Spring always finds me a little disbelieving.
I was working in the garden yesterday, underneath the only tree trying to stake its claim in this rocky soil that was a desert before it was a sub-division. I stood there watching my big girl carefully plant rows of peas. She fully expected them to burst into life tomorrow and was talking about how excited she was to come back outside to check on them in the morning. She’s four and she really never stops talking, and I confess that sometimes I just nod and let my thoughts wander.
As she chattered about covering the seeds with dirt so they didn’t get too chilly, I looked up at the piercing blue sky and caught a glimpse of the tree’s barren branches. I looked a little closer… no buds yet. The seeds in my hand seemed all dried and withered and the tree didn’t look much better, and I wondered if maybe this was the year that the tree hadn’t survived the harsh winter – with its ice storms and dry spells and inhospitable soil. Could anything really burst into bloom?
Exactly one year ago, my feet were on China’s soil. But I didn’t really feel like I was on solid land; I felt like I was riding a wave – a river, maybe – that was carrying me to a new place whether I felt ready to go or not. And when the river carried me into that Civil Affairs building to meet my daughter for the first time, she seemed just like those branches and seeds – barren, withered, dry, and covered in a hard shell that disguises all the potential for life inside. And I stood there with “weak hands and weak knees” wondering: Could anything really burst into bloom?
Here I am a year later and I unequivocally know the answer. Yes. 1,000 times yes.
It’s been a year of looking at what sometimes seems like barren branches and dry seeds and watching them burst into bloom right in front of my eyes. It’s been a year of a nearly incomprehensible combination of simmering disbelief and nervous uncertainty mixed with awe-struck wonder and grateful astonishment.
One minute I’m awash in I-can’t-do-this-fear, convinced she’ll never let me love her. The next minute I feel her arms wrapped around my neck squeezing with all her might as she whispers ‘mama’ into my ear. One minute I’m wondering if she’ll ever talk and how badly her hearing loss will impact her life. The next minute I listen as her speech therapist tells me her “receptive language abilities” are above average for her age… not for kids from orphanages or kids with hearing loss or kids learning ESL; just kids her age. One minute I’m wondering if her developmental delays are signs of an underlying condition that we’re just missing. The next minute I learn she has graduated from Occupational Therapy because she made 17 months of gains in 6 months, jumping from the 3rd to the 50th percentile for developmental milestones, and is officially average for her age.
It’s been the hardest year of my life and one of the best.
I’ve learned so much this last year… but one of the most profound lessons has been to look for his “shining-greatness and wonderful power” in the smallest of places. In every possible way, Alea seems like a totally different child today than she did one year ago; but at the same time, one of the hardest parts of this year was feeling like I couldn’t see any changes happening. Spring comes silently and quietly; sometimes almost so imperceptibly that we find ourselves wondering if maybe this is the year it won’t come at all. But friends, he is so faithful. And even in our places of doubt and fear, he is working to bring out the new life.
You may not see the buds-that-will-be-blossoms yet. You may think you’re only holding a handful of dry and withered seed. But he is faithful to bring new life. If your heart feels afraid and if all you see right now in your family is barrenness and dry land, hold on because Spring is coming. And the Father who started something new in you and your family will bring it to completion… and that waste land? “Flowers will grow in it, and it will be filled with joy and singing.”
The dry land will be glad, friends. The waste land will be a meadow. We can trust that He will finish his redemptive plan. And someday we can stand together, in that kind of awe-struck disbelief that you feel when something too-good-to-be-true is happening right in front of your eyes, and testify that the “shining-greatness of the Lord, the wonderful power of our God” is on display for this whole downtrodden world to see. Because everything will burst into bloom.
Beautiful. We are home almost 4 months… I am encouraged by your post. *smile* I printed out this scripture to post in my kitchen. I am also encouraged this Spring by:
…new things I declare, before they spring into being I announce them to you. Isaiah 42:9
Tears again, this is what God wanted me to read tonight. Thank you.