Monday, July 25, 2016

A Reflection on Whoa

I didn't know how to write anything today. I didn't know how to write after the pure joy that was sharing our news with ya'll last week. It was an accident -the timing. An accident that my faith in all this process needed so desperately. Because it was seven months ago last Wednesday that my dad passed away. Seven months to the very day.

The last thing I asked of my dad -and asking wasn't a thing I did often in the later years of his disease- was to find his grandbaby in Heaven and send their sweetness to us. I'm certain my words sounded like meek bleets out of the mouth of a baby sheep, but spirits don't always need conversation to communicate. He passed. And I've not stopped thinking of that conversation.

Through the horrid, fateful meeting with my doctor, through the deep mourning of my biological Mama dreams, through the subsequent decisions that brought us here to Adoption's door. It all started in his dying days -the ability to talk about a Thomas babe. So, here I am, seven months (and two days) later, saying Whoa, embracing Whoa, thanking Him for Whoa.

It was the moments shortly after my dad died that Whoa arrived. It wasn't a single obvious detail, but instead a conglomeration of the last seven years -emphasis added in the final seventy-two hours- that birthed my fascination with Whoa. The conviction was there, but ignored. In picking Whoa as my focus of the year, am I inviting woe? I sat in the lobby waiting for the funeral home and knew I couldn't manage another year of woe.

Sweet Jesus, I need Whoa.

With deep reservation, I honored my conviction to bravely approach the Whoa-covered throne He'd set aside for my 2016.

I imagined Whoa as Sum 41's In Too Deep. Loud, brash, easy to shout along with. I imagined it loud -blasting out of speakers taller than my head. I pictured my year looking like a mosh pit with wild fists and a litany of bruises and a small chance of surviving the mess. I bolstered myself for the madness a year of Whoa seems to beg. But, none of it came.

Instead, came bad news.
Instead, came a spirit of quietness.
Instead, came intentional moments.
Instead, came realizations.

And with the new rhythm of stillness, came an intense gratefulness for the way living in the Whoa is far simpler than the roller-coaster I was certain I'd jumped on as it wildly pulled away from the New Year's platform. The anthem of Whoa in 2016 is more lullaby than war song. It's more of the Dixie Chick's Easy Silence than any song.

It's a year of asking for peace.
A year of seeking Him.
A year of reading voraciously.
A year of soaking in wonder.

Sometimes the Whoa is so much, so overwhelming, that I can hardly look it in the eye. Sometimes it feels like the white heat of the son on my eye balls -drying them out with the pure overwhelm. Sometimes the Whoa is relaxed in such a way that it feels intense and makes me want to turn away, to distract with the powers of MTV and chardonnay. Sometimes I want to recant on the Whoa lifestyle and head home to the comfort of a cozy, familiar bed.

But, I'm trying not to be one who lets fear lead.

If Whoa was going to write it's own lyrics, there'd be a love song feel combined with the conviction of a power ballad. It'd have the heart of Adele's words with the hair raising ferocity of Alessia Cara and the bold beats of Desiigner. It'd balance the right amount of excitement with calm, knowing that slow and steady is best.

Whoa, this year.
Whoa, my life.
Whoa, my friends.

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