children

we are
exhausted

he snores next to me, then turns
inhales all the flem lying in his esophagus

the window rattles as the sun turns in for the evening
dusk begins to lick everything

we are
exhausted

one of the children asked me yesterday
are you going to have kids
and I spread open my arms wide to show her the room around us
and said, look, we have almost 100 already.

she thought it was funny, but
i meant it.

this weekend, these few tiny days remind me what it was like to be
tiny

one person laughed at me during a sporty game and i went crumbly crumbling to my husband
because it reminded me of being young

i remember i would have liked someone to put me under their wing then
but i had no one and so i tested the limits on how short my shorts could go
without dad saying a thing
or how flirty i could be and how many little boys heads i could turn
i was loud and flamboyant and blonde and tiny
like these girls, desperate for direction for a role model
desperate for attention
for someone to think they have something to offer

her
eyes go all misty because she is stuck on a team without friends
no one will talk to her
her eyes are huge and swollen behind those large glasses
they make her eyes look even bigger like a cartoon
I can see grief and also pulling on me at the same time trying to sway my decision
her
hair tight like string bound on a knitting ball to her head
i try to weigh between kind and soft and stern
knowing she needs boundaries and rules but also
her dad at one time hung by a string and left them helpless

she
pastors daughter, wants to change the world by changing herself
getting stuck in the mountains somewhere far away from people
so she can "find herself and get close to God"
I saw a little something she wrote on the front of her journal this weekend
"God is working in me"
her eyes look straight through you and her laughter is confident but
she still looks at the size of herself in the mirror
and surveys what she sees
she loves the jeep and wants to be homeschooled and likes to wear clothes that are
comfortable and covering and
i like her spirit
it is strong

her
mascara somehow stays on all night and those eyelashes look as tall as trees when you compare them to your own, i see myself in her drivenness, her overness
her correct words her constant work to impress
her over talking
shucking herself across my lap, feet in her friends
hair draping long
she told me yesterday that her Father was Catholic, until he met her mom
and then he changed but it didn't shake the strictness from him
and the only way she can relate to him is by pushing herself to the end with her sports
all of her muscles tight and bound to her legs like a baby in a sling
she is the one the angels had a party over
and i pray she doesn't follow him just because of fear
but because of love

she
the quiet gem.
tight in her head with so much to offer, she is careful with her words
sometimes they are drawn out of her carefully by me or her or her
but I see her take everything in
and her hands write a scroll with all that she learns
she shares that someday she would maybe like to be a missionary
and that is all she needs to say to us
no fluff or gushing or over impressing
simple and to.the.point.
i know there is music in her and color
everyone can see it
she will soon be a butterfly.

her
brother tells us how hard it is for him
to be a brother to adopted children
the chaos, the noise, the constant fighting for peace
the demon possessed brother who promises to kill
they talk thick and long all the way home and yet were so collected
all of retreat. it just has sunk in for them that the adopted ones are 100% their siblings
in the same way that God has made them 100% their own
and this will change everything.
she is quick to hug me,  her Dora haircut always falls perfect at her shoulders
i find her often at my elbow
arms open
waiting for a hug or giving one, sometimes slung across M during worship
so quiet, very few questions or inquiries or comments
yesterday she wondered if God knows who will come to him
or if it is our choice
and I said yes. to both.

she
lets the tears fall as i put my hand on her knee and ask God to do the same
he is already but maybe she doesn't know that He is the Father that she
has never met before, the one who left them when she was just a baby
he can fill and will fill and does fill this space that has so long been empty
her dark eyes, little curls spraying themselves out of her poney-tail
she tells me secrets and afterwards, afraid I will share
I will not share and I can see it is a choice she is making
to trust me
this little fragile daughter so interested in being accepted
so loud to try and be heard
so unorderly to try and be extraordinary
she already is
she just doesnt know it does not hinge on herself

i could share more
there are many more
but these are a few of my children
and i am learning to love them well
with him
next to him
and HE