Excerpt from my book, Confessions of a Raging Perfectionist
We adopted a little boy two-and-a-half years ago. We have dear missionary friends who would visit Max (that’s my son) when he was still in the orphanage. They brought him books, candy, and pictures of our family, told him about Jesus, and assured him that his new mommy and daddy would come to get him soon. Dallas and I were grateful that Max was being loved on — we saw it as God’s provision and protection for our son while we couldn’t be with him. I’m forever indebted, not only because they cared for Max, but also for their help while we were in Bangkok. They showed us around, armed us with maps and sky-train passes when they couldn’t be our personal tour guides, translated for us, and were a source of support during a really challenging time.
But by day five, Max still preferred them and Dallas over me, and I was sad. From moment one, the entire experience had been nothing I expected. Nothing felt natural or instinctual. Max wasn’t connecting to me — the woman he’d seen in pictures for the past year. And what was worse, I didn’t feel a connection to him. Which blew me away because I really thought I’d instantly feel like his mommy. I remember, I excused myself to use the bathroom and cried the moment I was alone, to which God quietly said, “You’re going to learn how I love.”
I assumed He meant His love is patient and that He faithfully and quietly waits for us to love Him back. Or that He loves us more than we love Him. Or that He loved us first, while we were still stuck and broken. I assumed I was going to learn to love Max patiently, without reciprocation and in spite of how difficult he was, at least for a while.
But that’s not what He meant.
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever! Now our knowledge is partial and incomplete, and even the gift of prophecy reveals only part of the whole picture! But when the time of perfection comes, these partial things will become useless. . . .Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:4-10, 13
I thought God was referring to the way I would love Max, but so far in the process, I’m learning about how God loves me.
God is patient when I flail and fail in ways I didn’t see coming on the adoption road, and when I choose to swim in my selfishness and pride. He’s kind. He gives me reprieve when I’m ready to break down—in the form of my friends, my sweet husband, and our parents. He whispers wisdom to help me navigate through the crazy of our new life, and He offers conviction to protect the child in my care. He comforts way more than He chastises, even though I usually deserve the latter. He keeps no record of my wrongs, though I’ve given Him plenty to work with; every day, every repentant minute, I get to start over—His forgiveness has been poured out by the bucketful. He doesn’t argue when I’m angry—of course, He doesn’t stoop. He lets me wave my fists and tantrum in my heart while He waits for me to yield. Again. And He never boasts. In that little bathroom in Bangkok, He could have said, “I’m amazing. Prepare to be blown away by who I am and who you’re not, and how magnificently I love.”
But He didn’t.
God is love. And he’s full of grace for us, in spite of our sin. Grace that spills on the people around us.
What extraordinary mercy for me and my precious little boy.