She's beautiful just the way she is. Each hair an uncanny reminder of who God made her to be. African, tightly wound, a coil of boundless energy, full of spunk, with a mind of her own, and wild. I'm glad I remembered that before we decided to change it.
Satan speaks his lies in the subtlest of ways. And he is relentless...and his lies so predictable. "You don't have what it takes to care for her," he whispers. He's been whispering this since the day she imprinted herself on my heart. Most of the time, I don't pay any attention. Most of time, I remember all of the ways that God has made her mine and marvel at the miracle of adoption.
But sometimes....sometimes, his whisper sneaks it's way inside. It wraps itself around my heart and I feel that familiar sadness. I feel all of the distance and the differences that separate her from me. The flesh and blood and DNA that prove that the miracle of her had nothing to do with me. And sometimes, in that state, I come up with ways to minimize the differences, and convince myself that it's best for all of us.
So, we almost relaxed Hope's hair last month. I came really close. I'm not saying we won't do it someday. I don't have firm feelings on whether it's right or wrong. I don't really think it's a moral issue. But, if we do it someday, it won't be so that I can avoid learning ALL I need to know to properly care for her naturally beautiful hair texture. And it certainly won't be so that I don't have to think about our differences.
I'm glad I was reminded that it doesn't honor Hope when I pretend we aren't different. Because we are. And most of the time, I remember that that is something to celebrate! I don't need us to be the same. I don't want us to be the same.
And besides, what does flesh and blood and DNA know about love, anyway?