When the time comes…

They don’t know me here. They know my husband, and perhaps know of us, maybe our reputation proceeds us— for good or bad, who knows. When I arrive, I am just a name. A handshake introduction, an awkward conversation; where are you from, what do you do? Simple questions that I can’t answer simply.

There are simple facts to learn, Lauren, age thirty—*cough*, stay at home mom of four. They see the put together(ish) appearance that I aim for and that I am a special needs parent. Given time they will learn what that entails. We will eventually talk about my daughter, I’ll teach them the word hydranencephaly and try to explain this diagnosis succinctly and avoid pity.

They will take the few facts and the observations they’ve made, and in their head they will make a mental picture of me, filling in the gaps with assumptions and filing me away as a new acquaintance. At this stage, they know me, but they don’t know me.

Seeing that we had four kids in under six years, they might assume we’re a little bit crazy. (They might be right). When they learn that our daughter is adopted they might think we’re “good” people. When they hear she has a life-limiting condition they might think we’re “special” people.

I dislike the idea of more unmerited praise, because they don’t know what it took to get here. They don’t know the me that struggled and fought and cried on the floor next to my daughter’s crib, tears dripping into the carpet and telling sweet little preschool ears to go downstairs and watch TV and mommy will be there in a minute. They don’t know the me that wrung her hands over the financial strain of adopting a baby. When they say “we’d love to adopt, we just can’t afford it”, they won’t know we couldn’t afford it either.

They will never see the 2014 version of me that only had one child and thought the most frustrating thing in life was repeatedly picking up a thrown sippy cup. They don’t know the mom of toddlers version of me and the hard fought War of 2016 with its entrenched Battle of the Shoes. They don’t know the scared mother of 2017 who, by the grace of God, survived one day at a time, full of fear, anxiety, anger, and depression. All people see is what is on the other side of those years. 

The me that will be. The one who will survive a cross country move with 4 children ages 6 and under, 2 old dogs, and 2 cars. There is the me who will choose to become a mountain lover instead of just a beach lover. There is the me who will refresh her skills as caretaker as she works through the process of meeting all new medical specialists. There is the me who will learn to parent our children emotionally for the first massive change of their memorable lives.

Every time we move, a version of me is left behind, and the people I meet will never know her. It’s hard to say goodbye.

But even when the world around me shifts, there is One who does not, and He is with me.

You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. Psalm 139:5 (NLT)

…the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17 (NIV)

He is the one who sustained me through those dark days, He is the one who taught me patience during our daily clothing and shoe standoffs. He is the one that will get us where we are going. And when we get there, He is the one who will continue to work in me, making me new, for this move, and each and every day before and after, all for His glory.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away, and look, new things have come. 2 Corinthians 5:17 (HCSB)

For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6 (NASB)