My brother and his family are in the process of moving out of my apartment. Most of their stuff is still here, but since Christmas Eve, they've been sleeping at my parent's house. The "broke house" as my 3-year old niece calls it. So, since then, I've been alone for the first time since we evacuated for Katrina.
I don't like it.
I miss the kids so much, it hurts...especially my precious girls.
Yesterday, they came over while the rest of the family hung sheetrock at my parent's house. They came early, in their jammies,with the remnants of breakfast still on their faces. I gave them each a bath and we played for a while...then they both went down for a nap. The baby is at a stage where she fights her sleep, so I have to hold her and sing for a while sometimes. Yesterday, I couldn't get the words out, so I just held her and cried.
Her crib sits empty next to my bed now. And her older sister's princess pillow is next to me, smelling like her...but tonight they are sleeping elsewhere. And their TiTi is crying alone as a Disney movie plays in the background (I'm not even watching it, that has just become the thing to do at bedtime).
In moments like these, I tend to think of Amy Carmichael. I think of the incredible love she had for her temple children...the mother's heart she had for the children of strangers. At times, I think perhaps, I too, have been given a mother's heart, maternal desires, not for my own children, but for those of others. Yet, it seems the Lord always answers that with a remembrance of a longing, a yearning, a knowledge of something greater, a deeper love...that as wonderful as it is being an aunt to these girls, there is something else, something more.
As my biological clock ticks loudly in my ear, I also have to wonder and am tempted to ask Why, if actual motherhood is something the Lord has for me, He still seems to tarry. I am not allowed to linger on Why very long, though. He is always faithful to remind me of His infinite goodness, providence, kindness, and ability to do what my feeble mind deems impossible.
I know He is writing a story...and I know it is a wonderful one. I want to quickly turn to the last page and know how it will end, but I can't. I can know though, that the end will explain why I was made to wait...and I will be glad for it. I also know that until I can actually see and experience the unfolding of the part of the story I am often in such a hurry to get to, He will continue to do what He has done...reign me in, comfort my heart, be my strength, lead and guide me...in effect, be my husband until He sees fit to bring me one. And if that is 10 days, 10 months, or 10 years from now...OR if that is never I can not know. What I can know is that what He has supplied - He will continue to supply. The spaces He has filled - He will continue to fill. The joy He has given - He will continue to give. No matter what changes or doesn't change, whatever comes into my life or remains elusive, whatever hopes are fulfilled or dashed, HE will remain constant.
And so must I.
Will not the End explain
The crossed endeavor, earnest purpose foiled.
The strange bewilderment of good work spoiled.
The clinging weariness, the inward strain;
Will not the End explain?
Meanwhile He comforteth
Them that are losing patience; 'tis His way.
But none can write the words they hear Him say,
For men to read; only they know He saith
Kind words and comforteth.
Not that He doth explain
The mystery that baffleth; but a sense
Husheth the quiet heart, that far, far hence
Lieth a field set thick with golden grain,
Wetted in seedling days by many a rain;
The End - it will explain. (Amy Carmichael, in Toward Jerusalem)