Somnus was the God of sleep in Roman mythology.
In real today-this day-not Rome, life - he is nowhere to be found.
I suppose that is why it is called mythology.
We laid awake last night. We cried together in the darkness of our room. After Somnus mercifully came for Troy, I tried to pray and then talk myself into sleep. It failed. I finally got up and answered emails instead of lying there livid that my brain for refusing to turn down.
(Turn down for what* - for sleep, that's what.) (*That line is to impress my kids. If you don't get it, no worries, it's me being all pop culture knowledgeable like the youngsters.)
Yesterday Troy met with the first parents of our three precious Haitian children. When he shared some of what they talked about and grieved with him, I sat dumbfounded at the unending challenge of their lives.
Our two daughter's first Momma recently received word that her young adult son (Phoebe and Hope's big brother) was shot and killed in California. She had placed him (and eventually several of her children) for adoption. Poverty and a broken world and system took five kids in three years and put them in three separate homes. Troy and I are raising her two youngest baby girls. I'm totally done trying to reconcile any of that shit. I can only say, I am not at peace with what has happened to this family. She had not seen her son in 13 years. She won't see him again. She thought he would go to America for a chance at a "better life".
For a short time Troy was present with her in her grief and he got down in the pit and sat in the discomfort of not being able to fix it but knowing that simple presence (without words) is a holy thing.
Our son's birth family is in-tact outside of the two children they placed for adoption. So, not in-tact, really. Mom, Dad, all the other kids, welcomed "Mr, Troy" to sit and catch up yesterday. They have a son that has never spoken. Another son they tell us is "not right in the head". We have developed our hypothesis about their diagnoses, but for them it feels like and is called some sort of curse on their children. We are right. They are right.
While we grieved with and for these families last night, and attempted to release some of the weight of several heavy circumstances with our tears, we listened to Andrew Petersen sing. The lyrics are deeper than I am, so I won't try to outdo Andrew. I will paste him in below.
God ... We are aching for the yield. Aching.
We need the Lord to plant justice, justice and praise.
Help us to be led in peace, and go out with Joy.
Abide in us Lord, let these branches bear fruit.
Oh God, I am furrowed like the field
Torn open like the dirt
And I know that to be healed
That I must be broken first
I am aching for the yield
That You will harvest from this hurt
Abide in me
Let these branches bear Your fruit
Abide in me, Lord
As I abide in You
So I kneel
At the bright edge of the garden
At the golden edge of dawn
At the glowing edge of spring
When the winter's edge is gone
And I can see the color green
I can hear the sower's song
Abide in me
Let these branches bear Your fruit
Abide in me, Lord
Let Your word take root
Remove in me
The branch that bears no fruit
And move in me, Lord
As I abide in You
As the rain and the snow fall
Down from the sky
And they don't return but they water the earth and bring they forth life
Giving seed to the sower, bread for the hunger
So shall the word of the Lord be with a sound like thunder
And it will not return, it will not return void
We shall be led in peace
And go out with joy
And the hills before us
Will raise their voices
And the trees of the field will clap their hands as the land rejoices
And instead of the thorn now
The cypress towers
And instead of the briar the myrtle blooms with a thousand flowers
And it will make a name
Make a name for our God
A sign everlasting that will never be cut off
As the earth brings forth sprouts from the seed
What is sown in the garden grows into a mighty tree
So the Lord plants justice, justice and praise
To rise before the nations till the end of days
As the rain and the snow fall
Down from the sky
And they don't return but they water the earth and they bring forth life
Giving seed to the sower, and bread for the hunger
So shall the word of the Lord be with a sound like thunder
And it will not return, it will not return void
It will not return, it will not return void
It will not return, it will not return void
We shall be led in peace
And go out with joy
And the sower leads us
And the sower leads us
And the sower leads us
In real today-this day-not Rome, life - he is nowhere to be found.
I suppose that is why it is called mythology.
We laid awake last night. We cried together in the darkness of our room. After Somnus mercifully came for Troy, I tried to pray and then talk myself into sleep. It failed. I finally got up and answered emails instead of lying there livid that my brain for refusing to turn down.
(Turn down for what* - for sleep, that's what.) (*That line is to impress my kids. If you don't get it, no worries, it's me being all pop culture knowledgeable like the youngsters.)
Yesterday Troy met with the first parents of our three precious Haitian children. When he shared some of what they talked about and grieved with him, I sat dumbfounded at the unending challenge of their lives.
Our two daughter's first Momma recently received word that her young adult son (Phoebe and Hope's big brother) was shot and killed in California. She had placed him (and eventually several of her children) for adoption. Poverty and a broken world and system took five kids in three years and put them in three separate homes. Troy and I are raising her two youngest baby girls. I'm totally done trying to reconcile any of that shit. I can only say, I am not at peace with what has happened to this family. She had not seen her son in 13 years. She won't see him again. She thought he would go to America for a chance at a "better life".
For a short time Troy was present with her in her grief and he got down in the pit and sat in the discomfort of not being able to fix it but knowing that simple presence (without words) is a holy thing.
I don't know why I am writing that out. I suppose it feels important to me that someone knows that a Momma in Haiti lost a son she had been wanting to see for years and she is grieving two losses. She grieves her loss of 13 years ago, she is questioning herself and her decision. She grieves his death that took place before her dream of a reunion was realized. If that touches a place of compassion in you, perhaps you want to pray by name for Beanne. (Pronounced Bee-Aahnn)
Our son's birth family is in-tact outside of the two children they placed for adoption. So, not in-tact, really. Mom, Dad, all the other kids, welcomed "Mr, Troy" to sit and catch up yesterday. They have a son that has never spoken. Another son they tell us is "not right in the head". We have developed our hypothesis about their diagnoses, but for them it feels like and is called some sort of curse on their children. We are right. They are right.
While we grieved with and for these families last night, and attempted to release some of the weight of several heavy circumstances with our tears, we listened to Andrew Petersen sing. The lyrics are deeper than I am, so I won't try to outdo Andrew. I will paste him in below.
God ... We are aching for the yield. Aching.
We need the Lord to plant justice, justice and praise.
Help us to be led in peace, and go out with Joy.
Abide in us Lord, let these branches bear fruit.
Oh God, I am furrowed like the field
Torn open like the dirt
And I know that to be healed
That I must be broken first
I am aching for the yield
That You will harvest from this hurt
Abide in me
Let these branches bear Your fruit
Abide in me, Lord
As I abide in You
So I kneel
At the bright edge of the garden
At the golden edge of dawn
At the glowing edge of spring
When the winter's edge is gone
And I can see the color green
I can hear the sower's song
Abide in me
Let these branches bear Your fruit
Abide in me, Lord
Let Your word take root
Remove in me
The branch that bears no fruit
And move in me, Lord
As I abide in You
As the rain and the snow fall
Down from the sky
And they don't return but they water the earth and bring they forth life
Giving seed to the sower, bread for the hunger
So shall the word of the Lord be with a sound like thunder
And it will not return, it will not return void
We shall be led in peace
And go out with joy
And the hills before us
Will raise their voices
And the trees of the field will clap their hands as the land rejoices
And instead of the thorn now
The cypress towers
And instead of the briar the myrtle blooms with a thousand flowers
And it will make a name
Make a name for our God
A sign everlasting that will never be cut off
As the earth brings forth sprouts from the seed
What is sown in the garden grows into a mighty tree
So the Lord plants justice, justice and praise
To rise before the nations till the end of days
As the rain and the snow fall
Down from the sky
And they don't return but they water the earth and they bring forth life
Giving seed to the sower, and bread for the hunger
So shall the word of the Lord be with a sound like thunder
And it will not return, it will not return void
It will not return, it will not return void
It will not return, it will not return void
We shall be led in peace
And go out with joy
And the sower leads us
And the sower leads us
And the sower leads us
