Mash-up: Nelson Mandela's life and the Herdman's one-eyed-cat epiphanies

"I could not imagine that the future I was walking toward could compare in any way to the past that I was leaving behind."  Nelson Mandela

This hits me in two separate spaces of my soul.  The first, a void created by my inability to...maybe sacrifice my other children?  ...maybe inability to...I don't know...if I knew...it wouldn't be a void.  There'd be a sixth child still asleep in his bed as I typed.  But there isn't.  And I think of him always.  How can you express that to a child you've failed?  You can't.  You just help the other adults who are picking up the pieces.  I can admit that I did not break this child.  And, by God's grace, I have watched him heal in tremendous ways.  But I have added to some of the pieces on the floor that is his life.  And I wish I could help him to see that the future with his possible new forever family has all the potential in the world to be so much brighter than all the combined safe-happy-moments he experienced with us.  Love.  It's the seed I planted.  Now, it's time for someone else to tend the field and I pray to harvest the crop that should be a life well lived.  

The second breath-holding-realization from that quote has been forming for quite some time.  All the efforts and love and pain and joy and tears and work I have put into the last year and a half to end with yet STILL a disrupted adoption...has left me really questioning.  What big miracle am I really asking for?  A child to heal?  to function in society?  is God really asking me to sacrifice even more of my other children's safety and sanity?  like...really?????  am I depending too much on my own strength??  bc I surely haven't FELT strong.  or wise.  or holy.  or brave.  or heroic.  And if all this is true...and let's add the kicker here...our littles could  be going home in three months despite allllllllllll the reasons everyone, save the main decision maker, can see...has had me truly asking...yelling...threatening...so what if You are real??  Why on Earth would I want to serve a God who allows such things.  I am not asking for massive freedom-of-will miracles to be performed.  I'm asking for one child's heart to settle and accept love...and then for the judge to simply make a wise decision based on ALL the facts and recommendations of EVERYONE involved.  I have done all the hard work, made all the sacrifices, given Him all the credit.  It's a formula...last I checked.  You know....Job loses it all but then gets like more and better in the end...right????????

Hmph.  I've always struggled with the first half of that story.  LOSING IT ALL.  I had a miscarriage.  I didn't want MORE or BETTER...I freaking wanted my baby.  life.  a life I'd had dreamed of since I was 4.  And then one day---I was holding J-bob (after the miscarriage) and I could really look at him and say...it was worth it.  I am thankful...because God's plan was better than mine.  {And I could actually say that without a bitter acid reaching the back of my tightened throat}

Today my five children and I began reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever and I was literally crying from laughing so hard at the Herdman's one-eyed cat.  Of course, my belly laugh led to the kid's belly laugh.  And then we did a few days of our advent reading (one kinda loses a week or so when one packs a child up AND has court for the others in the same 7 day stretch...I share the pathetic failings bc it's taken 10 years of actual Motherhood to even make it past day 3 on an advent reading...and who am I kidding...as a very.bad.Christian. I didn't really even know said readings and Jesse Tree things even existed until about 3 years ago...so don't go thinking high of me...oh wait...I just admitted to thinking the book of Job was a magic formula of pain begetting more and better...HA...yeah, no pedal-stools here).  

What was I on about bf that train-wreck of ADD just hit???  OH!  laughing and advent. We prayed over our first-scented-candle-in-like-7-years and tonight was Mermaid's night to blow it out and make a wish (prayer)...throw me a bone...we don't do Santa...I think blowing out candles and trusting those unspoken thoughts are floating up to God in the smoke is a beautiful and magical thing.  And I realized...that "I could not imagine that the future I was walking toward could compare in any way to the past that I was leaving behind," or in my specific case...present...but it can.  And He is good.  And I don't even have to know the future or like what He is saying, not saying, doing, or not doing.  I simply have to just keep clinging to Him (even if I am kicking and screaming) because...I have tried to do this life without Him...I have tried being angry and resentful and pretend I don't want to serve...but.I.can't.  Because I love Him...dearly.  And I trust Him...dearly.  And He knows that terrifies me.  And that trusting that He loves my children (borrowed, middle, or forever) is even more terrifying.  

Sinking Ships

We are reading the book Hero Tales in which several Christian heroes stories are shared.  Now, the funny part is that most of these greats are (apparently) well-known among the Christian community.  Like, especially the really good Christians which (apparently) I have not yet become because at the age of 36, I still can't recognize the how-many-ever-points of this one man's doctrine versus the lack of or total opposite beliefs of the other camp's doctrine MOST LIKELY because the moment people start up about it, my brain takes a vacation, until it all comes back to what I consider the easiest-hard-thing God has commanded us to do:  LOVE.  And before I get peppered by the legalists...if we go to the Bible's definition of "love" then that isn't all warm and fuzzy.  Like.  At All.  At least the slow to anger and long-suffering part is my Achilles heel (again see the fact that I am SO NOT a really good Christian).

So, I have heard of Moody Institute...but much like it took me years to comprehend Pets Mart is a play on words and could also be Pet's Mart...yeah...I.am.special.  I really only recently learned of who this said Moody man was.   I sure do love his passion.  And quite frankly, stubbornness.  Because he even had a medical doctor caution him to stop doing what he felt God was asking him to do because it was gonna kill him...and he really just didn't care.  Gotta love that in a person. 

So he was on a sinking ship.  And found himself a tad bit scared along with the rest of the people.  Not scared of death...scared of loss.  The loss of him in his wife and kiddo's lives.  The reality that he was leaving so much work left to be done.  He was quoted as saying, "It was the darkest hour of my life!"  I can get behind a man willing to admit that.  Especially a super-Christian.  Transparency goes a long way with me because lately I have felt like I was on a sinking ship.  And I have been scared.  And dare I admit this?  I have questioned God and even His existence.  I won't go into why.  I will share that in all His Love He made it really clear, really quick that He does exist.  And He does care.  And while my ship has been sinking, He hasn't let go.  Not once.  {And can I pause a moment to say that most of that happened via random Face book emails, letters, and posts?  Dear Friends...thank you.} 

So on said sinking ship, he gets clearance to read some verses.  I was reading this story out loud after a heinous night of our "one" {he had been visiting for one weekend a month for the last four months and then was placed for what many of us believed the *very last time* last month} flipping out compromised severely by my total and complete inability to not flip out right along with him.  I can say this with a whole lot of confidence.  My childhood baggage and broken parts are not conducive to the healing of my precious borrowed son's baggage and broken parts.

So we get to this verse in the story:  Others went out to sea in ships...In their misery they cried out to the LORD, and he saved them from their troubles.  (Psalm 107: 23-28) and then this:  He has put his angels in charge of you to watch over you wherever you go.  (Psalm 91:11)

I could hardly finish reading them the story through my tears because I knew by that time that another placement was being looked into for our "one".  And I truly believe, it is for the best...his best...our best...and God's best.  So many people give me too much credit.  And I am one stubborn, feisty, not-so-young-not-so-lady young lady.  But I also know several people who have seen me at my absolute worst (ummm...my kids and husband and dear friend and child's CASA) who can testify that for-the-love-stop-saying-good-things-about-this-woman-because-she-is-broken-and-OH-SO-flawed (my God, thank you for loving me anyway) and the only good I've given anyone is not any part of me...it's that pesky easiest-to-do-hardest-to-do love thing I was talking about earlier. 

Today we will celebrate this "one's" birthday.  And we will most likely also be packing his things.  And I am not sure what to expect emotionally for him or myself or how to reconcile it all for either of us.  I am sure that the family to which he is going seems perfect for him...oh my word...how I have fallen in love over the phone in one conversation.  Oh my word how I can see SO MANY GOOD THINGS for ALL OF THEM.  My heart rejoices that maybe, just maybe...I was just a tiny role in what will be his "happily ever after".  Maybe?  I really don't know.  And for Dwight Moody's sinking ship...it so happens that another boat came to their rescue.  It took eight days of being towed to get to safety. I can't put into words how metaphorical that is for my life in.this.moment.

And I know that no matter what, "He has put his angels in charge of you to watch over you wherever you go.  (Psalm 91:11) 

So while I may be too broken to get him safely to shore, I know that God will bring along someone whose boat doesn't have a huge hole in it and tow him there for me.  And there simply aren't words that can articulate my love for this family and my prayers that this really is the beginning of his "happily ever after".

Total side-note:  God has healed the wounds from my childhood in ways that I can probably never fully articulate.  The simple evolution in my marriage and comprehension that my husband actually DOES love me...like...a whole lot...and isn't going to abandon me...BAM...that's a big ole bag of healing that God has done in the last 14 years of my life...but...I can't explain the way living with someone who is unpredictable (even just in childhood explosions) is for me and subsequently my family.  It goes well beyond just "not giving up".  I can't patch this hole in my brain that needs order and peace.  I can't undo my anxiety or PTSD that has been re-established by the last year of living without.  I even had a doctor angry at me because he was having to medicate me solely based on my unwillingness to walk away from our "one".  I share that because I don't want people to think that they can't overcome their past and become incredible parents BUT ALSO because I think it is imperative that we as adoptive parents let the PROFESSIONALS DO THEIR JOBS...get matched.  Trust the words of those who truly know these kids long before our good intentions met them.  Fight like hell but also acknowledge when you or your family...isn't the right one to help a certain child heal.  My pride??  it's wounded;  but not nearly as wounded as trying to force a child to fit into the mold of a family they do not belong would become.

Laughter

Believe it or not, we laugh...a lot...like..a lot LOT in this house.

Between the antics of Spider-man, the innocence and newness of life being discovered by "the tod", the hilarity of our teenager's personality, the out-of-the-box-gross-boy-humor of J-bob, and Mermaid's random explosion of loud giggles (that leave everyone jaw-dropped because she's so usually so guarded and typically does NOTHING to draw ANY attention to herself, laughter is found around every corner. 

Laughter has saved lives "up in here".  It's taken us from I'm-a-gonna-kill-this-kid to snot-bubble-snort-out-loud-only-you.

It's definitely not all hard.   And the good moments far outweigh the negative (most weeks).  And the beauty of joy in the storm of family is indescribable.  And learning how to be a family---a large family, a medium family, a small family, a "middle" family, a biological family, a permanent family, a group of sinners living under the same roof, loved by the same God, and working towards the same goal: figuring out how to live a life poured out in sacrifice and love---isn't easy---but it is the single most rewarding thing we have ever done.  And we get to do it together.  {I cannot wait until the day I can share more pics AND figure out how to edit the above really long run-on sentence}

Let It Rain

Do you have a song that can literally transport you to an exact place and time of your life?  I love how music can unlock so many things---and that God so graciously gave us David (a musician) and the book of Psalms and many other accounts of music and instruments in His Word.

This song takes me to my husband's 1998 Hunter Green Ford Taurus (Toby---I miss you, Toby-the-Taurus).  We had just miscarried our first baby.  It.was.devestating.  I had wanted to be a Mother for as long I could remember...a deep, burning desire that eclipsed many other passions.  Children.  I have always loved them.  Even as a child.  12 weeks and no heartbeat or eagerly anticipated ultra sound video to watch and re-watch (there's just no words to capture *that moment*...a defining one for my husband and me, and our future, and our relationship).  We drove to the nearest Pizza place and I bitterly drank the biggest cup of caffeine for the first time in 3 months, and we shoved our pain in our mouths and wiped our tears away with greasy-comfort-food-fingers.  We discussed my up-coming surgery.  That day  I held my husband as he cried a cry I have never seen him cry since (real men feel...real men grieve...real men cry...just look at Jesus if you need further proof).  It's a special kind of grief and cry that accompanies the loss of a child...no matter the age or length of parenthood.

I boxed up all the baby things we had already acquired.  I boxed up all my emotions and disappointment.  I became strong-when-I-should-have-been-weak.  And then, as it seems I always do, I became weak-when-it-was-time-to-be-strong.  Hence, the aforementioned song and all it means to me.  I would blast it in our car.  I would scream at heaven and my only comfort was found in that He gave His Son, too.  He knew my pain.  I would slam my fists on the steering wheel.  I would cry so hard---I could barely breathe.  But this song would calm my spirits.  "The Lord Reigns..."

I became quite obsessed with getting pregnant IMMEDIATELY after my D&C (you're NOT supposed to do that).  I tracked my temp, checked my cervical *ahem* mucous, and *double ahem* fill-in-the-blank with my OA as much as possible.

We immediately got pregnant with J-bob.  Before the first 8 week exam I started bleeding.  I couldn't believe I'd been so foolish to get pregnant so soon after our loss.  I just knew that I had pushed my will into motion and was reaping the consequences.  The enemy tried to take my son 3 separate times during that pregnancy, but by God's amazing Grace...10 years later...I listen to him play with his little sister in his room.

Autism was the next thief.  It stole the joy, intentions, and dreams of the kind of childhood/motherhood I'd always expected.  It led me (unknowingly) to have a tubal ligation at a much.too.early.age.  A decision that has haunted me for years.  But God has brought 4 more children into our lives through adoption and/or fostering.  One of them is my teenager.  Born to someone else for someone else: US.  A joy, unexplainable.  A bond, indescribable.

Life with our "tod" has reinforced that I am MUCH better with babies and toddlers.  It's one of the first recognizable gifts God blessed me with.  Friends, family, and other foster families with newborns or soon-to-be newborns have further reinforced that I still so desperately desire to have a baby.  I have to choke down the thick lump of jealousy that sometimes creeps into my throat.  His ways are not my ways...His plans are not my plans...and I am humbled how He has given me more than I have ever asked for or dreamed of for myself.

Psalm 97

1The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad;

let the distant shores rejoice.

2Clouds and thick darkness surround him;

righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.

3Fire goes before him

and consumes his foes on every side.

4His lightning lights up the world;

the earth sees and trembles.

5The mountains melt like wax before the Lord,

before the Lord of all the earth.

6The heavens proclaim his righteousness,

and all peoples see his glory.

Let it rain, Oh Lord, not my will but Thine be done.  May the People See Your Glory.  

Words

     I was eighteen and worked in the book department of our local entertainment store.  Stocking books and wiping away tears.  Apparently I've always had stubborn tears---the kind that fall when you least appreciate their burning sting.
     My former-student-English teacher, whom I adored and first introduced me to the philosophy of 'existentialism',  was my one of my managers.  He walked by and noticed me crying.  I can feel the book I was shelving in my hand, I can see the carpet, and I can still recollect the exact corner in which we were standing.  My God, I have always loved books.  Words.  Escape.  What a brilliant gift to Your people.
     It was his advice that makes this such a vivid memory.  I have very few vivid memories.  I attribute it to a childhood lived in mostly fear and an adulthood lived with little sleep.  He told me to write down all the things I didn't want to be.  All the ways I wouldn't do things.  He said I didn't HAVE to repeat the cycle.
     It's as if the fist chain in my life was mentally broken in.that.moment.  It took many more years of ridiculous actions and regretful moments of self-hatred and a decade of marriage before I finally understood that I, the broken one, the dirty one, the used one, the abandoned one...etc...was actually worthy of love.
     It took the words of my biological father, calling on a day that defies all odds other than the Holy Spirit's active work, that still radiate through my heart: Daughter, hear me, you were not a mistake.  We knew what our actions would lead to.  You are one of the best things I have ever done.  I still get a lump in my throat...cherished...by a father.  Cherished...period.
     I spent over 30 years of my life trying to pour my life out as on offering of apology for ruining what-could-have-been by my existence.  I didn't even realize I was doing it.  It all hit me a few summers ago when things got so ugly...I could hardly breathe through the pain of the words I have longed to forget over and over and over.  Words that I said and words said by others.  I was devastated that as an adult, I actually stooped to doing one of the things on  my list of nevers.
     What are we supposed to do with words we've locked so deep into the pits of our ugly hearts?  Is there ever a good or "deserving" time to release them?  Will it feel like a balloon released into the sky to have them gone?  Or will it feel like a huge wave that crashes and destroys and leaves the taste of nasty, sticky salt water burning in your nose and the back of your throat? 
     I am so thankful that God has given HIS WORDS.  They are like a life preserver in the sea of sin and self absorption lest I drown in my ridiculous attempt to be heard (words that should never even be spoken).   An anchor to grab when I find myself suddenly grasping for even an ounce of my own humanity in a character-defining-situation lest I lose such control that I don't even recognize myself anymore or even worse, blind others to Him in me. 

• Proverbs 12:18 ESV 

There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.

• Matthew 12:36 ESV 

I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak,

• Proverbs 16:24 ESV

Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body.

• James 1:26 ESV 

If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person's religion is worthless.

• Psalm 19:14 ESV

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

     Amen.  Sigh.  Amen.

   
    

Dear God, please make me a bird...

I used to sit outside at our that-moment-in-life's home and read Helen Steiner Rice poems and pretend I was a bird so that I could fly away. 

And then Forrest Gump's Jenny and her precious prayer of making her a bird so that she could fly far...far, far away pulsed through my soul.  I immediately identified with her sentiment...even years later.

Fast forward to this weekend.  SO much has happened.  And every.single.time. I am just certain we are capable of going that one extra mile (a marathoner's spirit can be a blessing and a curse)...I am reminded that the very reason we were walking, crawling, and just plain ole slumped over on the side of the road is because we were just certain we could not go that one extra mile...again.

The "one" came for a weekend visit.  There hasn't been anything OVERTLY horrific occur.  Other than needing to have one's walls up every-single-waking-moment-of-the-day being excruciating.  And it makes my hero and me ugly...mostly to each other which causes all the hard-fought-for-peace to melt into a puddle of bitterness, anger, and resentment onto the floor in-between us.  We were able to identify it this time and quickly mopped it up with communication and support and space...and if I'm being honest...junk food and some red wine...but the stain was still there. 

It was the insidious little things.  The red flag warnings.  I won't mention them here as they are private and easily side tracking...but there nonetheless.  And alarming.  And no matter how much I want to be the Mom whose undying, unconditional love conquers the child who has brought me to my knees more than any-other-hard-thing in my life...I don't know that it's the answer.  Which leaves me questioning God---why on Earth would you ask me to walk away?  Though, I am not ever planning to walk away...rather...admitting that my love doesn't need proximity or title.  And my love for my other children and my marriage is just as important.  Especially when those pesky red flag warnings are high alert markers for the protection and safety of my other children.  And my marriage.

Today in church I sat on a pew between two children...another in my arms...another across the sanctuary sitting with her friends...and two more in the nursery (one toddler and one boy whose going to be the finest Daddy around insisting on helping our little toddler "adjust" to being away from me).  Hot tears slid down my cheeks as I tried to settle my burning heart into truly worshiping Him.  Then we sang a song that offered a "sacrifice of praise" and I was instantly overwhelmed with how incredibly kind He is to remind me that my "sacrifice" of praise was probably more aromatic than my happy-happy-joy-joy (yes, I really just did that) "all is well" praise. 

So what does any of this have to do with being a bird?  Apparently David, whom I adore for his TRANSPARENCY, wished the same thing:  And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove!  For then I would fly away, and be at rest.  Psalms 55:6

 Sigh.  God was big enough then for David and He is big enough today for  me.  There really is nothing new under the sun.  And all that matters is that I keep doing the next thing.  And keep releasing all my need for answers, control, or even a happy ending to Him. 

The Bend in the Road

Sometimes we come to  life's crossroads

And view what we think is the end.

But God has a much wider vision

And He knows that it's only a bend--

The road will go on and get smoother

And after we've stopped for a rest,

The path that lies hidden beyond us

Is often the part that is best.

So rest, and relax, and grow stronger,

Let go and let God share the load

And have faith in a brighter tomorrow--

You've just come to a bend in the road.

Helen Steiner Rice

Holding On...

It feels like a lifetime has occurred in between my posts. 

We had to let go of our littles to keep our "one".  We had to let go of our "one" to keep our safety.  We had to let go of our "grief" to bring the littles back. 

There's been a lot of letting go these days.  It hasn't been until the last few weeks that I've realized I have been holding my breath...for like...months.  I'm pretty sure for awhile I probably didn't breathe at all.  I simply...I don't know what I did...existed? 

If you know me well, simple existence has never really been my style.  Really up, really down.  Really something.  Never just...there. 

That's what intense depression {grief?} looks like for me.  I have so many friends that it was easy to disappear.  They all assumed I was talking to someone else.  But I wasn't.  And I still don't want to.  Not about then.  My {pit days}.  You don't know how deep that pit is until you start slowly emerging from it again.  Step by step.  Slow-breath-by-forced-slow-breath.  Until the breathing just becomes normal again. 

For me, it included the inhalation of a precious child that has somehow tied her soul to mine.  It's hard not to fear the danger of that kind of love.  And now her older brother is following suit.  Sigh.  Faith.  Love them like they're my own.  Like my own lead the way in loving every single day.  My God, my children are the best things I've ever done (by HIS Grace).  

Tonight I feel myself lingering over it again. The problem is that I don't exactly know how to not fall in.  This isn't lack of prayer or time with Him.  It's not because my life isn't amazing or that I don't recognize (moment-by-moment) all of my intensely incredible blessings.

Maybe it's not a pit at all?  Maybe it's because I truly begged Him to break my heart for what breaks His?  And He's answered.  And He knows I cannot handle it all at once, so He spares me the full reality and gives it to me here and there.  My goodness.  This world.  My sin.  It's all so very ugly.

I have so very little to offer this world.  But the beauty that I see every day in the lives of my children...all six of them...gives me hope.  Makes the hard choices more choose-able.  Makes the sacrifices a little bit easier to make.  Listening to my precious teenage daughter as she describes her heartfelt prayer of thanks for our family...let's me know...we're doing *something* right.  My God, we are so undeserving.  He is so amazing.  The giver of all good things.  Which started with His Son and continued on a very personal note with My Hero...a man I couldn't even dream more perfectly for me.

l-e-t-t-i-n-g g-o

holdingon

Being still and knowing that He is God...and trusting that that in and of itself is more than enough...for everything.

Breathing Him in...and blowing the cares of this world out.  My deep sighs to heaven.

Tonight, it is enough to regain my balance.  How thankful I am that His mercies are new every morning. 

Letting Go...

"How do I wake up to joy and grace and beauty and all that is the fullest life when I must stay numb to losses and crushed dreams and all that empties me out?"  Ann Voskamp

I have been wrestling for weeks with those exact feelings and thoughts.  This morning I woke up to a scream...it was my own...in my dreams...my heart pounding and I struggled to even catch my breath.  Anxiety.  I can feel the beginnings of a true panic attack coming on.  I gulp in air.  Close my eyes shut.  Try to steady my breathing and shove the rising panic back down...so deep that maybe this time...as I exhale...I'll breathe out all that's building up threatening to erupt...inside out.

I grab my phone 4:17 a.m.

I cannot go back to sleep.  I cannot lie in bed and pretend like today isn't going to happen. 

I grab my gym clothes in the dark and head to Spin class.  Maybe I can sweat the panic away.  The music blasts and the teacher says, "What do you want to be more of?"  I lower my head.  All I can think of is broken.  I clutch my towel to my lips and sob.  Thank God it's dark and no one can hear me.  The heaviness of my situation seems to pull the entire class down.  Like a black hole...I wish it would just swallow me up.  I am tired of being brave.  Sick of answering people's questions.  And mostly, cannot bear the idea of looking into his big brown eyes and saying "good-bye".

failed adoption

failed adoption

I have never been good at letting go.  I am being told this is for the safety of my family.  I am beating myself up because I can see the pain of our broken one, but I am struggling to see the fear and terror of my other one.  I should be relieved.  Life should get much simpler...for us.  But I know that it won't...for him.  He's fought his entire existence and finally found a family but is too broken and too damaged to relax into it.  My husband's words still ring in  my ears after I told him about "the incident":  After I went inside, I almost threw up at the idea of how lucky we are that Jaden is ok.  It sickens me to think of...what could have been.  Why can I not see that?  Is something wrong with me???  Am I so foolish to believe that my love is enough to keep him from really hurting someone?  And where is my line?  What is too much?  Bruises heal, I find myself thinking.  But, abandonment?  There's no band aid for that.  The wave of panic rushes again.

Trust Him, Heather.  That's what two of my most beloved friends living the exact.same.things.but.different. told me separately in emails last night.  Trust.Him.  It is the only thought that slows the surge of fear.

And I do-ish.  I am still begging for a miracle.  I cannot fathom how we can get this far...only to stop now...but I am submitting my fears, my control, and my need to defend myself to any and all who have no idea what a decision like this entails.  I pray they never do.  I humbly bow in brokenness and choke on the words of judgment I have spewed in complete and total ignorance.  I don't have a clue how I am going to survive packing his things...again...or summons the strength to say goodbye...again. 

I am in the midst of a tsunami inside my mind...I am hoping for the parting of the Red Sea...that something will change and he can stay...but...I am willingly submitting my inability to save.  Only God can do that.  I have to trust Him.  Sigh.  I can feel the fear crashing all around me. 

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."  C.S. Lewis

Confessions of a bad home schooling Mama and even worse Granola

As I type, I pause to spoon (and not a clean adult-spoon in sight...so a plastic (gasp) toddler spoon it is) bites of Java Chip Ice-cream into my mouth.

This week alone I have ingested:  candy bars, coffee (real cow's milk and sugar), ice cream, chips, pizza (yes, I am gluten and dairy intolerant...and yes, I will spare you the toilet drama from said diet), etc.

One gets the picture.  I preach clean living, clean diets, exercise.  I believe it with my whole heart.  But in case you have failed to notice, I am EPICALLY IMPERFECT.

And let's discuss my failure as a Charlotte Mason homeschooling Mama, shall we????  Are you sitting down?  Bracing yourselves?  My.kids.are.doing.all.their.school.online.  My heroine probably just rolled over in her grave.  I am paying a monthly salary to an on-line learning site and letting them learn from what many would consider twaddle or entertainment (I won't use this post to expose the fact that my son LOVES this style...and...gasp of gasps...is LEARNING...).  And my electronics for half an hour a day and go spend quality time in nature???  PSSSHHHHAAAWWWW.

Don't get me wrong.  We do our chores.  We get our school completed (most days).  We just have about 2,222 other things to accomplish in a mere 24 hour period.  Today, I re-heated my coffee no less than six times.  SIX TIMES.  and still didn't finish it.  But this post tonight isn't about how horrible of a failure I feel like.

This post is an even greater confession:


My heart is so heavy, some days, if it weren't for all I had to do in and through Him...I would lie down and never get back up.

I have wanted a baby since I was a little girl.  Dreamed of the day I would become a Mom.  Tonight my insanely amazing 8 year old Mermaid jumped into my arms and wrapped herself around me and whispered:  I hope I am never too big to do this.  I buried my face into her neck and wished the same thing.

I'm stuck in a whirlwind of transitions.  I usually thrive in chaos...but...not this time. 

I have two moving out soon...and I don't have time to grieve. 

I have one moving back in soon...and I don't have time to prepare or rest. 

I have three who depend on me daily...and I don't have the heart to fall apart in front of them. 

I have friends with good intentions and lots of words and oh.my.Bible.verses....and I don't have the strength to tell them that they are drowning me with their unintentional judgement. 

I have Christians telling me it's "just Spiritual" (isn't it all????)...and I don't have the energy to tell them I've prayed more for my "one" than I dare admit...much less...suggest to them that I remove all love, hope, and control from them the first 8 years of their lives only to send them somewhere to be abused...then tell them all they need to do is "pray".  I gag on THAT kind of Christianity.  Shame on you if you're one of those.  Stop it.  Now.  Please, in the name of Jesus...stop.

I've spent the last two weeks driving to a hospital and staying the night on a unit with 9 children with various maladaptive behaviors.  Oddly, I feel the closest to God on that unit.  Cussing, spitting, attacking, tables and chair throwing, yelling, screaming (all hours of the night), and not one single child on that unit has an ounce of social skills.  They are all broken in one way or another.  They all have family members desperately seeking answers.  Helpless, broken as well.  But we all share one common thread:  transparency.  You can't hide your crazy on that unit.  And no one judges you.  It's a safe place for kids with issues (and the parents of said kids) to just be...kids.  There's one boy, besides my own in particular, that I have grown very fond of.  He practically body slams me with a hug and squeezes me tighter than any of the children in my home have ever squeezed.  I will miss him.  Deeply.  And he may never know the joy he brought to me in such a hard place of my life.  This broken-socially-ill-equipped young man.

I'm not mad at God (though I have begged for a baby...was brought one...and now am having to rip myself from her life).  I try to be mad at Him.  But in all honesty, I simply cannot be angry.  He is so very good.  Despite the pain of all this letting go and holding on and so on and so forth.  And He loves me even when I'm a bad granola (sometimes I don't even recycle).  He loves me even though I am teaching my children at home via the internet (disclaimer...I don't think this is a bad form of education...it simply goes against my typical hippie ways...but I don't believe in matching either...so who cares what I think, really!!).  He loves me even though I wanted Him to let this cup pass by and not adopt the child who brings such chaos.  He loves me even though I cry bitter tears over a baby that I have fallen so deeply in love with...I am quite sure...we will always have a connection.  He loves me enough to give me a love so fierce and so strong for my "one"...the broken, chaotic one...that I wouldn't trade all the newborn baby smells, gurgly noises, and across my chest toddler naps...for him.  I want him.  And I want Him. 

And when it's all said and done...I want my life...to be poured out...as a fragrant (though, I don't shower nearly as much as I should)...offering to the one who can Redeem and Restore.

So I'm an epic failure...but He's an epic failure lover.  And on that...I rest all my hopes and pain.

Faith

I'm practically incoherent.  I'm sicker than I think I've ever been in my whole life save the time after I gave birth to Merci and that one time in the third grade that I had pneumonia so bad that all I can remember is people from our church praying over me in my dark room and me wondering if I was going to die.  I kind of have the same feeling now. Shivering in the fetal position with hot tears running down my hotter cheeks.  I should have run a marathon I have spent the last six months---through all the chaos---training for today.  But I woke up with fever.  and chills.  and knew I had to walk away.  It was the "one thing" I was selfishly begging God for.  It didn't happen.  But such is life, right?

But the day got worse.  And quite frankly, I am so tired of fighting. 

And lest you lecture me about doing it in my own strength...I'll have you know that God has humbled me to such a position that even breathing these last few months cannot be done in my own strength.  I've never in my life needed or depended on Him more.

Our "one" had to leave for awhile.  It seemed everyone but me had the answers and solutions and despite my GUT-CHECK feeling from God...I listened.  It resulted in him having 5 placements to include 2 acute mental hospital stays in a month and a half.  Also, due to miscommunication on DHS's part, a failed adoption.  So I have had to fight like hell to get him the help he needed, keep him in our family's life, and have him brought back home.  He is actually doing well this last week and I have seen some dramatic changes in his heart.  Does this look like a *typical* child?  Hell no!  Sorry, but this needs to be blunt and to the point.  He has lived a life that most people only read about and I'd compare his childhood to a Russian orphanage with all the neglect.  His brain isn't even wired the same because of all his trauma.  But that's hard to remember when he's spouting off all his big, scary words because he is terrified of letting someone love him...or worse...admitting he's vulnerable.  Of course he acts like a thug.  He.has.had.no.one.his.entire.life. Until 6 months ago.

Our "teenager"?  Tuesday we adopt her!!  And the people that are just meeting her are so impressed with how sweet she is and how lucky we are.  So many didn't see the giant tsunami that hit around month 2...the battle for HER walls to crumble.  It was ugly.  I was finished.  I think I stood in my front yard and confessed to one of my best friends that I could go inside and get her things and drop her off at DHS and never look back...and I meant it.  And by God's grace, my friend listened, hugged me, prayed for me, and then told me what I didn't want to hear, "it WILL get better!"  And she was right.  We set massive boundaries and again, by God's grace, she melted.  I have the sweetest 13 year old living in my house.  My daughter....she's absolutely beautiful inside and out.  Watching her slowly blossom these last 6 months has been as incredible as watching a newborn learn to lift his head, roll over, crawl, and walk.  Breathtaking.  She is breathtaking.

Our "Little's"?  Man.  Spider-Man happens to be one of the more difficult sensory children to live with.  He is loud, pops your bubble, and has very little manners.  He doesn't listen, argues with everyone, and is almost impossible to understand because of his articulation disorder.  He had almost no knowledge of God upon moving in.  Now, he is the first to pray at the dinner table, in the car, and at bedtime.  Just the other day I noticed he was missing...and when the loud one goes quietly into his room...something is up.  He had gone and entire week with no bio visit and then had two back to back visits this week to make up for it.  He was in his bed with a very sad look on his face.  I asked him "what's up, buddy?"  He responded, "Superwoman, I was praying today and asked God to give me a second chance so that I could live with my Mommy and my Daddy again.  But I didn't hear Him answer." {pause, thank You dear God for this opportunity you've blessed me with in my own home}  I responded as best I could including the different ways we could "hear" God but also that God was giving his PARENTS a second chance and it was up to THEM to make better choices and reassured him that HE has done nothing to cause this.  This is a boy who still sees the good in everyone and everything and wants to grow up to be a police officer and catch the bad guys.  Who waits for my precious Mermaid at dinner to come to the table because, "wadies furwst".  He gets things wrong.  He is entirely too loud.  And he hasn't quite mastered the art of obedience in just 2 short months.  But he is learning about Jesus.  And he is applying it.  And he is exercising more faith than most life-long Christians.

And then there's my sweet, precious baby.  I didn't realize how badly my heart had been yearning for a toddler until I held her in my arms and rocked her to sleep.  We have a connection that marvels any and all blood relation.  She is truly my baby girl...for the moment.  I can't really even describe or explain the way she's  transformed our family.  All I know is that a little part of me will die when she leaves me.  And I pray every single day that she will understand that it has nothing to do with my not loving or wanting her...rather that we had to choose to put all of our energy into "the one".  That our home couldn't maintain with six children.  Or at least that's what society tells me.

J-Bob and Mermaid have amazed me.  The transformation in their lives has been miraculous.  I am quite sure that my 8 year old daughter whose heart is so full of tolerance and compassion and my 9 year old boy whose humor and acceptance of the hard to live with have more Spiritual maturity than about 80% of today's Christians.  I pray that God continues His good works in them.  In all of them.  May no good seed planted go unharvested.

I have no idea what tomorrow holds.  Good-byes to the Little's is inevitable.  The "ones" adoption is up in the air.  I have been humbled to a place of such lowliness and surrender...I can barely breathe.  All I can do lately is live for the very moment I'm blessed with.  So when I'm holding my baby...I praise God...when I'm redirecting my difficult ones...I praise God...when I'm tucking them all safely into their beds for one more (thank you, Jesus) night...I praise God...with a few tears in my eyes.

My "job" doesn't pay an earthly salary.  It doesn't even gain much respect...I get a lot of lectures, concerns, worries, and unsolicited advice.  I'm daily told how I could do something differently or how I'm not dealing with some certain behavior the right way.  I'm questioned by friends and family.  I'm sick.  I'm exhausted.  I've scarified more than I even imagined possible.  But I also know that ever since I was a little girl I have been obsessed with the verse in the Bible where God asks, "Whom shall I send."  My heart has always beat a little quicker and I imagine it is me saying, "Send me, Lord!!!  Send me!!!"

Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few;"  Matthew 9:37 ESV

I'm asking for more laborers, not less harvest.

And at the very least, encouragement in the laborers lives.  Unless you're going to open your home...maybe you shouldn't open your mouth to criticize or voice concerns.  And maybe pray for the families who are.  Because we need it.  We need husbands to be in the word and on their knees.  We need wives to be willing to submit and show respect.  We need children's lives changed by the powerful word of God.  We need all the protection we can get because we're opening our homes...the safe place...up for battle.  And the enemy can't stand it.  And it's terrifying.  And requires faith and constant surrender. 

Faith is painful.  Truly.  But once grasped tightly...it is also fearless.

That's how I get through my days.  Fearless faith and the blessed reward of tiny little souls and love and childlike faith that leads the way in my heart and in my home.