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.

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.

   
    

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.

Pain

I'm in uncharted territory here. 

Pain.

That's not new.  but this kind is.  waves of it washing over me. 

I have spent hours in a basket with a pillow cradling my phone with tears of "I can't do this" streaming over the words of my heart.  I can't.  Truly; and I haven't. 

And that was just living with a child with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RADs).  My now 9 year old soon-to-be-if-I-can-survive-him son is like being water-boarded with bad behavior.   Everyone in the house is recoiling.  It's a different kind of discomfort.  The kind that is in your home from the time you wake up until the time you go to bed and follows everyone around.  The kind you can't run from (I've tried), pray away, or ignore.  It.sucks.  Living with a child so broken his only goal is to break you back.  Where does one draw the line?  I've drawn it a million times.  I simply cannot reconcile quitting on him. I am so thankful that the Bible outlines love as being long suffering, patient, kind.  Not warm and fuzzy feel good.  Love can suck sometimes.  Pretty sure it sucked being beaten, mocked, and nailed to a cross. 

sigh.

And then the phone rings.  It's the first night of my Hero's long awaited blissful vacation.  DHS has an almost 2 year old with allergies and a 5 year old with autism...could we take them?  I cradled the phone as I asked OA and was ready to not sleep from guilt over saying no when my Hero says, "Yes, how could we not?".

{Let's pause.  This is a man who is at wit's end with "the one" child's behavior who is about to start his vacation who said NEVER to adopting...much less...fostering...yeah...him!}

We scurry around...toddler proof the house...OA goes to the store and buys diapers and sippy cups and toys and what-ever-else kids love...oh...and a Thomas the Train...because he is that amazing (boy...autism...sigh).

When the workers finally got the kids to us I was completely disturbed by how horrific the baby's skin looked.  She looked like a burn victim due to her allergies.  And she was so tiny and still on a bottle and formula.   It was awful.  And then I met Spider-Man.  It was true love at first sight.  He has J-bob's old joy and enthusiasm  for life.  It instantly transported me back to when my babies were babies.  {My God...I would give anything for one day with each of them just one more time as babies.  sigh.}

He calls me Superwoman...and thinks I'm "awesome".  He and his sister have breathed so much love and joy and healing back into our home.  I asked my Hero why he thought it was so simple and easy with MORE and he said:  I think you've wanted a baby for so long...and now you have one...

My heart is in knots.  They had court today and have a family member willing to step up and watch them.  I met the mom and dad(s) today.  I hugged the mom.  I gave her my phone number.  I felt my heart wretch as we pulled away with her screaming baby in my van while she collapsed upon the steering wheel of her truck.

Why do parents have to make bad choices?  My 7 year old came to me with tears in her eyes and asked the same thing.

sigh sigh sigh SIGH


So I try to find my way around this new kind of pain.  I'm thinking much like running...I better learn to dance with it...make it count...because I cannot think of a better way to spend my tears than over the precious lives of children God loans to me.  Tonight, I am a family of 8.  Tomorrow...who knows...but as His mercy falls, I'll raise my hands to the God who gives...and takes away.

Dude.

It's about time for a really good funny one, don't 'cha think?

Problem is...I'm not laughing.  Today was awful.  I'm tempted to list off all the things that have made this last week and a half...heck...month so very difficult but I fear it would pull any and everyone considering adopting an older child away from doing so.

And the bottom line is that we are making head-way.  Which brings me to my issue.  Head lice.

Dude.

I pride myself on being one with body functions.  I have no problems admitting to perfect strangers that my tummy is not well yet my "turtles only swim in their home pond" if ya know what I mean?  And if you don't...well...I could go into great detail but I won't because I am discovering that MANY people are squeamish when it comes to poop.

{Boogers...now that's another story and if you've never listened to the lady on Google-definitions say it and define them with your children...well...you're just missing out!}

But head lice.  Can I just pause to say:  DUDE?!?!

Ugh.  So, my precious 13 year old informs me 4 weeks after living with us that she has lice.  Apparently the former foster Mom had treated several others but never her.  We would hope that our children would tell us that they had lice IMMEDIATELY, but I am thinking that she honestly may have been so worried about what we would think??  Who knows...all I know is that a few weeks ago at the end of the most INOPPORTUNE week, I was faced with one of my bigger fears:  microscopic bugs that flipping lay eggs like glue and multiply like gang busters???  Hello!!!!!  I immediately began washing everything in sight.  Even the one set of curtains in the house got washed.  I, the granola, even used chemicals...on almost everyone.  I was so tired that I passed the research baton to my dear OA (yes, you hear blame in my tone).  I was not told that after treating everyone twice and washing and spraying everything to INCLUDE the kitchen sink that I should check again within 10 days.  Because apparently if you miss one nit, the dadgum thing comes back to haunt you worse than any boy groaning "red rum, red rum" and Jack Nicholson's crazy face...really.

So last week was one of the single busiest weeks of my life.  And I'm a busy chic.  And just when I thought I could kick my feet up and rest...a tummy bug blows in and...yep...my youngest informs me that HER head has been itching...like for a WEEK!?!?

Surely nit...not.  UGH.  Insert the biggest DUDE ever.

Not a happy camper.  Homey isn't playing this time.  I have done my research and short of shaving the girls' heads...which I'm still considering...I have purchased every possible chemical on the market.  I'm a nit-picking-fool.  And I shudder every single time.

I am pretty sure that I was the epitome of exhaustion today.  I know that I was not fun-Mom.  And yet, tomorrow morning the sun is going to rise (ugh).  My children are going to greet me as if I were the most amazing Mama in the whole world. And His Mercies are new every single morning...whether I feel worthy or not.  So tomorrow I will find my do-over.  And I'll still have 222 loads of laundry to do and 2,222 nits to pick out, but I am praying that tomorrow I can choose joy and pause in the insanity and blast some silly music and dance around the house with my children (we will, of course, be spraying arousal cans full of chemicals...just in case).

And in the craziest of places...once again...I see His face.  And thank Him profusely for the gift of laughter because today we had none...and it was heinous.  I kid you nit. 

Here's my sign??

So, I must have a sign that is behind my back that others can read that I cannot see.  My entire life I have seemed to invite everyone's comments and thoughts and opinions into my world.  I do love people.  I do value differences.  I do struggle with boundaries and learning where and when and how to draw them.

It's been festering in me for a few years now, because I am learning that there is nothing "Godly" about me allowing people to sin against me and then causing me to sin against them in my anger and bitterness and resentment.  Now that I have 4 children to fight for Spiritually, mentally, physically, and educationally, etc...ly, I have not the time nor the energy to entertain or invite rude, even if well-intentioned, comments.


Us weirdos must stick together...in the name of Jesus.  Living IN the world but not OF the world gets exhausting.  It hurts to feel so weird all the time.  I even start to think I am wrong and feel my standards mentally slip until my Spirit snaps me back into focus. 

So here are my boundaries about some things that keep coming up causing me to be literally red in the cheeks hours later.  I am actually not even speaking this as much for me, as I am for the precious person(s) who may lack the INCREDIBLE support Soul-sisters that I have and is crying and feeling isolated and alone. 

Something I will never apologize or intentionally compromise on is living a life based on what God has called ME (aka MY values are not a judgement of YOUR values) to do.

My biological children have not suffered in vain through this process, rather they are learning what it TRULY looks and feels like (painful sometimes) to pick up the cross and follow Him.

Likewise, I will not pity my adopted children to the point of compromise.  They will survive being raised by a Mama who loves the Lord with all her heart, all her mind, and all her soul.  It will NOT kill them to be welcomed into a family who home schools, doesn't want their teenagers to have i-phones, and doesn't cater to material possessions ESP when that "idol" becomes more important than people (and you can be this way without wearing Mom-jeans and puff painted sweatshirts)...and being orphans of the state most their lives they have probably never had any one take the time to teach that GODLY value.

I truly appreciate all who have expressed concerns to any and all of the above in the last several months.  BUT, I'll raise my children the way God has called me.  It is tiring enough worrying about my own.  I have no idea how people find the time to "worry" about anyone else's...and if you have such vast amounts of time...there are millions of children without families in this world who would love to fill it!

Spontaneous birth

I think there is supposed to be a DHS adoption style part 2?  But it will have to be written by someone other than myself, because I doubt there's going to be much replication of our story.

After our home study was approved we jumped through what felt like about 1 million more hoops before we were given the blessed go-ahead to meet our children.  We were instructed to not bring the Ninja or Mermaid because the possibilities of the kid's reaction to their adoption news were endless.  It just so happened that the meeting was going to take place on OA's birthday.  It was to transpire at their therapist's office and beyond that, we had no idea what to expect.  We only knew that how the meeting went would determine the outcome for all future visits...no pressure...right?

I hardly remember any details about that drive...other than it seemed endless.  The kiddos were scheduled to be there half an hour before us so that the therapist could introduce our family's album and letter to them.  Plus, he wanted some time to run interference if they were upset (it is a total myth to think that every waiting child is elated with the idea of adoption...these children have been FORCED from their biological parent's lives and hurt by so many adults to include the system...why SHOULD they be excited?).  To our dismay, they arrived late and our precious son-to-be held the door open for us as we walked in.  We tried our best not to make eye contact and walked straight down the hall as if we were going somewhere else.  We hid in the bathrooms until enough time had passed for us to go inside.

I know exactly what they were wearing.  I know exactly where we were all sitting.  "T" (our 13 year old) wouldn't even make eye contact yet "J" (our 8 year old) was clutching our photo album and grinning from ear to ear saying how happy he was and when could he start Martial Arts?  My heart was pounding.  I could see OA's face registering unfamiliar territory and it made me talk faster and faster because he is our rock and if he is faltering then I'm surely going to sink us.  The therapist insisted that we go out of the sterile environment and get something to eat and meet back in an hour.

That was it...our big introduction.  And then we were alone just the 4 of us in our truck in the middle of a city we regularly get lost in trying to decide where to eat.  I immediately started asking questions trying to pull "T" out of her shell; I honestly have no idea which one it was, but she finally looked at me and started answering.  I can still hear the new-ness of their voices.  Hers so soft and tingly and his like melting wax.  My ears fell in love instantly.  "T" was like a fierce warrior...her face registers nothing unless she grants it permission.  Her brother is the exact opposite...his face is more animated than Saturday morning cartoons.  He cannot command a single part of his body to be still...the first few nights he even twitched in his sleep (I had to sleep on the floor beside his bed bc he was so scared...but that's jumping way ahead).

We decided on Chili's because that's the OA's territory and we got it to-go and went to the local book store.  "T" loves to read.  Right in the middle of the book store not even 20 minutes into our visit I stopped her and looked her straight in the eyes and asked, "What part about this adoption are you the most upset or scared about:  giving up your school and friends or the fear of getting hurt again?"  Right in the middle of the book store not even 20 minutes into our visit she looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I am NOT going to open myself up again to get hurt...I'm not going to let anyone in."  I took a deep breath and blinked back those very rebellious tears and replied, "I didn't have a very good childhood and one time Jon told me that I could push as hard as I wanted but he was not going anywhere...and he didn't...and if you would please...please...just give us one chance...I promise that we will fight with all we have and never give up on you."  Then the boys walked up and we just fell into position.  Like we had always had each other---yet for some reason had been separated for a while. 

When we got back to the therapist's office at some point the foster mom made a joke about the kids coming with us for the weekend.  We immediately jumped on the idea and said we'd been asking for that very thing all along.  The kids were begging in unison so the therapist pronounced it "divine intervention" and gave his blessings.  Several phone calls and details and car rides later, we were on our way home...with 4 children in our truck.  Happy birthday OA.

To say we were not prepared for them to come home with us is an understatement.  Oh how I took for granted the luxury of letting laundry pile up and letting the fridge grow empty.  I had planned to go grocery shopping while the OA took a nap when we got home...HA!  Instead we were scrambling around Wal-Mart for food.  "J" was a wild man.  I am used to children holding my hands and staying near...just because...not so for him.  He was off...like a light.  I cannot count on one hand how many times OA and I looked at each other and said, "oh great, we are going to lose him on our FIRST night together".  Of course, J-Bob was beside himself with worry.  I mean...a child who wanders off???  That's SO NOT COOL in his book.  "J" finally settled himself on the bottom of the cart with his legs stuck out and arms flung wide like superman.  Really, we were THAT family that night at Wal-Mart.

We got everyone fed and eventually in bed.  "J" was so terrified due to some horrible things he had been told.  Those details must wait.  But I eventually convinced him that those things would NEVER happen to him in our house, and I slept on our concrete floor by his bed.  I have never before in my life seen a child sleep like that.  He was even kicking the walls at some point in his sleep.  May God forgive me for the anger I still cling tightly to towards his former foster family.  Many things came out that weekend.  They explained so much of what we were seeing in "J"'s behavior.  The only words I can use to describe him are that he was like a caged wild animal who was finally let free.  {My God.  I pause to praise You for your incredible kindness and grace shown by giving us this precious child in need.}  Sigh.

The whole weekend is a blur.  I didn't sleep at all.  I couldn't even shower unless OA was readily available to be the "referee" in the event that the inevitable dispute would arise.  Sunday came along and it was time to pack bags and take them home.  "J" woke from a nightmare and told me he was very sad he had to go home.  I swore to him that I'd fight harder than I'd ever fought before to get him back with us as soon as possible.  His eyes flickered hope for one second and then fell dim.  My heart ripped in two.

I have failed to mention "T".  She was simply amazing.  I am quite sure that somehow she was born from us and sent somewhere else.  She was so open and so transparent.  There's so much I want to share but I feel like I need her permission.  The whole family fell instantly in love with her.  She didn't want to leave either, and I was shocked when she said she'd give up cheerleading and her school if she could just stay.  My heart ripped again.  How was I supposed to drive them home when they were already home???

This next part of the story is surreal.  It is probably one of the hardest and most horrible moments I have ever had to endure as a Mom.  "J" refused to get into the truck.  He was kicking and screaming and crying that he didn't want to leave us.  I was begging him to understand that we would see him next week (in the back of my mind I had already been formulating how badly I needed said week to game plan a survival guide for future weekends).  It was an infantile cry that broke my heart (again).  The whole family was crying except "T".  But she was trying to comfort her brother...a side she rarely shows.  It got so bad that we had to drop J-Bob and Mermaid off with a dear friend.  I called someone who, next to God, has played the single most pivotal role in our story.  She heard "J"'s cries and didn't stop making calls until she found someone who would listen.  And once someone realized he was safe...he gave them plenty of things to listen to.  There are a million details that simply cannot be shared.  But, I can say that God is bigger than I ever dreamed because we were able to turn that truck around and go pick up J and M and go home...all 6 of us.  And my heart babies are tucked snugly into their own beds as I type.

It hasn't been an easy few weeks. We haven't had a lot of "fun" moments.  It's been exhausting and excruciating.  Being a mother of 4 demands so much.  I miss my husband's arms.  I am having to share them with so many.  I think that's the part that's thrown me the most (that I don't like sharing him 24-7).  J-Bob and Mermaid have always been "Mama's kids"...but "T" is a "Daddy's girl" which is pushing Merci into becoming a "Daddy's girl" and Jaden is just floating along trying to make heads or tails of this brother whom doesn't understand rules.  "J" is going to be a "Mama's boy" through and through, and I rue the day anyone ever tries to hurt me.  I'm pretty sure he'd kill them...instantly.  His love is that fierce.  And that precious boy kept telling me how I needed to let HIM do things for ME because he owed it to me...sigh...I told him the only thing I want from him is good choices and for him to be a little boy...just be a child. 

So at the end of a couple of very hard days, I sit in humbled amazement.  That God would entrust my family with such a huge task.  That I would be blessed enough to be frustrated by my teenager's "attitude" and my boy's bickering.  Meanwhile, Mermaid is the blessed baby of the family who has somehow found herself in the perfect position to be loved and cherished by all...the constant calmer of the crazy people.  That I would crave my husband's arms...his attention and affection...blessed alone time.  I have been desperate and exhausted and angry and elated and frustrated and joyful...but I have never once felt empty.  God is my strength...my refuge...in Him do I trust.  Even when perspective alludes me...I can cling to His goodness...and rest in His mercies that are (oh thank You, God) new EVERY morning.

This is merely the beginning of our story.  I sit in eager anticipation to see what God will write tomorrow.  For tonight, I breathe in this moment of silence and kid breaths and thank Him for all He has done in our lives.  I have never known a thankfulness like I know in this very moment. 

Jericho

One of my most favorite Bible guys is Joshua.  I think I have always cherished his bravery and courage and all the awesome words af such used with him: 
    
     Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,
     for the LORD you God will be with you wherever you go.  Joshua 1:9

I love that when he went to spy out the Israelites' new land, he and Caleb were the ONLY two not terrified of the "giants" and tried to convince the others to not be afraid and to trust in their LORD--- the very LORD who parted the Red Sea and did so many other great miracles for them on a near daily basis.  It comes as no surprise me that he was the one God chose to have the Israelites walk around the whole city of Jericho 13 times. 

Last night we visited what I hope will be our new church family (we have been searching for such for 7 years).  With upcoming adoption of not one, but two children and not babies, but a teenager and a child in between my bio-children's ages, I have never been more certain in all my life that we need a like-minded body of believers to run to for accountability, edification, and prayer through this next season.  Just preparing these last few months with all the paperwork upon paperwork upon paperwork and readying our home (a major overhaul...I will have to post some before, during, after shots) for the what-seems-will-never-come-home-study (the watched pot never boils, right?) has brought me to worn-down places that only my children's toddler hoods and Autism have ever brought me...which...seems fitting because aren't the rough parts of pregnancy foreshadowing of the never-dreamed-of rough parts of parenthood that no amount of love, patience, books, and advice can prepare?

CHURCH...oh yeah...the guest speaker spoke of the destruction of Jericho and brought up MANY great points but the part that resonated with my soul and caused those rebellious tears to fall was his point on how if the Israelites would have thought, "we've done this for x amount of days now or x amount of circles now and nothing has happened...I'm not doing it anymore," then the walls (bc God gave them SPECIFIC instructions) would NOT have fallen down.  Let that sit with you for a moment.  When we disobey or give up after He has clearly given us an instruction...walls don't fall.  God can use someone (or something) else, clearly, but I don't ever want to miss out on what He has for those given walls on that given day.

I feel like I am marching around a city with my husband and two biological children that holds one room with my two heart children hidden inside.  A city that is about to be destroyed.  I'm sure the Israelites were focused on God's decree and that Jericho was their promised land, but they, at least some, had to also be focused on the promise they had made to Rahab about not harming anyone in her home lest their blood be on God's chosen people.  I am clinging to the time after time after time of God's incredible undeserved Grace being revealed in His word and through His promises.  I am quite sure had I been marching around that city, I'd have been chanting in my mind:  You parted the Red Sea; You can bring these walls down...You parted the Red Sea; You can bring these walls down, You parted...over and over and over again...just as I am today: You parted the Red Sea;You can bring my children to me faster than our broken state's department system allows...You parted the Red Sea; You can bring my children to me  faster than stacked paperwork or misplaced finger prints, or unhappy, unsaved.....one gets the idea.

So I try my best to not watch the pot.  And despite the fact that I feel an overwhelming sense of urgency to have these two children whose lives have already been knitted into our own, in my arms and under my protective care, I am continue to march on and constantly surrender the need to know what the next step will bring and chanting my mantra to Him..over and over and over.

All of this has painted such a beautiful picture of His adoption of us in my mind.  These children have no idea we exist.  They have no idea how hard we are already fighting for them on our knees and with our patience, our endurance, and our love for those who are proving difficult to love...people (and a system) they have had to be subjected to most of their lives.  They have no idea the hours I have spent researching different avenues for their future and how much sleep we've lost readying this home for their arrival...an arrival we anticipate with such tender joy and excitement.  An arrival they may fight, fear, or try to flee.  Oh how I do this to our Lord and Saviour.  He prepared the way before me (all of us)...before I ever even existed.  Why did it take so long for me to accept (not fear) His love?  How can I question a Love so Pure, so Sacrificial? 

May every time my children seek to reject me despite all I have and will always do for them be a gentle reminder of all the ways I have rejected Him despite all He has and will always do for me.  May it give me a Grace that is reflective of all the Grace I have been given.  May I continue to lay down my life and my needs (especially for control) in an act of blood-stained-sacrifice that pales in comparison to His blood-stained-sacrifice for me...for all of us.

May I always be strong and courageous, be not afraid,  and not become discouraged.  May I always focus my heart firmly on the promise that LORD my God will be with me wherever I go and may that be all the control I ever need to have til the day I stand (rather fall on my face) before Him.

 

God is moving...

One night long before we went to training, MY HUSBAND (the man who said we'd NEVER adopt...yeah...that one) prayed that God would soften our hearts toward His Complete Will, even if that meant adopting an older child. 

I have to be completely honest.  I dreamed of cloth diapering, wooden nesting blocks, making my own baby food, and enjoying all of the precious moments of infancy and toddler hood that autism robbed from my family.  I wasn't exactly sure if I wanted to throw my arms around this man's neck or strangle him.  He just opened THAT door...a door I had my foot lightly in front of...because...I wanted a baby.

Several weeks later during our 30 hour state training, that same man, MY HUSBAND (yes, still same the man who said we'd NEVER adopt) was whispering in my ear that he was thinking we needed to consider adopting kids aged 6-11.  I nodded my head in agreement and at the same time picked my jaw up off the floor and figured maybe he was actually SERIOUS about this??? 

At one point during above mentioned training in reference to a sibling group, I literally blurted out:  oh my goodness, please just give those precious babies to me?!?!?!  The trainer held my gaze for a moment, but I had a million reasons (fears/arguments/etc) why we couldn't actually adopt those specific kiddos.  The eldest child's age for one did not fit neatly into my Hero's 6-11 category...and a female???

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

I have learned:  don't ask God to lead and then try to tell Him where that destination should be.  And can I just tell you how beautiful it is to walk in obedience behind Him?  All those fears that crippled us in the beginning have just melted away.  I can barely breathe with how much love I have for children I have never met and know almost nothing about.  It's so much like pregnancy...God starts them out as a tiny seed and they grow and grow and time, love, patience, and faith allows all that naturally follows to manifest into a beautiful relationship between parents and children.  They are born of His love spilling into our lives and the overflow from all that He is beckons us to so much more than we could ever hope for or imagine for ourselves.

My prayer is that in time (note all the waiting I have been lamenting...it's a never ending wait...adoption pregnancies) we will be introducing the newest members of our family.  I have no answers right now just faith, love, hope, a whole lot of thankfulness, and a stack of s-l-o-w-l-y learned patience.

 

Waiting

I'm knee deep in adoption books.  Reading about the "trials" of adopting an older child leave my mind spinning.  The OA and I looked at each other in the middle of our 30 hour training and literally thanked God for autism.  I cannot imagine a better boot camp for laying aside all parental expectations and living each moment both good and bad to it's fullest knowing that life is but a series of moments and as fast as one comes on it is soon to be replaced with another.

Since OA and I have decided to adopt, I have stress fractured my foot causing me to be still for over 6 weeks and then to take things VERY slowly as I regain my foot's strength, and I am now under the influence of 3 prescriptions for a wicked kidney infection that has stalled all of my plans to ready my home while I continue to wait for news or at least a call saying our Home Study can be scheduled.  I cannot decide if Satan is trying to bind that which God has planned for good OR if God is trying to bind my incessant need to know what's next and teach me once again to wait for His perfect timing.

And the series of moments continues.

How on earth do I sit still and wait patiently for children who have been waiting for only God knows how long to simply have a forever family?? 

With every second of the clock that ticks away, I feel like it's one more second that has gone by that I haven't been able to let them know that they are so loved and so desired and so being fought for (even if it is "only" on my knees through prayer).  That they have a Dad, a Mom, a brother, and a sister who cannot wait to share their lives and that from this day forward they will never ever have to do this life and it's endless series of moments alone again.  EVER.

I can't wait for them to build trust in us so that we can subsequently introduce them to their Real and Living Father...may they be able to see Him for who He really is...a God who promises GOOD even to THEM.  

So with every single ticking moment I surrender all my hope, fear, frustrations, and impatience to He who also promises to restore all that the locusts have devoured.  I know that my wait, the kind I can only do flat on my face, is not in vain because He is busy fighting the battles for our family.

How can my heart be so committed to something that it has never met or even knows about??

My only explanation is:  FAITH.  And my oh my have I learned so much about His Heart for His Children in this time of wait.

Sigh

They that wait...

...shall go insane?

...shall grow impatient and take the "bull by the horns"

...shall fill their time with other distractions in an effort to make time pass more quickly

...shall renew their strength????

Really, waiting is supposed to be renewing?  What's the catch??

The other day the OA and I gathered up our sweet kiddos and our stack of DHS paperwork on his very first day off in many and very last day off for seven after...a now or never kind of mentality pushing us out the door.  I offered to continue to wait (they only do finger printing one day a week from 8am to noon) but his schedule has taken an off-road-crazy-kinda-turn and he felt if we waited again, it may never happen.

We went to two wrong places before locating the right place (County jail #2...yowza...note to self...don't bring kids with you to get your FP's taken) and then we didn't have exact change and subsequently had to go up the road to a gas station which (of course) we passed and had to turn around...feeling my pain yet?

Exhausted, angry, and completely void of all "warm & fuzzies" one would envision that a day of humbly following God's plan should provide (HA!), I looked at my Hero and said:  it sure is a lot more fun MAKING a baby than it is trying to foster or adopt one.

He only half chuckled...this was the third time we'd gotten into the truck already...and was not even close to being the last.

OA went in first.  I sat in the County jail's waiting room with my children and watched jaw-on-lap-eyes-wide-open as a man scraped an almost empty (yeah the glass was NOT half full that day) jar of peanut butter with a FORK????  His baby watched his father with the same expression as I.  Of course J-bob is allergic to peanuts and I didn't want the man to think me rude, but all I could think of was as many ways to put as much room in between my son and that man.  He finally put the jar away and I was able to relax enough to see him as a human.  I wondered who he was waiting for; I think it was the baby's Mom who was being released from jail.

After half an hour, the OA comes out and it's my turn to go back.  I couldn't take my cell phone.  I had to wait for what felt like FOREVER with absolutely nothing to do.  It's been 7 weeks since my last run (stress fracture and that's an important aside as any who know me well enough understands what running does for my mental well-being) and my "dream" of finally beginning the adoption process was being shattered by wrong turns, wrong change, fork-eaten-peanut-butter, and murmured discussion by the jail officers detailing the rape of an 87 year old woman.  I wanted to run on my broken foot through the shatter-proof windowed security locked doors and scream:  NEVER MIND...this isn't worth it.  It's already too painful.  I want my now-happy world where my worst fears for my children are food allergies, autism, and staying away from bullies on the playground.  I simply cannot do THIS.  So I prayed and confessed and waited some more.

Finally, I was escorted through more doors.  I had to walk on a certain side of a red line.  It was cold, bare, and eerily silent save the rape conversation still pulsing through my mind.  My officer was extremely serious and didn't even make eye contact.  After a few minutes, I managed to make her laugh.  I know she loves Coke and has a 15 month old.  I love watching someone go through the motions of their job and then the surprise on their face as I inevitably say something that disarms them...if even just for the moment.  A friend of mine calls it my "gift".   I think it's more of a curse...my constant weirdness spilling onto those around me allowing them to feel quite-comfortable as themselves knowing full well they are not as odd as I.  Either way, it's fun touching a life.  It makes that one eternal moment of waiting worth it when I finally get to connect again.  I'm so glad our God is a personal God.

It took us over an hour just to get our fingerprints made...a ten minute process at best.  We left there and got our paperwork notarized.  It all still sits on my counter...another day just to find an appropriate envelope and now two more has passed while I try to remember to copy the BACK of my husband's driver's license.  More waiting.

All of my urgency...my need to get things done...it's waiting, too.  My personality's biggest flaw (well, one of many) is rushing.  I realized about the time my children reached "childhood" stage that I desperately need to slow things down...breathe them in...because as soon as I exhale...it will all be passed.  I am learning the value of TODAY.  I don't want to miss out on a second of what is in front of me TODAY, who He wants me to love TODAY, what He wants me to learn TODAY...not one single bit.

There's a bit more to this story of waiting...some big decisions that have been made that I will share later...in the mean time...I must rest in the promise that "they who wait on the LORD shall renew their strength".  If I  only allow it to be so.

Isaiah 40:31

King James Version (KJV)

³¹ But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

Quiet strength & family

My last post was about the bit of wisdom handed to my children during their belt promotion ceremony.  I couldn't wait to hear what my OA's words of wisdom would include.  It's a very interesting thing to hear a man's interpretation of another man; it is something I think more men need to experience more often.

Why it shocked me, I will never know.  Maybe because it's something that I feel every single day.  Something that I have written about and acknowledged and know in my inner most core to be every bit true:  quiet strength.  It almost felt odd to have it spoken in a room full of people.  Like a hidden treasure was being exposed for all to see.  Again, tears swelled high and threatened to spill over onto my cheeks.  And then another word family mentioned:  family...a man with quiet strength investing in his family.

That's my man.  That's what I have the privilege of seeing every single day.  I was watching him sleep the other evening, and I realized that he makes me want to be a better person, a better wife, a better mother, a better homemaker, a better home educator, just better.  I don't think that I have recognized that until recently.  My Hero has changed.  He's always been remarkable, but something still and small has overcome him.  He credits reading his Bible.  We both credit God.  I don't even hold my breath waiting in anxious anticipation for the good to disappear anymore.

My precious, amazing God---so overwhelmingly gracious to give me everything my heart could ask for and desire:  a man with a strength loud enough to calm my crazy ways yet soft enough to wait as my fragile and bruised heart mended and slowly exposed itself to his.  What a beautiful picture of His love for us.

Deep-thankful-sigh 

Separation

I used to imagine every single awful thing I have ever done being mulled over by Jesus while he was being whipped and mocked.  I used to think that as He hung on the cross lists of sins would just ripple across his broken and bruised body.

I don't see that this year. 

This year I have, for the first time in my life, really slowed myself down to realize what was going on a few thousand years ago during these last several days.  I have tried to imagine being with him in the garden where he was so consumed with sorrow that he sweat drops of blood.  It's always been explained that those drops were because of my sin.  And I get that...but I think it was so much more.  He was about to be separated for the first time...from His Father.

Sin is separation from our Holy God.  Sin isn't "sin" because it's a list of bad things---a hierarchy of who is the holiest.  It is absence of Him.  And He is Love.  I am just now understanding a tiny fragment of this.  How much more did Jesus understand it all. 

He wasn't hanging there being shocked by all of humanity's specific sins over and over and over.  He was hanging there broken for us...and because of us...he was separated from Him.  Have you ever lost someone you love?  Death, divorce, abandonment?  It hurts.  It breaks.  Tears cried in those dark hours are so thick, so bitter that they cry out for themselves.

As I have begun to understand that all sin is merely (because we so often try to over-complicate this) yet profoundly (focusing on the lists and hierarchy causes us to keep our eyes on US as opposed to HIM) separation from our Holy Father, I understand even more what happened on that cross.  I cannot imagine being separated from my children.  For my precious son who truly knows very little of his own wrong to be ripped away and suffer because of other people's sin (our CONSTANT turning away from Him and to ourselves...chosen separation).  For him to think for one moment that I had abandoned him.  For him to call out my name and feel as if I had forsaken him.  I have no words fit for such sacrifice.

I only have a life, a life lived very imperfectly but made perfect by His blood.  I don't want to be separated, not even for a second, from our Lord and Savior.  May my life become a constant out-pouring of Him...more of Him...less of me.

This moment...in words.

At this very moment:

• the drier is tumbling around its 4th load of clothes for the day
• the former 3 loads are folded and draped around our dining room table
• my children are tucked in their beds where they will sleep through the night (I am still not used to such spoiling)
• my husband is at work
• I am dreaming of flowers, plants, dirt, and my yard
• I pause to dream about the future color of my walls:  gray (my accent colors are yellow and red)...I cannot wait
• I breathe deeply and slowly, exhaling any worry that tries to overtake...something about the possibilities of our future has awakened all kinds of feelings and emotions
• I pause to breathe even deeper--- my effort to appreciate the unknown, to cherish this moment, to praise Him for all the changes and stirrings He has placed in my family's hearts, and to bow my head in unending thankfulness for all that He has done for us

I hope this moment finds you with peace, and protection, and eternal Love.

Shooting Star

I saw a shooting star today.

It was brilliant...for one moment...it burned so brightly that only it had my full attention...and then it was gone...as quickly as it came...unexpected...unnoticed by many...poof.

Once upon a time...there was a little girl who would wish upon a star every night before she went to bed:

"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight; I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight...a doll, my daddy to come back, and for any child going to bed sad or scared to know that somewhere somebody out there loves them."

Many years go by and suddenly her "star light, star bright" wishes go away. They are replaced with survival. They are replaced with terrified prayers for protection...visions of angels surrounding her small family unit...baby dolls are used to make a perimeter barrier around her bed so that she would know if anyone came into her room while she was sleeping. There are no stars big enough to make her daddy come back and save her.

Many more years go by and the little girl grows up thinking men are bad, not to be trusted, worthless. She only attaches herself to the ones incapable of attaching themselves back. She is stupid with her choices, actions, and body. She is completely and undeniably miserable.

Several more years follow and the girl is not a girl anymore...and she is tired of where her life is not going. She has given up most of her own dreams for a boy...a boy she knows was never the answer. A boy who leaves...and with his absence...she is forced to recognize that she doesn't even know herself anymore.

She packs her bags and moves away. She vows to never date much less to ever marry. She finds herself alone...empty...confused...scared...and full of regret. But in the loneliness of her life, she discovers that she is strong, smart, valuable.

She still swears to never marry.

And then along comes a boy.

This boy never lets her run away...no matter how hard she pushes...she simply can't seem to shake his loyal resolve. He is in love. She is terrified. Somehow four months later, she finds herself staring at this boy in front of a handful of loved ones and several strangers promising her life...till death do they part.

What has she done?

There is no such thing as happily ever after.

Volatile years pass...up and down...like a roller coaster...events throw the girl and the boy together and make them strong. But she still finds herself praying that she will find the boy doing something wrong...reason to leave...despite all they have built up together. Those prayers and children, children with special needs, built walls and walls between them. Eventually the boy stops climbing over her wall...stops daily ripping it down. And she decides to accept that real love...the kind of love that makes your heart worth beating...is exactly what she has always feared: non-existent.

And then something happens...and she and the boy are forced to decide if what they have is worth sticking around for. They both examine what their marriage has become for the first time in years.

He begins ripping down her wall, stone by stone, with his bare hands. He isn't giving up without a fight...and she has finally decided to admit something to herself that she has tried to deny for all their years together: she loves him more than she ever thought possible...but even more...he loves her more than she ever thought herself worthy.

The girl decides to surrender her fears...she decides to trust this boy...now man...she trusts her man. And the man is a good man. And happily ever after is what they have been living all along...she has just been too blinded by her own fears to see.

As I looked up at the star that shot across the sky, I hesitated...for a moment I wanted to make a wish...but I had no wish. My wishing had been replaced with living...trusting...hoping...believing...loving.

And of course the ever present prayer that God would continually wrap His infinitely wise Arms of Protection around each and every child...happy or sad...but especially reveal Himself to the ones who find themselves unworthy.

May they come to understand that we are all unworthy...and that's what makes unconditional love become happily ever after.

true thoughts of a person who hasn't run in forever!

just a few thoughts that actually passed my thru my mind on my run today...i will warn all...i am with hormones!

i started my run cursing myself for forgetting to buy tampons at three different stores yesterday...prayed that what i had would suffice...or i was going to be like that chic who won the marathon and started her period half way through...which...i must say...ROCKS...!

then my thoughts went to a dear friend who has likened me to a drug...she says that i make people feel better...and tonight i figured i was more like a black hole...ready to suck the life out of anyone who got near.

then i realized that having such a "gregarious" personality can be...exhausting...and dang it...who is my drug???

then i imagined a married couple driving by me and the wife saying, "dear, isn't that the girl we see running all of the time?" his reply, "why, yes, yes it is!" she says, "darling, isn't she getting...ummm...FATTER!?" and he nods his head in dismay and agrees.

then i thought of sistah...i cursed her for being so freaking healthy...always eating properly (i have inhaled candy bars and msg chips this week...my goodness...bad eating is so tasty)...i dreamed of throwing my shoe at her 7 mile running arse and then running over her with her bike...i was laughing in my head at this point...as we all know i love her dearly...but DANG...she was making me feel inadequate...then i felt God tap me on the shoulder and say: she'd probably give anything to throw one of your kids at you and then run over you with your hot sexy husband...(bitter divorce and has to split time with kiddos up in weeks) so i quickly apologized to sistah and God and said a prayer for her instead.

then my thoughts started looking up...half way through the run...i realized...i am ENJOYING this again!! not only was i enjoying it...i was actually running faster...away from negative thought girl...towards...happy again...drug induced feeling girl...i like being people's drug. it's a gift that God has given me...but when i feel really empty...i need to learn to ask to be filled back up...and only expect God to be the one to do so.

and then i thought of the jones's...how sad i was for those trying to keep up with them...how the jones's really just needed to downsize their house...get rid of half the sheee-crap they own...and just try to keep up with me!

because at the end of this run...all i can do is think of my precious son and the way he dances to the last song on my playlist: that's not my name.

and as i sprinted up the pseudo-hill near my house, i thanked God for the times that i can run...and the friend's and family that i am surrounded with...and the fact that i need to focus on each blessing that i have been given and stop worrying that i am probably the slowest runner in the world...who secretly loves to eat junk food...who has to remain a closet vegan that eats meat with her family everyday.

but mostly that at the end of every run...it is the closest i feel to God...and that...is all i need.