Esther and I were reading a book before bed. Then this thought…I love you enough to have had you. To have gotten big. And uncomfortable. And to have went through all the pain of bringing a baby into this world.
Then another thought…But I don’t love you enough to do what your birthmom did.
I’m not sure that makes sense.
To the end of my days…as I watch Esther grow…no matter how our special open adoption plays out…I will always believe that Esther’s birthmom has a love for her that I will never understand.
It’s a love different that mine. Braver maybe. Willing to give up more maybe. A love I am struggling to describe.
And she handed her to us. Trusted us. Believed we would love her. Cuddle her. Read to her.
And we do…more than my heart can handle.
In the story of Esther’s already amazing life, I can’t forget her birthmom’s role. Won’t forget. What she did. How she carried her. Chose life. Then loved her enough to let me be her Mom.
It was God’s plan. And she was brave enough to follow love down the hard path.
If I thought adoption meant we were doing something speical…boy was I wrong.
If I thought the Gospel was about me doing something special…wrong again.
It’s all because of Him. All because of the cross. All because of His love.
And sometimes love does hard things. And sometimes love reads books.
For M’s privacy I cropped this but see those hands holding tightly? Love…