Who would come look for me until all of me was found?

At A Holy Experience today Ann Voskamp writes about adopting a little Chinese girl.

I just know there’s a whole lot I don’t know at all and no one ever brings home any new child, born or adopted, without pain. Children only come to us through pain — like love only comes to us with pain.

There are scars you can’t erase —- all you can do is write more love into them.

I honour her with shy space. She has universe of her own that doesn’t know where to place me. Who knew that right now, 18 million children spin about in galaxies of their own, completely untethered orphans, with both parents dead — that’s enough children to fill 180 Superbowl stadiums — 18 million children who have no people of their own anywhere on the planet.

The day she lets me hold her, enfold her, the day I get to pull her slowly close—

when I touch her cheek and inhale the scent of her skin warm against mine —

I listen to the thrumming heart of her and it’s so faint, it’s almost like a murmur, this cry against abandonment that beats like a drumming in her broken heart, that echoes like a howl through the chambers of every single one of our broken hearts —

If I broke into a thousand pieces — who would come to gather and pick me up?

If I up and lost my way —- who would come look for me until all of me was found?

If I forgot who I really am — who would come make me remember my real name?

I will. I will — my heart beats it back like a promise to hers.

And it can feel like a rising, all our voices saying to the forgotten: I will be your astronomer — I will find the pieces of you, connect the blazing bits of you in the black, gather you into a constellation of the brave, point the way to the Truest North Morning Star, and I will keep murmuring your realest name.

We are the exact same, her and I, the whole universe: Lost — and He found me.

Pull her closer.

Broken — and He picked me up. Picked me. Chosen.

Read more here.