Cecilia's Tears

Isabel has taken to drawing Cecilia with tears falling from her eyes recently. I’m not sure if it’s because we are trying to prep her for a rocky transition, or because she knows something we don’t. I can’t help but wonder if those tears are her own. One thing I do know is that this adoption is on her mind as much as it’s on ours. Isabel is processing it differently, though.

Like any child growing up in a loving home, Isa loves to laugh and play. She is at the age where she thinks the same thing is funny over, and over, and over. Thanks to her aunt, we are now living with the interminable love of “jinxing” people. (In fact, Luciana and I said something at the same time the other day, and she was downright indignant that neither one of us would jinx the other!)

But just as it is with all of us, the thought of a new family member is never too far from the front of her mind.

Her answer to every question...

“Isa, guess what we are doing tomorrow?”

“Are we going to Peru?”

Or her prayers...

“Dear Lord, I pray that you will help Cecilia to sleep well tonight. Surround her with your angels.”

Or her paragraphs that she types on my phone during long car trips...

“My sistr wat du you thygc we wil pley i no we wil pley feryg jresap. and balrynas we are gowyg. to have so mach fan I can’t. weyt. wat wad you du with. a sistr wad you be icsaydid. our wad you be hapyy. iwad to wad you be hapyy too?”

Here is the translation for those of you who can’t read “kindergarten.”

“My Sister. What do you think we will play? I know. We will play fairy dress-up and ballerinas. We are going to have so much fun. I can’t wait. What would you do with a sister? Would you be excited, or would you be happy? I would too. Would you be happy too?”

As a father, there is a natural instinct to protect my daughter. I want her life to be full of joy and peace, free from pain and difficulty.

Now it’s time for some honesty. I’m scared. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is God’s calling for my family. It’s all been so clear. But I’m scared anyway. I’m afraid that I will lead my daughter into a life that is less than perfect. (Does that sound as stupid to you as it does to me?)

I guess I’m afraid that joy and peace and pain and difficulty can’t co-exist. That just might be what I believe. Not exactly the teachings of Jesus, huh?

Maybe those tears are her father’s; the ones that only run down his cheeks after he prays for her, kisses her soft cheek, and walks out of her room as she drifts off to sleep.

If you think of it, pray for Isabel. We’d appreciate it.

mbp