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And yet she's not like me, especially as a child. She's not afraid of most new things, speaking in front of people doesn't scare her, she laughs easily, and she wants to play sports. I'm more adventurous as an adult than I ever was a kid, but, still, she makes me proud in the ways she faces life.
But sometimes I scold her when her behavior is just like mine. I see my weaknesses in her and cringe, not because she disappoints me but because I disappoint myself. And I know she's watching. I get cranky when I'm tired. I can break when my plan breaks.
And then I watch her love her life and her brother and her daddy and school and writing and reading and games and playing and imagining, and I'm left knowing that even in my imperfect perfectionist ways mothering this girl is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.
She's so much like me. And it leaves me to believe nurture trumps nature because biologically speaking she wasn't created from me. But I know without a doubt she was created for me to be her momma. I understand her. I yearned for her. I learn from her every day. Her story is my story because through it God rescued my heart.
This is the second in a series of posts this month in honor of November being National Adoption Awareness Month. You can read my past adoption-related posts here. Want more? Subscribe to get "Insights" in your inbox. Or follow me on Twitter.
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