The Post Where You Listen in on a Private Convo

Abba. You know I mean business when I sit down to write out my thoughts to you.

I get that you hear me. You hear when my voice makes the sounds that drives some far away. You hear when I don’t have words. You hear when I’d rather not have you listen.

So all this writing, really, it is for me. I find more release digging my pen into a page than I do raising my voice. Writing it down also helps me find the path behind me, for those days when I am sure I’ve never struggled like this before, and honestly, am not sure you truly came through when I needed it. (Yes, I am wrong here, forgetful and independent.)


Here’s the thing. I’m selfish. And proud. Stubborn.

Worst of all I am deeply sure that you made me a mama.

Yup. Single me. Single me living in someone else’s house, with the two of them and their cat. The only children around are the ones in frames on the walls.

I may not love math, but this is a formula that clearly isn’t balanced…an unequation if you will.

Desire + aptitude + longing prayers + life experiences DO NOT = motherhood.

(You can’t really see it but the period at the end of the unequation is BOLD, because it was a loud ending.)

I sit with this thought, these thoughts on a rather regular basis. It isn’t always an ugly moment. Sometimes I wise up enough to listen, because I know You don’t stop speaking. Your listening and answering it all happens together.

I would still like to know though, how I am to  use this piling up mama love when the children in my life live in Uganda, Ecuador and Guatemala. You see, I wouldn’t have named my children Joseph, Nelson or Silvana. Honestly I didn’t even know Silvana was a name until I saw her face.

I can write letters. I can pray. I can be faithful in sending the money I promised to them.

I can’t reach arms out for hugs. I can’t call on the phone to read a bedtime story or ask about their day at school.

holding on to star shaped hope

Maybe, Abba, you meant for me to be protective, a provider and an advocate. That is what mamas do right?

I can’t cook Silvana her favorite after school treat, but I can be a bonus mama who makes sure she gets to eat today through my sponsorship. I can’t make sure Nelson does his homework tonight but my sponsorship means he gets to go to school and not go to work today.

Oh and for Joseph, that little boy that stole my heart a decade and a half ago. Well his picture shows up in an envelope and I can’t figure out how they got a man in there. Even his letters, they show his progress. Show how he has gone from an inward looking I want to an outward seeking what can I give.

Abba. I don’t get it right. I don’t. But you gave me three more tries.

Thank you for trusting me three more times.



3 thoughts on “The Post Where You Listen in on a Private Convo

  1. Jessica says:


    You ARE a momma. One of my sponsored girls wrote a letter and called me mom for the first time–I couldn’t believe it. As someone who is experiencing infertility and is adopting from Ethiopia, this started to heal my heart. I may not be able to be a biological momma, but I can be a momma to plenty across the world in a big way.

    Thanks for sharing your story!

    I am a new Compassion blogger:
    With Love For Africa


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