the great thing about being firmly awake at 3:20am is how the house marinates in stillness and room to think.
the past two weeks have been, incontestably, the most exhausting weeks of my life. i imagine the same could be said for this small fellow:
internet, please meet my youngest son. he has weathered a good deal of heartbreak, and still he's warm and giggly and quick to find joy. [i’ll likely share very small pieces of his background, but his story belongs to him, and we will allow him to be the one to share it with whomever and in whatever detail he chooses as he grows older.]
i can tell you this, though: he loves soccer and injera and knobs and buttons and books and all things electronic. at the guest house, he’d turn on old school looney tunes and then curl up in his chair, paging through the kitchen’s menu-book. he’d spend half the afternoon on the playroom balcony conversing with the guest house guard (whom he named 'police') in animated amharic.
we have a decent number of issues to tackle, but little m is sweet and brave and has a mighty big God on his side. he’s loving his older siblings, mimicking their speech and play with aplomb. given enough time and prayer and grace, i have tall hopes we’ll not only heal, but thrive.
this week's thankfuls, #s 140-148:
the soft rhythms of home
the care center staff, who loved little m well and with gusto
frisbee in the green front yard shade
new friends who looked out for little m and me
old friends who took such beautiful care of my family in my stead
rest, after 37 hours of travel and two nights' missed sleep
all of you--your prayers, your missives of encouragement
freedom to love God out loud
all five of my littles, together
Deconstructed Sketch No. 165
3 hours ago