It's All Going To Work Out
This morning my meditation was simply me repeating to myself “It’s all going to work out.” Over and over again. I have to believe it, even if “working out” is different than the path I believe I need.
It was about a year ago today that we finished our foster parent classes. And a year in December of loving you from a tiny newborn baby boy to a rambunctious toddler full of joie de vivre and endless giggles. A year of living with the absolute uncertainty of our future with you.
You see in the classes I understood. I listened, I read the manuals. I made sense of this. And when I heard about people whose path was hard I thought “God bless them. Please not us.” What I didn’t understand then, and I certainly do now, is a mother’s love. Whether that baby comes via birth canal or phone call makes no difference. There’s a ferocity to this love, a deep well that cannot be contained. And it hurts. I wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt to love you.
I wake up every morning and ask myself “Can I do this?” in regards to a number of things but mostly foster care. And then there’s the yes, sometimes barely whispered, and we keep going. We keep going because you are the teacher and we are the students and this love is everything. This love can never be taken away. This love can never ever be contained.