I recently went back to the US for a visit. My family and specifically my mother had the countdown going nearly as soon as, possibly even before, the tickets were actually purchased. I walk through the airport to the waiting area, which is pretty much as I knew it would be. It was like every time I come home: full of people, full of smiles, posters, cheers even. Full of people that have come to the airport to welcome me home, to hug me, to tell me they missed me, to tell me they loved me.
And every time, this beautiful crowd of family and friends allow my parents to come to me first.
And every time, my mother is weeping. She has tears streaming down her face because she really just loves me that much. She loves having me there. It is a blessing that will move her to tears every time.
Recently, we discharged a child, rather a young adult. She had come over a year ago, and watching her grow and change, she truly became part of our family. She was staying with us, while paperwork was finished so that she could join her adoptive family. The family was already picked when she came to us. They knew each other, she knew her family well and the family knew her.
We received the news papers were ready, the mom was coming, and with much anticipation of the reunion we waited. . .
I, personally was eager to see the reunion. Knowing how sweet and tender the reunion between my own mother and I had been. My heart warmed at the thought of even through the tearful goodbyes, a beautiful sweet reunion was still to take place.
At last, the mother arrived, and came in through the doors. . .
I was confused at this scene.
Instead of tears and joyful expressions... there was just looks and glances. An empty suitcase and backpack were brought in and given, then the mother went to our staff and started talking to them, and after some bit of time, finally went and gave a small hug to her daughter.
My heart broke.
The mother had been delayed because of not wanting to spend so much on a taxi to get to our house in the evening traffic.
My heart broke yet more.
I've, personally, never known this sort of mother. My life consists of parents, who pay for airline tickets to come see my distant home; parents who pray regularly for 'temporary grandchildren', some of whom they've never met; parents whom I know would do anything in this world in the blink of an eye if a situation arose in which I needed urgent or severe help; parents who shed tears of joy just at seeing me again.
And to think these qualities, while held closest to my parents, are not in any way limited to them. I have a whole family, community, that would do the same.
My idea is not to judge this mother. My reason for writing is to simply express my own emotions, as a sort of release.
To reflect upon the immense blessings that God has richly lavished upon me.
To have my calling reconfirmed, my reason for being here assured.
I am here to be His hands and feet.
I am here to love, to love as He loves me, with my whole self, holding nothing back. Loved as my earthly parents love me and as my Heavenly Father loves me.
For while they are with us, we are to love them, for we do not always know or have a say in what awaits them after they leave us.
