One of the (superficial) blessings of adoption is that I won't have stretch marks.
Well...any stretch marks that can be visibly seen. I bought a bikini.
But over the past year, I've noticed marks of growth in my life, my heart.
In most families, the arrival of a little one is preceded by a baby bump, a growing bulge with measurable development. They watch and anticipate, sometimes shocked by the rapid increase, always mindful, always waiting. And in that waiting, comes scarring caused by more growth that delicate skin can handle. A mark is made. A reminder of that short window of time when something, someone new was being created.
In our family, the stretching is just as rapid,
but a little more hidden.
A little more secret.
Instead of my abdomen, my scars of growth are evident in my heart.
I'm swelling with change, as our patience increases, our rigid thoughts of what should be fall away, our trust builds, and our love grows for people we haven't even met yet.
Sometimes it's more than my delicate heart can handle.
And marks are made.
Because something new
*a family*
and someone new
*a parent*
is being secretly, miraculously, supernaturally made.
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