Permanency

Today Spider-man and I counted down the days to the long anticipated "ADOPTION DAY".

13...thirteen days.

The fact that he threw his arms around my waist and breathed a heavy sigh of relief illustrates the tremendous change that has overcome our Little Man since the termination hearing. I am still baffled by his reaction that day. He promptly burst into tears and after several minutes of all of us crying with him he exclaims through spit and snot, "Now I can't marry Mermaid". I don't know if any of us have ever laughed so hard? He's been fine ever since he has realized this means a lifetime of sibling connectedness to his "love". Permanency looks and feels good on all of us.

Normally, just as I had with past court dates, I'd be breathing deep, making mental notes, preparing for things that are always subject to change. But this month I have a different date circled on my calendar.

7...seven days.

In seven days I go back to the dermatologist to have a lovely little tumor in my leg removed. A few weeks ago, after a big fit on my husband's part I went to my PCP. She got me into a dermatologist by the end of the week. That kinda freaked me out, but I didn't really give much thought until the day of the visit. They cut it off and sent me on my way saying don't worry unless my phone rings from them in a week.

My phone rang in one week and one day.

So I'm going in seven days to have a wide excision; I'm praying they can get it all and have some answers sooner than my two week follow up stitch-removal.

Pre-Adoption, Pre-Foster, Pre-Failed-Adoption Heather would have seen this coming a million miles away. All happiness and good things in life are rewarded with loss, pain, suffering. I had conditioned myself (I guess?) to associate good times with rug-ripping bad to follow. But these last two years, I have lost that person somewhere along the way? She drowned in the intensity of all that is required to just-survive-today.

Then she started training for a 100M trail run. And she learned real fast about the importance of "staying in the now". Otherwise it's miserable. Too much. Overwhelming. And then there's the beauty of the pain that is learning to be danced with, the running alongside astounding views, and the breathing it all in beside incredible people (ain't no peeps like my trail peeps).

And something clicked.

Or maybe it was the huge throw-down that I had with God? And He has revealed Himself and proven His goodness---despite it all---to me over, over, over, over.

But something has definitely clicked.

So now I am anticipating good news? Not living in constant fear? Barely even having to push negative thoughts aside? But that kind of scares me. It makes me feel as if I am not being humble enough? Maybe too assumptive? I have the same struggle with *knowing* I can complete my first 100M without ever having toed one step beyond 32M.

I won't be completing the 100M that I've been training for. I will still have stitches. I can't even start. It kind of makes me sick. A DNS (did not start) is so much worse in my mind that a DNF (did not finish). Explains a lot about my personality. Ugh. Anyhow...what I CAN do is go serve the others who can start it and hopefully pace my dear friend in for her last 16 miles.

No matter what happens in seven days...I know that UNEXPLAINABLE MOUNTAINS were moved for the two children who will legally become ours in thirteen days to have even graced our doorstep. And then to have remained. And then...despite it all...it all ended up just as it should.

So, I guess I just have Faith. The kind that's had to walk through fire. I can say that trusting Him with my life is much easier than trusting Him with my babies. If I'm being honest, that's the only time I find myself in a dark hole. I don't want them to worry, to see me weak, or to lose feelings of safety and permanence.

Because let me tell ya, permanency looks and feels good on all of us.

"I have loved you with an everlasting love." Jeremiah 31:3

Ain't nothing more permanent than that...

The Beauty of the Ups and Downs

A few weeks ago I found myself waking up at 3:30 in the morning to get ready to meet some great friends to embark on a 50K trail hike that included summiting the "hard" side of Pinnacle Mountain.  Have I ever mentioned that I am afraid of heights?  We trained by climbing that mountain 3 times before race day.  The first time I was truly scared, and if it's possible to "climb" up on all fours---I accomplished it.  The second time should've been easier, but I wasn't mentally prepared because we decided to tack it impromptu-like to the end of our training hike.  It was the worst climb of them all as I was certain I would plummet to my death and leave 5 children and a gorgeous husband to do the rest of their lives without me. 

By the 4th climb on the day of the race, I was half way up the mountain before I realized that I was actually OFF all fours and looked more like an adult than a toddler making my way to the top.  I had learned a few things:  just look directly at the step in front of me,  breathe through the fear, listen to the beauty around me (friends), stop occasionally and encourage someone either above or below me.  It was that simple.  It was only when I looked down or around that I got really scared and my mind would take over and threaten to do more harm to me than falling all the way down that mountain. 

That is the most beautiful analogy (for me) to apply to my walk as a foster mother.  Yesterday we went back to court after last court's shocking turn of events that allowed us to keep the children for two more months.   I had fully invested into the letting go process.  I had processed most of my grief and prepared the children in ways I knew paled in comparison to most.  I was broken and ready.  My clenched fists had been pried open and were willingly limp before Him.  And then He placed them right back. 

Since then, I have not tried to tighten my own grip as I have come to learn that it is not worth a fraction of the unnecessary pain or fear of having to release my hold.  And yet, it's been 2 of the most beautiful months we have ever had.  Peaceful, joyful, natural, and calm (amidst the chaos of life with 5 kids).  I was taking my training and applying it: only look at the day at hand, breathe, listen to the beauty and blessing of family and friends, and pause to encourage someone else throughout the day.  Of course fuel (time with Him) and training (living out Him) were an integral part of reaching the finish line tangibly and comparatively. 

So here I kneel humbly before Him with the knowledge that in just two short bonus months He has allowed me to see extra joy and peace in my foster children's lives.  He has helped my sweet toddler sleep all the way through the night (after 17 months of screaming nightmares).  In the last 2 nights alone, she has gone to sleep without needing to pretzel-wrap her arms and legs around me for security and her older brother has climbed into my lap more times recently than all the months combined...so if God wants to give us all 3 more weeks of this...this beautiful, blessing of being a foster family...I'll take it..even though it means more waiting.

I'm breathing deep and focusing my brain on doing what brings peace as opposed to terror.  I am thanking Him for all the things He has consistently provided at just the right time.  And though I am truly terrified of what awaits the top of this mountain, I know--that I know---that I know that God is good all the time and it will be beautiful even in the pain.

This...

I walked into their room---almost only her room again---to find my Mermaid violently shoving our Toddler's leftover unpacked clothes into a hot-pink suitcase.  Her movements had an edge to them that I recognized in my own forced motions.  She was hurting.  And she was trying to hide it.  I shut her door and made her come sit with me.

As she walked over to collapse into my lap she began to groan an angry:  I DON'T WANT THEM TO LEAVE.  I felt the weight of all that my family had opened itself up to this last year and half crash full-force around me.

{This, this is why you didn't want to foster, isn't it?


Yes, baby.  This exactly.  (I didn't mention that the part I was referring to was her pain)


But, I am glad we got the Littles.

Yes, baby.  Me too.  So glad.}

I left her room wondering when she'd blossomed into this complex creature who felt so deeply and loved so fiercely and tried to look so strong amidst internal sorrow.  Again I was reminded how she encapsulated so much of me and her Daddy yet was fast becoming a version of us that was all her own.  I headed to my bedroom and shut the door.  I stumbled into my bathroom and shut that door as well.  I slid down the wall and cried the hottest tears I have cried in a very long time hoping that the insulation of two closed doors would protect my children from seeing their Mom truly fall apart.

I thought about my friend and her recent tattoo of a lotus.  Apparently they bloom in mud and muck.  I thought about how God could use the fracture my absence is creating in my toddler's heart to develop the early plantings of character and of compassion.  I imagine my Spider-man as a Joseph to his family.  A child who will grow into a man that will lead the way to redemption of a whole family...a cycle breaker.  I thought about my "one" who was no longer with us.  How we practiced facing unimaginable disappointment and packing of possessions and the shelving of our own expectations.

I didn't ask for ANY of this. 

But down deep I know that I did.  When I asked Him to empty me...to break my heart for what breaks His...to help my family learn to live a life that is fully poured out.

This, this unselfish love for others that can only be found in Him--- His example as a parent to His children who He loves more than I can ever comprehend.   

This, while painful to watch, is beautiful to live.

Tomorrow a family will be reunited.  At a great cost to my own.  But at an even greater by-product of growth for my own.   

For this, I am so glad.

Say something....

Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'll be the one, if you want me to
Anywhere, I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you

This song is being over-played on the radio.  And I have a pre-teen and a teenager so the radio is a MUST in our car.  I get it.  I believe in self-discovery through music.  And by all means---judge me now---because I am not a "Christian-music-only" kinda mom...or person...so...yeah...we have heard this song several times a day lately.  If I am being honest, it's on my running playlist.  And when I am singing it, I am singing it to God.

 

And I am feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all

And I will stumble and fall
I'm still learning to love
Just starting to crawl

Say something, I'm giving up on you

Initially, I had guilt issues over seeing God's face every-time I heard this song, until I realized that He gets it.  And I was created to feel small, right?  Be humbled in His presence?  And I really am, after 37 years of living, just learning how to love.  And it hurts.  Which was my initial take on "love" that caused all my past pushing aways.  But now?  Now, I am clinging...clinging for dear Life...and the Life isn't mine.  It's a toddler's.

I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
Anywhere, I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you

At this point in the song my heart sings to her, because I have tried everything.  And I know she may never, ever understand that it was never my choice to leave her...rather...a court order that will force her out of my home.  A system that removed her to begin with in an effort to "protect her".  My husband tells me to think of where she'd be had she never had me?  I nod in agreement with him (and every other person who tries to comfort me with those words) but in my head I am simmering, ready to explode...where would she be?  She'd still be numb.  Un-attached.  Un-fractured.  She used to sleep through the night until her initial removal and several weeks of learning to live in a world that her needs would be met...even in the middle of the night.  But now?  She's found her voice.  She's learned to use it.  She just started sleeping through the night at my house about a week ago---15 months later.   

And I will swallow my pride
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye

Say something, I'm giving up on you

She's not sleeping at her parent's house.  Maybe she's testing the newly-found-life-changing-claims-of-responsibility-waters?  I pray no one drowns in the rip tide that inevitably follows a selfish parent's momentary lapse into the real world of actually raising his/her child.  At least, that's my experience.  It never lasts.  The wave of hope is usually so big, so powerful that when it crashes upon the surface of real life the energy needed to push past the land has been spent and all that is left for the little feet waiting at the edge is a bubbling froth of good intentions...until the next wave comes.

 
And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
And anywhere, I would have followed you
Oh-oh-oh-oh say something, I'm giving up on you

Say something, I'm giving up on you
Say something

I need to hear from Him.  I need reassurance that all will be well.  I am trying to fill my mind with His reminders.  I tried pushing Him away and that didn't work.  I wish I could give up.  I think it would actually be easier than holding onto my very damp, shivering Faith.  

Songwriters

AXEL, IAN / VACCARINO, CHAD / CAMPBELL, MIKE

Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Boomerang Brain

This may be way more discombobulated that usual.  I have so many thoughts literally ricocheting around my mind that I am almost incapable of focusing on anything.  My husband and I stole a few moments away alone together yesterday and on the brief drive home (I don't think I even took a breath between words), the OA looked over and laughed and said, "did they put crack in your coffee?"  His comment was fair.  It's all coming to a head in about five weeks.  And I feel like I won't survive my own brain and emotional land mines in the interim.

We have had the "littles" for about 14 months now.  We are guaranteed one more.  This month will be a huge contrast to the last 14 in that we will be adding unsupervised visits between them and their biological family.  I have very mixed feelings.  There are moments of total panic and fear (usually around 2 or 3 am when our toddler is screaming out for me to "not leave her" in her sleep) in which I have to steady my breathing, focus on the here and now, fully embrace all she is to me and I am to her, and just hand it over to God.  These moments are sandwiched in between her asking to see her "other Mommy and Daddy" and my promise to Spider-man that I will in fact do every. single. thing. in. my. power. to help his Mommy and Daddy make good choices so that he can go home again.

Sigh.  Just have to pause and do that whole marinate in the fact that He is Ultimately the One in Control thing for a moment. 

And here is where the boomerang is thrown.  There have been several articles circulating the internet lately.  The ones that quantify all the "should's and should not's" in written form telling people what x amount of things they should accomplish, shouldn't accomplish, or why their way or their perspective trumps other ways or other perspectives.  There are many great concepts to be found in all of them, I am sure.  I just can't stomach so much...prescription to life.  I have found, personally,  the ultimate beauty of God giving two simple, sums-it-all-up commandments:  Love Him, Love Others.
I like simple.  I embrace it in this chaotic, complicated, messed up world we live in.

The other aside is the acknowledgement of the platform that many foster and adoptive parents stand on (rightfully so) in their finding offense by other people saying "I could never do that....I'd get too attached" (cough, cough, blush...I was one of those who said that) and/or the asking of stupid questions.  I guess the fact that I have a child with autism, AND I eat  weird, AND I educate at home has sort of anesthetized me to the comments and questions of others, most days.  I think I have gotten them all; I have been offended plenty.  BUT, I have also learned that so much is spoken in total ignorance and that if I stopped answering these questions then I stop advocating for the things that are so dear to me.  By advocating I do not mean: shoving MY convictions upon OTHERS.  I mean, living my life in transparency and sincerely welcoming the freedom for others to be just as transparent.   When transparency is done this way then there should be no wrong fears and no wrong questions.  Rather there should begin a dialogue of love between two people who are simply trying to walk in His glory who happen to meet along the way while traveling separate paths each adding value to the task that is "love" commanded by God. 

Which leads me back to my original topic:  attachment.  The most asked question and/or fear seems to revolve around the notion that an attachment so strong will develop and be too difficult to lose.  Well, let me just go ahead and state that my single biggest fear in life is to lose someone I love.  I know this is common, but my fear trumps all reason...it keeps me up at night...it swallows me whole at times.  I see death and loss at every corner.  I push away as much true intimacy as possible in an attempt to make it easier if/when the inevitable occurs.  It just is who I am, and I am certain it has a lot to do with my childhood...blah...blah...blah.  Bottom line:  I deal with this by loving deeply and holding tightly...like...white-knuckled-clutch.  And yet, God has taught me so much.  And while I am deeply attached to my children (all of them...foster or not); I am more attached to the knowledge that He loves them even more.  That is my comfort.  That is how I regain regular breathing pattern amidst the storm of anxiety.  Just know that you may attach, and it may hurt to let go...but NOTHING compares to all that happens in your life, your family's life, and the life of the child(ren) that makes it not worth it.  Even if they go back to a life less than your hopes and dreams..they go back being touched and having touched.  And again, God loves and dreams greater for them...and it is so cool to watch Him pen His Sovereign penmanship on a child you love's life. 

The question I do not get asked is:  what if I don't attach...what if they don't attach...what if there is NO ATTACHMENT...the ENTIRE 14 months you have a child living in your home under the protection of your love and care?   That (for me) is where the rubber meets the road.  Our Spider-man has fought every single attempt or acknowledgement of true love.  He is far from a real attachment.  While it feels like I have wasted the last 14 months of my sanity (ha, me...sane??!!) on him, if I step back and evaluate what he has overcome in such a relatively short (though NEVER ENDING) amount of time...I am amazed.  He has learned respect.  Respect is the first step to love and attachment.  Respect leads to trust...trust leads to love.  Love...sigh...unlocks the doors to life, right?  Well, wrong if you have an attachment disorder.  There are plenty of us who have learned that the aforementioned domino effect of respect, trust, love = pain.  And just because someone else understands that their love is a real, healthy, and safe love...doesn't mean that the person terrified of it will comprehend that...no matter what...for a VERY, VERY, VERY long time.  So we have spent 14 months, in many ways, faking it.  Not faking the love.  We adore Spider-man.  Faking the part that wants to scream at how utterly impossible it is to reason with the unreasonable.  Faking the fact that "dying to self" isn't the single.most.excruciating.thing.ever. to do....and...come on now...DAILY???????  For the LOVE, God...isn't there ANY OTHER WAY???  (Do ya think He laughs at us?  The myopic minds we struggle within?)

For Spider-man?  I think the biggest gift I can continue to give him is that of love of his biological parents.   We are really real "up in hurrrr" and he knows that there are areas of change that have needed to occur in his parents.  He understands that the choices they have made in the past were dangerous.  He now gets that love has boundaries and protection.  He is fully aware (at the ripe old age of almost-seven) that people are flawed and no matter how hard you try...you can't stop loving them just because it would make your life easier.  He has reminded me of how pure and beautiful the hope of a child for a parent can be...is...should always be.  That's something that should NEVER be counted among these kid's "managed Losses".  God is a God of Redemption.  It is His desire that NONE shall perish.  My goodness, may we all get back to that early-held-dear-dream for all to be saved.  I know that I started praying for my Dad when I was 4.  I was in my early 30's and a mother of two when he called me and told me of his acceptance of Jesus...his acceptance of Forgiveness...his acceptance of Love...sigh...Praise God...who is so, so, so good and faithful....despite the circumstances that surround.  How great is His Love for us.  And how beautiful His story...even when the ending to specific chapters are written as if an antithesis of our own chosen ending.