Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now

Maya Angelou titled her bestseller Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now. I read it in high school. My notes are in the margins. They're pretty funny. Not quite as funny as the infamous essay. Anyway. Never have I felt that title deeper in my marrow than I do at this moment in time. When Matthew smiles at me, or nestles his head onto my shoulder, or so much as moves one little muscle on his adorably tiny body, I am consumed with joy. I wouldn't take anything for where we are and where we've been. All those months of wondering and worrying and waiting on the Lord were preparation for this day.

Like I've said before, it's the little things.

The Rock Star has begged for bunk beds for his brother and him since Matthew was still a newborn. Our answer was always, "Maybe someday." Someday is still a long way off. Matthew isn't close to outgrowing his crib and, even if he was, he likes to have midnight parties in there where he wakes up and has a ball with all of his stuffed animals. Garrett has to sleep in the other room just to get a good night's rest. Still, the other day, when we saw a set of bunk beds at a store, Garrett asked if he and his brother could have a set one day. "Sure," I replied and I almost wept in joy right then and there in the middle of Shopko.

Today we met friends at a park that I haven't been to since last summer, since my baby was half the age he is now. I wondered then if he'd ever chase his brother around a park. The answer was yes...

Wouldn't take nothing for my journey now. Not for the lawyers and the psychological evaluations and the judge and the social worker and the hoping, praying, dreaming, doubting, wishing, trying, believing, enduring, crying, and surviving. I wouldn't take anything for that journey. Because every excruciating moment of those 14 months made a day at the park possible, made this possible...