Monday. Glorious Monday.

I can't say it enough.

Monday is simply the best day of the week.

Especially when you're caught up on the mountain of laundry that accumulated in your absence the week before.

And when a little boy who had surgery a week ago is pain free.

And when baking is on the agenda.

I've been processing my thoughts about last week... Tejan and I hit a bit of a rough patch in our relationship - as can be expected after spending 4 full days and nights together. We've worked it out - but boy, I really had to pray through my attitude toward him. I was pretty much ready to send him back to Africa. And I think he would have gone.

It's a strange relationship I have with him. I've devoted more of myself to him than I've had to with my own kids since they were infants... as far as time and energy and caring. I've slept at his bedside, cleaned his incisions, helped him use the bathroom, put lotion on his dry skin, helped brush his teeth, cajoled him into taking yucky medicine more times than I can count, held his hands through numerous 'pokes,' watched him wake up from surgeries, cleaned up his vomit, combed his hair and kissed him goodnight even though he claims he hates it.

But he is not my child. And he has lifelong ties to another culture. Another land. Another life.

We have a rapport, for sure. But I cannot relate to him the same way I relate to my own kids. There are times when that is SO in my face - so apparent - and I just want to give up and cry. So I flail. Big time. Because there are times I feel like I can't reach him. And times when I can tell he doesn't want to be reached.

It's hard.

It all kind of came to a head on Thursday afternoon - when we were being discharged from the hospital.

Like I said, we've talked it out. And we've moved on. But still - it put a little reminder in my heart that this is a different kind of relationship. I had settled into a comfortable place - feeling like I had this whole pseudo-mother thing figured out. But I don't. Because I'm not his mother. He has no mother. And his strength ultimately has to come from God... not from me.

It's a process, for sure.

And while it's hard, it's good.

Because as much as I'd like to believe I've got life figured out - and I don't depend on God like I should because of that false confidence - I'm really just faking it most of the time.

This experience just brings to the forefront how needy I really am. How much I need to rely on God's mercy every moment of the day. How dependant I really am.

So on this lovely Monday when he is happily laying on the couch watching Tom and Jerry and the laundry is done and there are cookies in the oven, I'll rest in the knowledge that this moment is a good one. An easy one. And I'll suck up the strength it gives me for the next hard moment.

Because it will come. As surely as tomorrow is Tuesday.

There is so much Grace in a quiet Monday.