It feels like a lifetime has occurred in between my posts.
We had to let go of our littles to keep our "one". We had to let go of our "one" to keep our safety. We had to let go of our "grief" to bring the littles back.
There's been a lot of letting go these days. It hasn't been until the last few weeks that I've realized I have been holding my breath...for like...months. I'm pretty sure for awhile I probably didn't breathe at all. I simply...I don't know what I did...existed?
If you know me well, simple existence has never really been my style. Really up, really down. Really something. Never just...there.
That's what intense depression {grief?} looks like for me. I have so many friends that it was easy to disappear. They all assumed I was talking to someone else. But I wasn't. And I still don't want to. Not about then. My {pit days}. You don't know how deep that pit is until you start slowly emerging from it again. Step by step. Slow-breath-by-forced-slow-breath. Until the breathing just becomes normal again.
For me, it included the inhalation of a precious child that has somehow tied her soul to mine. It's hard not to fear the danger of that kind of love. And now her older brother is following suit. Sigh. Faith. Love them like they're my own. Like my own lead the way in loving every single day. My God, my children are the best things I've ever done (by HIS Grace).
Tonight I feel myself lingering over it again. The problem is that I don't exactly know how to not fall in. This isn't lack of prayer or time with Him. It's not because my life isn't amazing or that I don't recognize (moment-by-moment) all of my intensely incredible blessings.
Maybe it's not a pit at all? Maybe it's because I truly begged Him to break my heart for what breaks His? And He's answered. And He knows I cannot handle it all at once, so He spares me the full reality and gives it to me here and there. My goodness. This world. My sin. It's all so very ugly.
I have so very little to offer this world. But the beauty that I see every day in the lives of my children...all six of them...gives me hope. Makes the hard choices more choose-able. Makes the sacrifices a little bit easier to make. Listening to my precious teenage daughter as she describes her heartfelt prayer of thanks for our family...let's me know...we're doing *something* right. My God, we are so undeserving. He is so amazing. The giver of all good things. Which started with His Son and continued on a very personal note with My Hero...a man I couldn't even dream more perfectly for me.
l-e-t-t-i-n-g g-o
holdingon
Being still and knowing that He is God...and trusting that that in and of itself is more than enough...for everything.
Breathing Him in...and blowing the cares of this world out. My deep sighs to heaven.
Tonight, it is enough to regain my balance. How thankful I am that His mercies are new every morning.
My Quivers
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Letting Go...
"How do I wake up to joy and grace and beauty and all that is the fullest life when I must stay numb to losses and crushed dreams and all that empties me out?" Ann Voskamp
I have been wrestling for weeks with those exact feelings and thoughts. This morning I woke up to a scream...it was my own...in my dreams...my heart pounding and I struggled to even catch my breath. Anxiety. I can feel the beginnings of a true panic attack coming on. I gulp in air. Close my eyes shut. Try to steady my breathing and shove the rising panic back down...so deep that maybe this time...as I exhale...I'll breathe out all that's building up threatening to erupt...inside out.
I grab my phone 4:17 a.m.
I cannot go back to sleep. I cannot lie in bed and pretend like today isn't going to happen.
I grab my gym clothes in the dark and head to Spin class. Maybe I can sweat the panic away. The music blasts and the teacher says, "What do you want to be more of?" I lower my head. All I can think of is broken. I clutch my towel to my lips and sob. Thank God it's dark and no one can hear me. The heaviness of my situation seems to pull the entire class down. Like a black hole...I wish it would just swallow me up. I am tired of being brave. Sick of answering people's questions. And mostly, cannot bear the idea of looking into his big brown eyes and saying "good-bye".
failed adoption
failed adoption
I have never been good at letting go. I am being told this is for the safety of my family. I am beating myself up because I can see the pain of our broken one, but I am struggling to see the fear and terror of my other one. I should be relieved. Life should get much simpler...for us. But I know that it won't...for him. He's fought his entire existence and finally found a family but is too broken and too damaged to relax into it. My husband's words still ring in my ears after I told him about "the incident": After I went inside, I almost threw up at the idea of how lucky we are that Jaden is ok. It sickens me to think of...what could have been. Why can I not see that? Is something wrong with me??? Am I so foolish to believe that my love is enough to keep him from really hurting someone? And where is my line? What is too much? Bruises heal, I find myself thinking. But, abandonment? There's no band aid for that. The wave of panic rushes again.
Trust Him, Heather. That's what two of my most beloved friends living the exact.same.things.but.different. told me separately in emails last night. Trust.Him. It is the only thought that slows the surge of fear.
And I do-ish. I am still begging for a miracle. I cannot fathom how we can get this far...only to stop now...but I am submitting my fears, my control, and my need to defend myself to any and all who have no idea what a decision like this entails. I pray they never do. I humbly bow in brokenness and choke on the words of judgment I have spewed in complete and total ignorance. I don't have a clue how I am going to survive packing his things...again...or summons the strength to say goodbye...again.
I am in the midst of a tsunami inside my mind...I am hoping for the parting of the Red Sea...that something will change and he can stay...but...I am willingly submitting my inability to save. Only God can do that. I have to trust Him. Sigh. I can feel the fear crashing all around me.
"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." C.S. Lewis
I have been wrestling for weeks with those exact feelings and thoughts. This morning I woke up to a scream...it was my own...in my dreams...my heart pounding and I struggled to even catch my breath. Anxiety. I can feel the beginnings of a true panic attack coming on. I gulp in air. Close my eyes shut. Try to steady my breathing and shove the rising panic back down...so deep that maybe this time...as I exhale...I'll breathe out all that's building up threatening to erupt...inside out.
I grab my phone 4:17 a.m.
I cannot go back to sleep. I cannot lie in bed and pretend like today isn't going to happen.
I grab my gym clothes in the dark and head to Spin class. Maybe I can sweat the panic away. The music blasts and the teacher says, "What do you want to be more of?" I lower my head. All I can think of is broken. I clutch my towel to my lips and sob. Thank God it's dark and no one can hear me. The heaviness of my situation seems to pull the entire class down. Like a black hole...I wish it would just swallow me up. I am tired of being brave. Sick of answering people's questions. And mostly, cannot bear the idea of looking into his big brown eyes and saying "good-bye".
failed adoption
failed adoption
I have never been good at letting go. I am being told this is for the safety of my family. I am beating myself up because I can see the pain of our broken one, but I am struggling to see the fear and terror of my other one. I should be relieved. Life should get much simpler...for us. But I know that it won't...for him. He's fought his entire existence and finally found a family but is too broken and too damaged to relax into it. My husband's words still ring in my ears after I told him about "the incident": After I went inside, I almost threw up at the idea of how lucky we are that Jaden is ok. It sickens me to think of...what could have been. Why can I not see that? Is something wrong with me??? Am I so foolish to believe that my love is enough to keep him from really hurting someone? And where is my line? What is too much? Bruises heal, I find myself thinking. But, abandonment? There's no band aid for that. The wave of panic rushes again.
Trust Him, Heather. That's what two of my most beloved friends living the exact.same.things.but.different. told me separately in emails last night. Trust.Him. It is the only thought that slows the surge of fear.
And I do-ish. I am still begging for a miracle. I cannot fathom how we can get this far...only to stop now...but I am submitting my fears, my control, and my need to defend myself to any and all who have no idea what a decision like this entails. I pray they never do. I humbly bow in brokenness and choke on the words of judgment I have spewed in complete and total ignorance. I don't have a clue how I am going to survive packing his things...again...or summons the strength to say goodbye...again.
I am in the midst of a tsunami inside my mind...I am hoping for the parting of the Red Sea...that something will change and he can stay...but...I am willingly submitting my inability to save. Only God can do that. I have to trust Him. Sigh. I can feel the fear crashing all around me.
"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." C.S. Lewis
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Faith
I'm practically incoherent. I'm sicker than I think I've ever been in my whole life save the time after I gave birth to Merci and that one time in the third grade that I had pneumonia so bad that all I can remember is people from our church praying over me in my dark room and me wondering if I was going to die. I kind of have the same feeling now. Shivering in the fetal position with hot tears running down my hotter cheeks. I should have run a marathon I have spent the last six months---through all the chaos---training for today. But I woke up with fever. and chills. and knew I had to walk away. It was the "one thing" I was selfishly begging God for. It didn't happen. But such is life, right?
But the day got worse. And quite frankly, I am so tired of fighting.
And lest you lecture me about doing it in my own strength...I'll have you know that God has humbled me to such a position that even breathing these last few months cannot be done in my own strength. I've never in my life needed or depended on Him more.
Our "one" had to leave for awhile. It seemed everyone but me had the answers and solutions and despite my GUT-CHECK feeling from God...I listened. It resulted in him having 5 placements to include 2 acute mental hospital stays in a month and a half. Also, due to miscommunication on DHS's part, a failed adoption. So I have had to fight like hell to get him the help he needed, keep him in our family's life, and have him brought back home. He is actually doing well this last week and I have seen some dramatic changes in his heart. Does this look like a *typical* child? Hell no! Sorry, but this needs to be blunt and to the point. He has lived a life that most people only read about and I'd compare his childhood to a Russian orphanage with all the neglect. His brain isn't even wired the same because of all his trauma. But that's hard to remember when he's spouting off all his big, scary words because he is terrified of letting someone love him...or worse...admitting he's vulnerable. Of course he acts like a thug. He.has.had.no.one.his.entire.life. Until 6 months ago.
Our "teenager"? Tuesday we adopt her!! And the people that are just meeting her are so impressed with how sweet she is and how lucky we are. So many didn't see the giant tsunami that hit around month 2...the battle for HER walls to crumble. It was ugly. I was finished. I think I stood in my front yard and confessed to one of my best friends that I could go inside and get her things and drop her off at DHS and never look back...and I meant it. And by God's grace, my friend listened, hugged me, prayed for me, and then told me what I didn't want to hear, "it WILL get better!" And she was right. We set massive boundaries and again, by God's grace, she melted. I have the sweetest 13 year old living in my house. My daughter....she's absolutely beautiful inside and out. Watching her slowly blossom these last 6 months has been as incredible as watching a newborn learn to lift his head, roll over, crawl, and walk. Breathtaking. She is breathtaking.
Our "Little's"? Man. Spider-Man happens to be one of the more difficult sensory children to live with. He is loud, pops your bubble, and has very little manners. He doesn't listen, argues with everyone, and is almost impossible to understand because of his articulation disorder. He had almost no knowledge of God upon moving in. Now, he is the first to pray at the dinner table, in the car, and at bedtime. Just the other day I noticed he was missing...and when the loud one goes quietly into his room...something is up. He had gone and entire week with no bio visit and then had two back to back visits this week to make up for it. He was in his bed with a very sad look on his face. I asked him "what's up, buddy?" He responded, "Superwoman, I was praying today and asked God to give me a second chance so that I could live with my Mommy and my Daddy again. But I didn't hear Him answer." {pause, thank You dear God for this opportunity you've blessed me with in my own home} I responded as best I could including the different ways we could "hear" God but also that God was giving his PARENTS a second chance and it was up to THEM to make better choices and reassured him that HE has done nothing to cause this. This is a boy who still sees the good in everyone and everything and wants to grow up to be a police officer and catch the bad guys. Who waits for my precious Mermaid at dinner to come to the table because, "wadies furwst". He gets things wrong. He is entirely too loud. And he hasn't quite mastered the art of obedience in just 2 short months. But he is learning about Jesus. And he is applying it. And he is exercising more faith than most life-long Christians.
And then there's my sweet, precious baby. I didn't realize how badly my heart had been yearning for a toddler until I held her in my arms and rocked her to sleep. We have a connection that marvels any and all blood relation. She is truly my baby girl...for the moment. I can't really even describe or explain the way she's transformed our family. All I know is that a little part of me will die when she leaves me. And I pray every single day that she will understand that it has nothing to do with my not loving or wanting her...rather that we had to choose to put all of our energy into "the one". That our home couldn't maintain with six children. Or at least that's what society tells me.
J-Bob and Mermaid have amazed me. The transformation in their lives has been miraculous. I am quite sure that my 8 year old daughter whose heart is so full of tolerance and compassion and my 9 year old boy whose humor and acceptance of the hard to live with have more Spiritual maturity than about 80% of today's Christians. I pray that God continues His good works in them. In all of them. May no good seed planted go unharvested.
I have no idea what tomorrow holds. Good-byes to the Little's is inevitable. The "ones" adoption is up in the air. I have been humbled to a place of such lowliness and surrender...I can barely breathe. All I can do lately is live for the very moment I'm blessed with. So when I'm holding my baby...I praise God...when I'm redirecting my difficult ones...I praise God...when I'm tucking them all safely into their beds for one more (thank you, Jesus) night...I praise God...with a few tears in my eyes.
My "job" doesn't pay an earthly salary. It doesn't even gain much respect...I get a lot of lectures, concerns, worries, and unsolicited advice. I'm daily told how I could do something differently or how I'm not dealing with some certain behavior the right way. I'm questioned by friends and family. I'm sick. I'm exhausted. I've scarified more than I even imagined possible. But I also know that ever since I was a little girl I have been obsessed with the verse in the Bible where God asks, "Whom shall I send." My heart has always beat a little quicker and I imagine it is me saying, "Send me, Lord!!! Send me!!!"
Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few;" Matthew 9:37 ESV
I'm asking for more laborers, not less harvest.
And at the very least, encouragement in the laborers lives. Unless you're going to open your home...maybe you shouldn't open your mouth to criticize or voice concerns. And maybe pray for the families who are. Because we need it. We need husbands to be in the word and on their knees. We need wives to be willing to submit and show respect. We need children's lives changed by the powerful word of God. We need all the protection we can get because we're opening our homes...the safe place...up for battle. And the enemy can't stand it. And it's terrifying. And requires faith and constant surrender.
Faith is painful. Truly. But once grasped tightly...it is also fearless.
That's how I get through my days. Fearless faith and the blessed reward of tiny little souls and love and childlike faith that leads the way in my heart and in my home.
But the day got worse. And quite frankly, I am so tired of fighting.
And lest you lecture me about doing it in my own strength...I'll have you know that God has humbled me to such a position that even breathing these last few months cannot be done in my own strength. I've never in my life needed or depended on Him more.
Our "one" had to leave for awhile. It seemed everyone but me had the answers and solutions and despite my GUT-CHECK feeling from God...I listened. It resulted in him having 5 placements to include 2 acute mental hospital stays in a month and a half. Also, due to miscommunication on DHS's part, a failed adoption. So I have had to fight like hell to get him the help he needed, keep him in our family's life, and have him brought back home. He is actually doing well this last week and I have seen some dramatic changes in his heart. Does this look like a *typical* child? Hell no! Sorry, but this needs to be blunt and to the point. He has lived a life that most people only read about and I'd compare his childhood to a Russian orphanage with all the neglect. His brain isn't even wired the same because of all his trauma. But that's hard to remember when he's spouting off all his big, scary words because he is terrified of letting someone love him...or worse...admitting he's vulnerable. Of course he acts like a thug. He.has.had.no.one.his.entire.life. Until 6 months ago.
Our "teenager"? Tuesday we adopt her!! And the people that are just meeting her are so impressed with how sweet she is and how lucky we are. So many didn't see the giant tsunami that hit around month 2...the battle for HER walls to crumble. It was ugly. I was finished. I think I stood in my front yard and confessed to one of my best friends that I could go inside and get her things and drop her off at DHS and never look back...and I meant it. And by God's grace, my friend listened, hugged me, prayed for me, and then told me what I didn't want to hear, "it WILL get better!" And she was right. We set massive boundaries and again, by God's grace, she melted. I have the sweetest 13 year old living in my house. My daughter....she's absolutely beautiful inside and out. Watching her slowly blossom these last 6 months has been as incredible as watching a newborn learn to lift his head, roll over, crawl, and walk. Breathtaking. She is breathtaking.
Our "Little's"? Man. Spider-Man happens to be one of the more difficult sensory children to live with. He is loud, pops your bubble, and has very little manners. He doesn't listen, argues with everyone, and is almost impossible to understand because of his articulation disorder. He had almost no knowledge of God upon moving in. Now, he is the first to pray at the dinner table, in the car, and at bedtime. Just the other day I noticed he was missing...and when the loud one goes quietly into his room...something is up. He had gone and entire week with no bio visit and then had two back to back visits this week to make up for it. He was in his bed with a very sad look on his face. I asked him "what's up, buddy?" He responded, "Superwoman, I was praying today and asked God to give me a second chance so that I could live with my Mommy and my Daddy again. But I didn't hear Him answer." {pause, thank You dear God for this opportunity you've blessed me with in my own home} I responded as best I could including the different ways we could "hear" God but also that God was giving his PARENTS a second chance and it was up to THEM to make better choices and reassured him that HE has done nothing to cause this. This is a boy who still sees the good in everyone and everything and wants to grow up to be a police officer and catch the bad guys. Who waits for my precious Mermaid at dinner to come to the table because, "wadies furwst". He gets things wrong. He is entirely too loud. And he hasn't quite mastered the art of obedience in just 2 short months. But he is learning about Jesus. And he is applying it. And he is exercising more faith than most life-long Christians.
And then there's my sweet, precious baby. I didn't realize how badly my heart had been yearning for a toddler until I held her in my arms and rocked her to sleep. We have a connection that marvels any and all blood relation. She is truly my baby girl...for the moment. I can't really even describe or explain the way she's transformed our family. All I know is that a little part of me will die when she leaves me. And I pray every single day that she will understand that it has nothing to do with my not loving or wanting her...rather that we had to choose to put all of our energy into "the one". That our home couldn't maintain with six children. Or at least that's what society tells me.
J-Bob and Mermaid have amazed me. The transformation in their lives has been miraculous. I am quite sure that my 8 year old daughter whose heart is so full of tolerance and compassion and my 9 year old boy whose humor and acceptance of the hard to live with have more Spiritual maturity than about 80% of today's Christians. I pray that God continues His good works in them. In all of them. May no good seed planted go unharvested.
I have no idea what tomorrow holds. Good-byes to the Little's is inevitable. The "ones" adoption is up in the air. I have been humbled to a place of such lowliness and surrender...I can barely breathe. All I can do lately is live for the very moment I'm blessed with. So when I'm holding my baby...I praise God...when I'm redirecting my difficult ones...I praise God...when I'm tucking them all safely into their beds for one more (thank you, Jesus) night...I praise God...with a few tears in my eyes.
My "job" doesn't pay an earthly salary. It doesn't even gain much respect...I get a lot of lectures, concerns, worries, and unsolicited advice. I'm daily told how I could do something differently or how I'm not dealing with some certain behavior the right way. I'm questioned by friends and family. I'm sick. I'm exhausted. I've scarified more than I even imagined possible. But I also know that ever since I was a little girl I have been obsessed with the verse in the Bible where God asks, "Whom shall I send." My heart has always beat a little quicker and I imagine it is me saying, "Send me, Lord!!! Send me!!!"
Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few;" Matthew 9:37 ESV
I'm asking for more laborers, not less harvest.
And at the very least, encouragement in the laborers lives. Unless you're going to open your home...maybe you shouldn't open your mouth to criticize or voice concerns. And maybe pray for the families who are. Because we need it. We need husbands to be in the word and on their knees. We need wives to be willing to submit and show respect. We need children's lives changed by the powerful word of God. We need all the protection we can get because we're opening our homes...the safe place...up for battle. And the enemy can't stand it. And it's terrifying. And requires faith and constant surrender.
Faith is painful. Truly. But once grasped tightly...it is also fearless.
That's how I get through my days. Fearless faith and the blessed reward of tiny little souls and love and childlike faith that leads the way in my heart and in my home.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
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.
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.
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