Rocking

Miss Patti, our childcare provider and friend, taught Sarah a song, which has become precious to our family:

                        You are special to me.

                        You are special to me.

                        I can’t even tell you how much I love you.

                        You are special to me.

                        You are special to me.

                        I am so glad you are my kid.

When Moses was first adopted, we would spend long stretches of time in the rocking chair.  I would sing and he would snuggle against my chest, tugging at the collar on my shirt until enough skin was exposed for him to rest his face.  I would sing my favorites: The Lord is My Shepard; Amazing Grace; Just a Closer Walk With Thee; Children of the Heavenly Father; and the little tune we had learned from Patti.  It was a deeply important time for both of us.  He was internally processing deep loss and learning to trust.  I was holding him close, by the grace of God filling the empty space carved by adoption in both of our souls, with love.  We rocked before nap.  We rocked before bed.  We rocked whenever we needed to. 

            After awhile Moses allowed Jason to rock him as well and they developed their own repertoire of songs.  Many nights I would go in after an hour to find father and son asleep in the chair.  Warmth and time and song afforded sacred space for bonding. 

            The big kids and I like to tell secrets.  We take turns whispering in each other’s ear.  Sarah has lately been whispering silly things to her brother like, “I am made out of buttons.”  They both start laughing, as if the joke were actually new, and then it is my turn.  Moses will lean in and tell me in his sweet voice, “I’m special to you.  I’m special to you.”  Those aren’t the words to the song, but I don’t correct him. 

            His choice of words is a glimpse, for me, into the relationship with my Heavenly Father for which I was made.  He found me.  Rocked me.  Sang to me of his love while my souls healed. And, like any good parent, doesn’t mind when the song of my heart is a testimony of His love.  The most important thing is not that I love him.  What is important is that he first loved me. 

“This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent this Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.”  1 John 4:10