If you follow me on social media you know, if not let me fill you in. I spent about 6 days substitute parenting.
My friend, one of my people, is an amazing foster mom to a wild and crazy, loveable two year old. (Girl, bless!). When she went to her brother’s wedding, I got the privilege of stepping in for her so she didn’t have to worry about him.
Y’all. It was hard work. I was on “vacation” from work but I worked harder than I work at work some days. I gained a new respect for her and a new respect for parents of toddlers in general. (Again, bless).
Tonight, I kind of miss him though. While I can lay here and type and not worry about what is happening in another room (unless the 11 year old Yorkie gets up), I appreciate my quiet home. But it’s too quiet too.
Last night, well early this morning, I woke up at 2am for no apparent reason. My thoughts went to him. I went and checked on him. He was fine. Sleeping peacefully in his bed, a hot wheels car in each hand. All boy.
As I went back to my bed I thought about what he may have seen in his little life. I thought about all the changes and all the upheaval that 2 year old has seen. I can’t help but wonder what happens next. What story has God written for this tiny warrior?
As I prayed for God to protect his tiny heart and weave truths bigger than the lies into his little mind, I pray that he feels loved. I pray that in the 6 days he was here, he knew that he was loved. I pray that that will drown out all the hard things. I pray that when he needs to come back to something, he’ll come back to that. To the love he felt. I know my friend loves him well. I hope I do too. And I hope that will be the loudest thing he hears always. No matter what comes.
Tiny hearts are fragile. I know this all too well as my little heart was shattered a few years later than his and yet looking down the anniversary of another year, it doesn’t necessarily hurt less, it just hurts different. I’m learning that about all kinds of traumatic experiences. You keep processing. You keep living through and if you’re lucky you can still grab onto the times where love was louder.
And I’m lucky in that. Because through it all, the bad times, the hard times, the times when I wasn’t loveable, I was always, always loved. I always can go back to the love of my mother, the love of my grandparents, the love of my God when I choose to remember. Because that love never wavered. That love was always there.
I didn’t always grab to it like I should. And as an adult, struggling with some things, I can see that a lot of it may go back to the fact that I struggle to be loved. I have a hard time accepting love from others, even when it’s freely given to me.
But God calls me his beloved. He says I’m so worthy of love that He sent His son to die for me.
So maybe it’s time to pray the same prayer for me that I pray for him. I pray that through it all, my heart can remember it was, us and always will be loved. May that be louder than all the rest. Because I am worthy of love, even when I don’t feel it. Even when I don’t act like it.
Protect my heart and heal it. Keep working on me…this week and always.