar if he started to act low? Should I make him stop for his bag? I weighed my options and let it go. We rode the roads, got back to the house, and all was well. Had I not been the last one to see him eat or been the one who last administered insulin, I may have made another choice. You see, diabetes doesn’t always play nice, and it certainly doesn’t follow any rules, but sometimes—just a carefully calculated sometimes—it’s nice to just let him be. While his safety is my utmost concern, I was grateful for a moment this afternoon when I could just let him enjoy without asking what his sugar was or reminding him to grab his bag as he walked out the door.
Welcome committee. (See also: tramplers of the yard and escapees; Magnolia killers. At least they’re kind of cute.)
Sometimes without knowing it, I go through a season where adoption seems less imminent, less likely, less our actual story. It is as though because we’re in the wait, my brain somehow discounts it to make it less painful. Then there are other days where I spend my time thinking of ways *I* can make it better. Ways I can change the story, the timeline, the path we’re waking. But I know in my heart of hearts, with all that I have ever known, that this path will be worth it. That it will be the way to the child(ren) that complete our family. So, for now, we’ll continue to soak up this time as a family of three, while we wait until it’s time to move forward. • “Finally, the seventh time, his servant told him, I saw a little cloud about the size of a man's hand rising from the sea. Then Elijah shouted, Hurry to Ahab and tell him, 'Climb into your chariot and go back home. If you don't hurry, the rain will stop you!' —1 Kings 18:44