Zeph 3:17

For some reason tonight, a poem written 2.5 years ago came to my mind. I dug it up. Here is the poem.

Zeph 3:17

darkened playhouse
small church in worship
indie music on stage
percussion clanging
guitars sagging
praises sung

together
in the worshiping shadows
stands one white Midwest mom
with one dark Ethiopian infant son

now located in Nebraska cold
cradled softly in glad mother’s
outstretched arms
eyes filled with wonder looking up
to absorb his mother’s song

voice above him
assuring arms beneath
held in love
unfamiliar yet at peace
marveling to listen at the foreign song
of adopted love rejoicing

This song was written by Tony Reinke, a man I'm somehow related to, but can never remember how. That's beside the point. He didn't know who I was. (So I'm certain I'm in the 3rd removed category or something.) He saw Malachi in my arms at our church back home (in Omaha). Malachi had only been home a short month or so. I actually remember the service vividly. Malachi was so content in my arms as I danced and sang in Worship. It was a sweet moment with him. He would look up at my singing lips and grin. He would clap at the end of songs. And at times he would just hold his hands in the air as I sang (mimicking his new crazy charismatic mama). When my dad alerted me to this poem, I found it delightful, voicing what I never could (or at least not as beautifully). It's this picture of singing over my son .... of the reminder that according to Zeph. 3:17, my heavenly Father sings over me. (Hopefully He sounds better!)

You know, Malachi still likes to climb into my arms while I'm singing. I like that.

This post is completely random. Like I said, it just came to my mind out of nowhere tonight. (I suppose most things come to me out of nowhere. It's truly fascinating.) But it did send my mind to the girl we've fallen in love with. A child waits in Uganda. We wait for her. We pray for her. We pray the gift of guardianship be granted to us SOON for her. But mostly, I pray the last stanza of the above poem be true for our Ugandan Sweetie. We already love her. We will be so unfamiliar. We pray she has peace. Our songs will be foreign. Yet we pray she rejoices in our love just the same.

held in love
unfamiliar yet at peace
marveling to listen at the foreign song
of adopted love rejoicing