I stand at the sink, lean over the suds slowly dissolving into the warm going cold.
I cry into the dishwater.
Rivulets flowing down silent I think about Little Girl's words, such big thoughts and feelings streaming tearful from her five year old heart.
She misses her Great Maw-Maw and Great Paw-Paw, now in heaven. She misses her Godfather Dustin, Mrs. Courtney, and Carli, so far away in California. She misses Uncle Vance and Uncle Charlie Brown, saying she only gets to see them once a year on Thanksgiving. She misses her first little best friend, Gracie, who she thinks "broke up with her" as a friend, she doesn't understand why Gracie is gone. She doesn't know about the police that came, several cars of them, all she knows is that never again will we read Charlotte's Web through the chain link fence with the bright-eyed little girl who waited for her for hours for a chance to talk and play. I can't convince her it's not because she wasn't a good friend. All this that has been bottled up continues to pour out, I try to catch what I can in prayer, cupping my empty, useless feeling hands to the Father.
Now, scrubbing hard on porcelain plates at things dried hard I stop and let it all sink and I sob.
Sometimes soaking in water is the best thing to soften all that's hard.
And it's a hard word to choke out to Him, the Living Water that soaks through my tough-mama places but I admit it in my mind to Him because it's all I'm thinking and He's knows it anyway.
Lord, I feel so... I am so... inadequate.
Just a couple of days ago she was asking me about the Trinity. And even more recently, more questions about why she is going to be adopted but not her sister or this new baby to be born.
Don't know why, but I thought I'd have more time. For something. To prepare? To pray more? To grow up more myself?
And now... all these needs and wants and desires that I can do nothing but put a band-aid on... I can't touch the source that wounds us all, the heart bleeding that starts so young.
Loneliness. Loss. A need for friendship, community. Wanting to feel loved, wanted, enjoyed.
I press palms against stainless steel and draw a shaky breath. Surely this is only the beginning of all she will cry about that I can not fix for her. I remember the heartache in growing up...
... and I remember what finally stopped my tears... my fears... my loneliness. The heartache reminds me Who finally stopped it.
He is here, washing right alongside me.
The Lord washes all as white as snow... scrubbing on and soaking into tough, dried up me, until I soften and come clean.
I say it to Him again, lay a clean plate down for the rinsing.
Lord, I am so inadequate.
I hear Him gently whisper: you are.
I nod more drops off my cheeks, I know this in my bones. Heart-whisper more truth: And You, Lord, are NOT.
Again He speaks, comfort beyond comfort from Parent to parent Who passionately loves His precious child He let me carry, lets me steward: you were not created to, and are not capable of, meeting these needs she has. Only I can meet them. Just keep directing her to Me, I will never leave her or forsake her. I will gently lead you in what to say.
Relief and love for the One who loves me so well rushes out in liquid prayer and I pray I will let God be God in her life, and not try to take on that role myself, but by lifestyle and prayer and wise words and faithful love direct this daughter of mine to the One who can do more than all we can ask or imagine, Who fills all our empty neediness, His cup perpetually, gloriously overflowing.
And this beautiful communion of hearing Truth and being comforted in my pain is interrupted by this ugly thought that creeps in and clings hard, a shell covering over my vulnerability, my weakness.
Why hasn't my husband, who has been home for a while now, noticed that I am crying? Doesn't he care to know what's going on with his wife? Doesn't he care to know what's been going on with his daughter today?
Anger starts to choke back my tears, squash the peace and the Presence of all that's been cleansing.
The water is filthy and I pull out the stopper.
I feel a wordless prayer, I feel a plea because I know I am feeling all wrong and it is far too easy to attach emotion where it doesn't belong. Crush someone who isn't the enemy, simply because they are in the path of pain, and anger seems to be a wildly wider, easier detour than this narrow way.
But He is still standing next to me at the sink, the One who has seen my soundless tears, heard my unspoken prayers. The One who actually can read my confused, tired, rambling mind, the One my deceitful heart lies exposed before.
He says it straight, firm: your husband was not created to, and is not capable of, meeting these needs in you. Only I am.
It is His firm kindness that leads me to repentance.
I pour it all out, every last drop. A flood gate opened of fears for her future that I can not control, hurts that I can not bear for her, experiences that I cannot heart-impart to her, my inconsistencies that shame and humble me, my awareness of my utter weakness and vulnerability without Him.
And somehow, beautifully, He puts back together all my falling apart with the breath of His mouth. And as the Father comforting His weeping child He replays it softly... all I can bear witness to with my life His-story.
Remember, my beloved... when you cried to Me in your desperate loneliness, and I lead you to the place where you truly found you could be content with Me alone for the rest of your days?...
Remember when I answered your cry to be the faithful, loving Father to your fatherless daughter? You sought Me, and I answered you, and I delivered you from all your fears. I met you in that place. Jeremy was there. You have a witness to My coming to you that changed you...
He goes on and on until I am calm with a peace that passes understanding because the situation has not at all changed. But now I remember how The Faithful One does not change like the shifting shadows, but is the same yesterday, today, tomorrow, and forever.
Remember when... Remember how... Remember what...
... Remember Who. Remember Me.
And my weaknesses fade as I focus on His strength, choosing to think on what is true, noble, lovely, praiseworthy.
He is not inadequate.
My God shall supply all my needs, according to His riches and mercy. He will give His angels charge over me, Jehovah Jireh cares for me. For me. For me.
For my children.
For your loved ones.
He is not inadequate.