As I chopped the butternut squash and carrots for dinner (a from-scratch one!), I marveled at how quietly Luke and Katie played together (Liz was still napping). When Liz plays, whatever I'm doing is punctuated by high volume communication, breaks to remind someone to use words instead of loud noises, and rhetorical questions/answers (no, you may not play with buttons...what is this library book doing on the floor?!).
(this is what happened in the last two minutes of trying to write the above paragraph...add in "she just kicked me" to the sound of whining and screams)
So, back to the squash and carrots...
Along with thoughts of how quietly they played, I thought how this (quietly preparing dinner) could be my life if we hadn't adopted Liz. It's not a very practical train of thought, since a) we have Liz, b) we're doing this again, and c) a lot of this is just life with a 2-year-old. But after dallying in that moment, I realized a few things.
At first I thought, "Wow, my life would be so peaceful if this was it!" And without Liz, my life would certainly have less noise in it. And a lot less of the following phrase: "Use your words!" I might even like cooking again.
But then I realized, that's not a peaceful life...it would be a comfortable life. We'd still have a little car, I'd be done potty-training kids, we'd be on our way to jet-setting vacations (maybe).
And I realized we do have peace in our life. It's just the "peace that passes understanding" kind, not the quiet days kind.
The peace of knowing God makes His call clear to us.
The peace of seeing how He provides for us.
The peace of living in answered prayers.
The peace of trusting He will carry us through the next adoption too.
And every time I say to David, "I can't believe we're doing this again," I try to remember that 2-year-old volume levels don't last forever, and that without Liz, there would be less laughter too.