From God's Arms, To My Arms, To Yours

He's sleeping at the mission home right now.

Tomorrow, he packs his bags and bids a final farewell to the beautiful people of Brazil—his home for the last two years. Then clothed in one threadbare suit, and leaving behind all the rest, he will climb aboard the plane in the early morning hours that will bring him back across an ocean and a continent and into my waiting arms.

It's been done before, of course. And I'm not speaking of other sons, of other mothers, of other missions—I'm speaking of my own. It's been done before, this coming and going, sending and receiving, giving and taking. Yes, he was mine before he was theirs. And though I am his earthly mother, he was His before he was mine.

I remember a song from a few years past. Beautiful lyrics, relating the story of a young woman who had given up her child for adoption, explaining to the new parents how she had come to this place.

And though the verses are meant for this life...an earthly adoption...I can't help thinking that those pleas sound very familiar. That I was, truly, the interim parent. Having been entrusted to receive these spirits that were given to me by a loving Father in Heaven, and then expected, and even required, to relinquish them to the waiting arms of his next home. Brazil.

And I did.

If only for a little while.

From God's arms...to my arms...to yours.

And now, on bended knee and weeping with gratitude, back into my arms again.

If only for a little while.