So much for my break.
I guess I really don’t need one after all.
On Monday, my sweet friend Stephanie showed up with bagels and cream cheese and dinner for my enormous family, just like she has consistently done so many times before.
But she didn’t only bring food for all of us, she brought herself, and that was exactly what I needed.
She moved into my kitchen like it was her own. I have always loved her ability to move into my life without pretense and meet me right where I am on any given day.
In the midst of toasting bagels for our kids, she leaned across the counter and said, “Diane, I was so sad when I read your blog. If you stop writing, it would be like you quit breathing.”
Her words touched that place inside of me from which I write, and hoped leaped in my heart again.
She was right. Writing is indeed like breathing to me. It fuels me. It brings clarity to my mind. It frames my world. It inspires me.
If I quit writing, I might as well quit living.
So here I am again, committed to share this journey of redemption in our lives no matter how hard the walk becomes.
Eliza has really struggled with my absence during Evangeline’s hospital stay. She hates it when I leave, and counts the hours until I return. My frequent trips to the hospital have only served to heighten the intensity of her attachment to me.
If I am out of her sight for seconds, she calls me at the top of her lungs, and runs frantically throughout the house looking for me.
It has really been tough for her, and tough on all of us.
Mark and I took the weekend off from the hospital. The children here needed us, and as lame as it sounds, we just couldn’t get out the door to the hospital.
Eliza, especially, was so thankful to have us home.
She spent the afternoon outside with Mark while he worked, and she was just in her glory. She ran beside the mower and chased the dogs.
At the end of the day, Mark took the kids to Rita’s. Eliza asked all day when they were going to ‘Risa’s’.
As soon as they drove up to our house on the way back, Eliza yelled, “Yay! My home! I love my home! I love my home!”
And somehow that just melts me.
This precious child, who grew up in an orphanage alone longing for a family for fourteen years, is finally home.
She has been trapped in a mind that can’t interpret social cues and struggles mightily with both spoken and receptive language, but she has finally come home.
For the first time in her life, Eliza is understood.
Her life has been redeemed.
And that is worth every rough road we’ve walked.