I've been reading Redeeming Love throughout my OYC, and
it seems to be running parallel with my life.
Set in the 1850s, even so, so much of me lingers in its
pages. And tonight I read as Amanda battled with her
barrenness.
There is an inexplicable joy, but also a haunting hurting
that occurs when I spend time with children.
I volunteer with the kids at church on some Sundays. And even though it's tiring, there is
something very fulfilling about it. I was with three and four-year-olds last weekend, and this little girl stayed close to me throughout
the hour and a half we were together. I have no idea why
she took to me, I, looking nothing like her mother.
But she searched for my hand, rested her head on my knee,
curled up in my lap. And when her
mother came to pick her up, she rushed away and into her arms.
As I walked from the empty classroom, I was at
peace. Happy from a full morning.
Minutes passed and I stood with friends in the
atrium, planning the rest of the evening.
My mind had switched gears from snack time and dancing to dinners and
goodbyes. That night would be one where
the congregation said farewell to a founding member of the church, and I was
trying to figure out who else would be in attendance.
And then I felt little arms around my leg.
It was the little girl.
Out of nowhere. Scampering up to
me, hugging me.
Here I thought children had memories of fish. Two seconds at best. Nope, here she was, scrambling for another
hug.
As a husbandless, childless woman in my prime, my
heart lurched. This beautiful little
girl wanting to be near me...
I admit, I have pretty much suffocated any desire to have
a husband. To be a wife. To have children. To be a mother. Suffocate is a good word. Because any time these dreams come up for
air, I stifle them. I push them away, I
push them back down. Alleviate. I've tried my hardest to remove whatever
desire I had in being someone special to someone special.
...who would want me?
That's the question I always find myself asking. And instead of waiting for God to answer, I
answer for Him. No one.
And I've made it along pretty well these last six
months. Except when it comes to
children. Children spark something
inside of me that I can't push down as easily.
And as I returned to church that evening to say goodbye
to the pastor, out of nowhere, again, these same happy little hands found me, reaching up to me, remembering me.
Shouldn't you have
forgotten me by now?
What do you keep
reigniting inside of me?
Why do you keep
running up to me when I think you're gone?
These desires that I think are gone aren't gone. They're still there, in the pit of my
stomach, buried. And every once and a
while they manage to reach out with little hands, wanting nothing more
than...me, and remind me deep down of what I want, and may never have.
