Ten Thousand Memories on Paper

As I sit here and sift through foot-high piles of papers, I am bombarded with memories. Memories of our adoption story, memories of our times in court, memories of sweet moments with younger kids.

I press on trying not to look too intently at the scribbled love notes from our children. I read a couple the other day and ended up sobbing for almost an hour.

There are memories from old jobs. Memories from attending college and high school. There are memories from trips we've gone on and memories of homes we've lived at. Each piece of paper tells it's own story. A longing parent. An excited couple. A new beginning.

Some memories I had completely forgotten. Like when I studied Latin with our kids while we homeschooled. Oh, the homeschool papers!

I try to decide what I want to keep. I don't "need" any of it, but I find myself not wanting to let go of the evidence of my life. These thin sheets prove I loved my kids and that they loved me too. They prove I was a hardworking, diligent, maybe over-the-top organized, type of mom that wanted the very best for my children.

I look through a few more piles. Lawyers bills, child support statements, treatment plans, and court orders. How did we survive it all?

I've blocked out so many of the memories by now. Self-preservation. Survival. Whatever you want to call it. I just needed to get through a day at a time back then. I remember most days I was just trying to get through a moment at a time. Breathe, pray, try again.

And again, and again, and again...

These papers hold my life's history. I can't let them all go, yet.

I throw away most of the adoption training manuals, packets, notes, recommendations, and the like. No amount of following some protocol was going to save my kids and me from years of pain inflicted before they arrived in our home. Did any of it even help?

Maybe. Just a little, perhaps.

I remember teaching our kids about Jesus when they first came home. We would sit on comfy couches and listen to my husband's booming voice as he read short stories about Moses, Samson, David, and the disciples. I could see the wheels in our children's heads spinning. They would ask question after question. Some nights I think it was just to keep them from going to bed on time. We obliged them.

When did we get so far away from Jesus? Was it when we moved? When we stopped homeschooling? When our kids became teenagers?

One year our children participated in the local 4-H public speaking contest. In preparation for this nerve-wracking event, we would each take turns reading a five-minute story from an older kids Bible. I asked the kids to add the correct inflection to their voices based on the emotion that correlated with each moment in the story. I asked them to use hand motions when appropriate to get across their message. They didn't like it at first, but eventually they got more comfortable.

The day of the big contest came, along with all those we had invited to witness this momentous occasion. I couldn't take my eyes off my three kids dressed to the nines in suits and a pretty dress. I was so proud of them.

Today I hold their 4-H awards in my hands. Grand champion. Second place. Third place.

I will not forget those precious moments before the clouds got dark, the rain came, and lightening struck our home. We would never be the same.

I set the papers aside. I am done for the evening. It is enough. They will still be here tomorrow waiting for my undivided attention. They will spark more memories. I will cry more tears. I will throw more away.

And I will forever be grateful I had the opportunity to know love in such a beautiful way.