That Room

A few days ago, my younger son and I were driving along listening to my Grandpa’s CD (the one who just passed away a few months back). It was old Gospel music — a love I shared with my Grandparents. I knew with how I was feeling I should probably turn it off before the flood of tears came, but kept flipping through songs until I came upon one from a children’s video my kids used to listen to over and over when they were really little. Well, with my oldest turning 13 the day before and the holidays and the grief and the realization that my kids were growing up, the tears came. So, I quickly turned to the radio for something fast to distract myself. I continued on with this leaky eye syndrome the entire day. Today was a little better though, I hid under my covers most of the day sleeping. That doesn’t leave much time for tears!
Not a bad day today. That is until my family and I went to the hospital to visit our neice that had just given birth to her first child. Immediately when we pulled in to the hospital parking lot my oldest so lovingly reminded me that this was where Grandpa had been. A quick yep and a quiet reminder that we still weren’t mentioning Grandpa’s name until mommy could regain control and we were on our way in to meet our newest family member. Soon I realized we were heading straight into the room I gave birth to my last son in. The son I chose adoption for. The room I spent hours pleading with God in to make a way for me to keep my child. The room I almost literally flooded with my own tears. The room I held my son tightly for the first and last time all at once. Oh the kisses, the hugs, the snuggling, the begging, the pleading, and the “I Love You’s” that happened for me in that room. So long ago, yet, being thrust into that room again, it felt like it had just happened yesterday. All I could do was sit quietly and hold my neice’s son, praying that the moment I needed to fall apart didn’t happen in front of everyone in that room. That crying room. The room where my heart broke to the deepest level ever — the level that feels like the brink of death. That room where God pulled out the cot and stayed all night — just to hold me. Just to comfort me. Just to heal me. That room where tonight He reminded me, He’s just a prayer away — and oh, how I’ve missed the comforting powers He showed me those 2 nights years ago. So tonight, I lay my weepiness, my past, my adoption, my memories at the foot of the cross to trade it for The Great Flood of Love — HIS love.

Thank you Lord, for reminding me of the promise from Isaiah 61: 1-4 — the same one you Promised me in That Room not so long ago.
…He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,² to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, ³ and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy
instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.