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}
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.
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.
