Angry No More

Angry.

That’s how I felt on the day I learned the news. 

After all, how could it be? 

How could God be so mean? 

Here I was, married and ready.

Had a home, even a room to make his or her own. 

So why God would choose to allow my 14-year-old sister-in-law to conceive—

Even come to live with us prior to this knowledge—where I’d be taunted …

Day in…

Day out…

Was beyond my comprehension.

But it was true.

And this reality made me, for a season… 

Rage.

Not outwardly, of course. 

(I had a reputation to uphold.)

But inside? 

Behind the doors of my “quiet time” spaces…

 Fists flew. 

It was my right. (Am I right?) 

I was the one who had prayed and prayed and prayed—

Begging God—

“Please, please, please let me be a mom.” 

I knew He could do it, was more than capable. 

He was, after all…

God! 

 “You can do anything,” I reminded Him on more than one occasion. 

And I knew it was true. 

That’s probably what made me most angry.

Even today, all these years later, I cry when I think about that young woman—

How she so often suffered alone… 

It’s not self-pity I feel for her, but, rather, some sort of pity, just the same …

As if I’m standing outside myself and seeing more clearly from this side of that gaping heart-hole.

(Hindsight is funny that way.)

But it was only a matter of time.

And this, the most beautiful part —

Before God stepped in and sort of took my flailing fists, folded them together, and whispered—

“I know.”

 (After all, He did.) 

Then, he simply invited me to trust Him, asking—

“Won’t you?”

That’s when I shook my head as if waking up from a bad dream, 

Took hold of the reminder I knew in my heart to be true, and allowed it to penetrate.

“For I know the plans I have for you… to give you a future and a hope, plans of good and not for harm…” (paraphrase of Jeremiah 29:11). 

 Yes.

Somehow, during that season—that which took me through a Barren Land requiring me to be present for a hurting teenager, overcome some days with morning sickness that lasted until midnight—joy was conceived, then flourished, in my heart.

I became full with it, to overflowing, in fact—an impregnable truth I could not explain. 

It simply was! 

Anger turned to silent trust which, in turn, became a testimony—

God is good… 

Always!  

And what He does is good, pointing us to His eternal truths (Psalm 119:68).

Fast-forward a couple years—

A mother of one with a desire for more.

“Oh heavens, they’ll be like twins,” I said, and my husband agreed, before adding, 

“Still, we’re supposed to do this—take this step.” 

Because we knew we were.

Though how could we know that, once more, this would require coming up higher—stepping into a greater place of trust, even if it led, for a dark spell, to an abyss where only One could be our light. 

(Hindsight is only seen when one is on the other side.) 

 So we said yes—

Stepped into something that would require a risk.

 (Adoption always, always does.) 

A birth mom and a baby—

A difficult situation…

A late-term pregnancy, with only weeks until delivery.

And then…

There she was—

Saying welcoming to the world on a bright South Carolina morning…

I was there…

Welcomed her with words—

“Hello there,” 

Until, hours later, I could finally hold her in my arms.

Oh, the miracle of a mother’s love—

Even in only minutes….

Even if only for several moments.

Because that’s what we had—

Devon Mara-Leigh and….

Me.

Because, after only one day—one glorious night of breathing her in—she was whisked right out.

(And again—the miracle of a mother’s love…) 

It wasn’t until that solitary drive—

When, once more, anger burdened and fists flailed and I forgot for a second about all that “goodness of God” stuff I’d said I believed…

But He never forgets…

 And He was there to remind me—

With only three words as a question.

“Am I good?”

 And though it took several miles, He was patient, and He asked again—

 “Am. I. Good?”

I knew He was, and He was the only One who could heal my heart.

And so I said, “Yes, You are good.”

 Because He is.

How sweet of my Savior then to remind me—

Using an experience to sort of wrap up this truth—that memorable day (May 18)—and offer it to me as a redeeming gift…

 Because, that’s just what it is! 

 Last Friday, I had the joy of visiting Flourish Flower Farm with my sister-in-law—

You know, the one who lived with us once-upon-a-time…

The one who’s now my dear and precious friend…

Who is wise and kind and compassionate.

 (All things she, too, learned from her life’s journey, those seasons that were hard and transforming, blossoming into testimony.) 

The workshop was with peonies—

Those fragrant posies that symbolize…

Anger.

Those flowers that grow in my garden too—

Serve to remind me year after year (especially when I intentionally meander on May 18th)—that even one’s most heartfelt, justifiable anger can be turned into something beautiful…

Just beautiful....

Beauty.

Happy birthday, Devon Mara-Leigh.

Though your life on earth was short, your fragrance fills the heavens, and one day I’ll hug you again.  

I want you to know—the One who holds you now healed my heart…

And I can journey with all joy in Jesus.

Indeed…

Because of Him—

I’m no longer…

 Angry.

We lost Devon Mara-Leigh on May 19th, after only one night with her. Yesterday would have been her 27th birthday, but her life was cut short. Though she never walked on earth, she stepped into heaven and into the arms of her Savior when she was less than two-months old. Jesus held her then. He holds her now.