The Rwandan embassy is the size of a large walk-in closet, and as time went on, it became increasingly awkward for everyone. The people in charge told us again and again, politely, that there was nothing that they could do, that this was a government order, that we were wasting our time and we should leave. We did leave, but came back with lunch for ourselves and all the embassy workers. We politely explained that we couldn’t go because leaving would mean leaving our babies. And so we all sat and laughed and cried together for twelve hours. The office was supposed to close at 5:00 p.m. At 4:45, I felt the tears coming. The end was near. At 5:15, a Rwandan woman walked down the stairs and handed a piece of paper to each of us. The paper signified that our four families had been grandfathered into the adoption system. We were going to get our babies. She said, You came. You came for the children, so we did this for you.
That was an important lesson: SHOW UP. You never know what might happen.
We were done. There was nothing left to do but wait for our travel orders and decorate the nursery and celebrate with friends. We did all of those things. Then two months later we got a letter declaring that Rwandan adoptions were closed indefinitely. It was over and done. Hills was not coming home. He was not ours, after all.
• • •
Tish wrote this poem recently:
Woood you still love the uuiniverse if the sky wernt blue?
I wood still love the uuniverse, woood you?
I had to think about that for a long while. But I decided, yes. Yes, I would. I would still love the stupid uuiniverse.
No, I didn’t get what I wanted. I didn’t get my baby, and with my deteriorating health, it’s not likely I ever will. It is official: I did not get the life I wanted. I did not become an adoptive mother, I did not get to travel and hold the one God meant for me, I did not get to send the Christmas card that would say, Happy Holidays, Love, The Melton Pot!
But when your miracle doesn’t happen the way you planned, it becomes important to look for peripheral miracles. Peripheral miracles are those that aren’t directly in front of you. They’re not the one on which you’ve been so damned focused. You have to turn your head to see peripheral miracles.
I was so focused on building my little teeny altar to God, my head down, sweating, cursing, stressing, furiously working with broken tools, that I missed the city of cathedrals he was busy building around me. When I was finally able to lift my head, I saw the community of people who had rallied around me and my family. My family—my three healthy children and strong husband. My baby, Amma, who may have never been if we’d adopted. And I saw that the very vehicle I had used to vent about my pain and confusion about the adoption and my health—my blog—had become a community of thousands and thousands of people who were learning from my journey.
So like an owl, I kept turning my head. And I saw Tara and Isaac, whom I met at the embassy that day, holding their son, Zane. They got their baby. And I saw Mark and Chelsea, the couple who lost their Chase, holding their Rwandan baby, Gabe. And I saw Sister’s son, Bobby, whom I’ll hold every day of my life but never have to send to college. And I looked down and saw a book deal in my hands, and request after request from people to have me come speak—to speak to them about hope and love. They didn’t care that my dream didn’t come true. They just cared that I was true to my dream. That I never gave up hope. That I shared it all. And that even though I didn’t get what I wanted, I could see—I could see—that I’d gotten what I needed. I’d tried to adopt one, to give hope to one little one, and instead, God gave me thousands to speak to about my senseless, relentless hope.
There are only two lives we might live: our dream or our destiny. Sometimes they are one in the same, and sometimes they’re not. Often our dreams are just a path to our destinies. My dream was to be an adoptive mother, but my destiny is to mother my three children, to be a wife, sister, friend, and daughter, and to speak hope boldly to you. My destiny is to remind you to look up from the castles you’re building in the sand long enough to notice the cathedrals that God’s building all around you—without you, without your sweat, without your tears, without your consent. While you dream your dreams, he’s busy building your destiny. And there is as much beauty in your destiny as there was in your dream. Let go and believe that whatever it is, it will be beautiful.I
* * *
I. You’ll be glad to know that we have, in fact, successfully adopted a highway. Our highway is going to shine like the damn yellow brick road.
By God, There Will Be Dancing
I am sitting in a quiet bedroom with God. We are alone—the two of us. I am perched on the edge of a four-poster bed and my legs are dangling off the side. God is in a rocking chair across the room and she’s knitting. God knits, it turns out. She also rides a Harley, but never while knitting.
I am pissed at God, so I’m glaring at her while she rocks and knits.
She won’t ask me what’s wrong. I’m waiting for her to ask. I’m dying for her to ask. I sigh. I breathe as deeply and loudly and with as much angst as possible.
Nothing from her. Nothing disturbs her peace, nothing breaks her concentration. She is not curious.
So I just start.
I’m going to stay sick, aren’t I? You’re not going to heal me, are you? And I’ll never have another baby, will I? And my marriage. What about my marriage? Is that going to crumble too? You’re going to leave me sick and empty-armed and struggling, aren’t you? Aren’t you? I know you are.
Please fix it. If you don’t, that’s it for us. I’m not kidding. I’ll quit trying not to be a jerk. I’ll quit writing. I’ll quit talking to you and caring about other people and smiling so much. I’ll spend all my money on fancy makeup and couches and I’ll spend all my time watching Real Housewives of Orange County. No. Housewives of NEW JERSEY. Take that. I’m serious. Friendship with you is too exhausting. I’m going to have to quit you, based on principle and utter confusion. If you don’t pull through for me this time, it’s atheism for me. Atheism. I’m so serious.
God keeps knitting. Then she smiles and holds her stitch for a moment. She looks up at me with her soft crinkly eyes and she says:
Honey. You are so angry. I understand. I love you so much. Would you like me to stop knitting so that we can talk about all of this?
I think for a minute and look at the knitting in her lap. I gaze at the part that’s done. It’s breathtaking. All blue and green and hot pink and gold and silver. At first the colors seem to swirl wildly but then, suddenly, I recognize a pattern. The pattern is me. I am beautiful. Swirly, wild, and beautiful.
No, I say. Don’t stop. Keep knitting.
Because she is knitting my life, of course. I am what her hands are working on. And I want her to concentrate. I still trust her.
God? I say. I’m going to dance. While you knit, I’m just going to dance.
God looks up one last time and says:
That’s all I’ve ever wanted you to do, Sweetheart. You dance and I’ll keep knitting. It’s going to be beautiful, Honey. I promise.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, family and friends, for continuing to read my life story through all the plot twists and for being certain that it would end well. Thank you, Monkees, for helping me create my second home and for living there with me. Thank you to the Monkee See—Monkee Do Board of Directors—Allison, Amanda, Amy, Lou, and Liz—you are warriors for love. To Trena Keating, Sally Wofford-Girand, and Jill Gillett—thank you for believing and for so strongly and skillfully encouraging the rest of the world to believe too. To Amy, for your faith and sweat. And to my Scribner family, especially Whitney Frick—editor, friend, Monkee. We did it! We really did it, didn’t we?
Sister-maktub. Thank GOD.
Momastery and Monkee See—Monkee Do
Glennon Doyle Melton founded Momastery.com in 2009 as a part of her healing process. Momastery emerged from the idea that motherhood is like a monastery: it’s a sacred place, apart from the world, where a seeker can figure out what matters
and catch glimpses of God. Momastery was created to be a safe haven, a gathering place for an online order of irreverent monks. It is a place to practice living bigger, bolder, and truer on this earth. Please visit www.momastery.com to learn more.
The overflow of generosity and compassion at Momastery became Monkee See—Monkee Do, where we acknowledge the needs in our communities and we do something about them. Our work—including our revolutionary “Love Flash Mobs”—exemplifies Mother Teresa’s philosophy that we can do no great things, only small things with great love. We have learned that by harnessing the power of a filled-up community, small gifts can make a tremendous impact—on givers’ hearts and on the world around us. For more information, please visit www.monkeeseemonkeedo.org.
© LITTLE MOON PHOTOGRAPHY
Glennon Doyle Melton is the founder of Momastery.com and a regular contributor to The Huffington Post. She lives in Florida with her family.
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Copyright © 2013 by Glennon Doyle Melton
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ISBN 978-1-4516-9724-7
ISBN 978-1-4516-9823-7 (ebook)
Carry On, Warrior contains essays previously published on momastery.com as well as new material.
Lyrics on page 111 from “HALLELUJAH” ©1985 Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC. All rights administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 8 Music Square West, Nashville, TN 37203.
Excerpt from “On Self-Respect” from SLOUCHING TOWARDS BETHLEHEM by Joan Didion. Copyright © 1966, 1968, renewed 1996 by Joan Didion. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC, and by permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Epigraph
Cast of Characters
Building a Life
Part 1: Waking Up
Chapter 1: Sisters
Chapter 2: Holy Holes
Chapter 3: On Writing and Dancing
Chapter 4: Day One
Chapter 5: Chutes and Ladders
Chapter 6: In Case of Emergency
Chapter 7: Inhale, Exhale
Chapter 8: Smelly Coughy Guy
Part 2: Committing
Chapter 9: Birthdays
Chapter 10: Lucky Seven
Chapter 11: Fireworks
Chapter 12: Out to Lunch
Chapter 13: Airing Our Dirty Laundry
Chapter 14: Initiation
Chapter 15: On Weaving and Repentance
Chapter 16: Sucker_On Vacuuming
Chapter 17: Easter
Chapter 18: Unwind
Part 3: Multiplying
Chapter 19: Don't Carpe Diem
Chapter 20: A Little Advice
Chapter 21: Brave Is a Decision
Chapter 22: Whatever, Honestly
Chapter 23: One, Two, Three
Chapter 24: Rejoicing
Chapter 25: A Mountain I'm Willing to Die On
Chapter 26: On Fish and Heaven
Chapter 27: Transcendentalist
Chapter 28: Officer Superhero
Chapter 29: On Gifts and Talents
Chapter 30: Mommy Do-Little
Chapter 31: The Golden Coin
Chapter 32: Closer to Fine
Part 4: Holding On
Chapter 33: On Crying and Pedaling
Chapter 34: Namaste
Chapter 35: Hard
Chapter 36: What D'Ya Know?
Chapter 37: On Profanity
Chapter 38: Gifts Are Bridges
Chapter 39: Hostressing
Chapter 40: Room for One More
Part 5: Letting Go
Chapter 41: Treasure Hunt
Chapter 42: Jubilee
Chapter 43: Wherever You Go
Chapter 44: There You Are
Chapter 45: Healing Is Listening
Chapter 46: It Will Be Beautiful
Chapter 47: By God, There Will Be Dancing
Acknowledgments
Momastery and Monkee See—Monkee Do
About Glennon Doyle Melton
Copyright
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Epigraph
Cast of Characters
Building a Life
Part 1: Waking Up
Chapter 1: Sisters
Chapter 2: Holy Holes
Chapter 3: On Writing and Dancing
Chapter 4: Day One
Chapter 5: Chutes and Ladders
Chapter 6: In Case of Emergency
Chapter 7: Inhale, Exhale
Chapter 8: Smelly Coughy Guy
Part 2: Committing
Chapter 9: Birthdays
Chapter 10: Lucky Seven
Chapter 11: Fireworks
Chapter 12: Out to Lunch
Chapter 13: Airing Our Dirty Laundry
Chapter 14: Initiation
Chapter 15: On Weaving and Repentance
Chapter 16: Sucker_On Vacuuming
Chapter 17: Easter
Chapter 18: Unwind
Part 3: Multiplying
Chapter 19: Don't Carpe Diem
Chapter 20: A Little Advice
Chapter 21: Brave Is a Decision
Chapter 22: Whatever, Honestly
Chapter 23: One, Two, Three
Chapter 24: Rejoicing
Chapter 25: A Mountain I'm Willing to Die On
Chapter 26: On Fish and Heaven
Chapter 27: Transcendentalist
Chapter 28: Officer Superhero
Chapter 29: On Gifts and Talents
Chapter 30: Mommy Do-Little
Chapter 31: The Golden Coin
Chapter 32: Closer to Fine
Part 4: Holding On
Chapter 33: On Crying and Pedaling
Chapter 34: Namaste
Chapter 35: Hard
Chapter 36: What D'Ya Know?
Chapter 37: On Profanity
Chapter 38: Gifts Are Bridges
Chapter 39: Hostressing
Chapter 40: Room for One More
Part 5: Letting Go
Chapter 41: Treasure Hunt
Chapter 42: Jubilee
Chapter 43: Wherever You Go
Chapter 44: There You Are
Chapter 45: Healing Is Listening
Chapter 46: It Will Be Beautiful
Chapter 47: By God, There Will Be Dancing
Acknowledgments
Momastery and Monkee See—Monkee Do
About Glenno
n Doyle Melton
Copyright
Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed Page 20
