In the end….

A couple of weeks ago I cried myself to sleep.  I am 37 years old but I went to bed bawling like a baby.    We are now 15 months into this journey with Abraham and Isaiah.   I have been so angry I thought my head would explode.   I have been so dog tired I literally couldn’t take another step.   I have been so discouraged by the behaviors I was seeing that I dreaded the morning.  I have doubted myself.  I have doubted our system.  I have even doubted God.   But you know what I have never done?

Regretted a single moment.  Not.even.one.

Last evening I picked up two infants.  Last night was long;  up every hour with a newborn.  This time we go into it with the intention of reuniting this precious ones with their parents… last time we knew that we were headed toward adoption.    My heart aches for these parents and babies.  May God heal and redeem…

I know, I know it sounds crazy.  WHY would we take on two infants when we already have our hands full?    I can’t explain.  All I know is God says go and we go.  

Why in the world are we doing this?

To My Son….

who is downstairs screaming…

The world is a scary place.  Adults are not always safe and they do not always do what they say they will do.   I am sorry.
I listen while you scream and I pray.  I remember what it feels like to be broken.  All of us are broken, really.   I know what you mean when you say you don’t like me.  I understand when you cry.  I remember still, what it feels like to be your own best bet.  I remember the heart’s cry: just love me please.  love me just like this.  And I know that to acknowledge that cry is so painful, so heart wrenching that you must cover it with anger because what if….no one will.  
My dear sweet child, every heart everywhere is crying the very same thing.  You are not as unlovable as you fear, you just don’t have all of your words yet.  Let me give them to you.   Let’s replace the screaming and crying with words.  Words that bring healing.  Words that speak hope.   Words that bring life.
I want you to know I love you.  I want you to know that you are amazing.  I want you to know that your smile breaks my heart.  And I want you to know that when you are done screaming, I will still be here.   Always.

If you were a boat my darling, a boat my darling

I'd be the wind at your back.

If you were afraid my darling, afraid my darling

I'll be the courage you lack.

Oh, do you know we belong together?

Oh, do you know my heart is yours? 

This is my story…

The question comes up at times….
Why are you doing this?
I must admit there were times I wondered myself.   Especially in the beginning.   The beginning was hard.   The beginning always is it seems….
A year under my belt and I have learned a lot.  Mainly I have learned this: I am beautifully inept, a delightful mess;  I am often misunderstood and at times misrepresented but I have this great big Daddy God.  From the blue streaks in my hair to my too big thighs, I am a bit of a conundrum but  He loves me immensely and  I am just crazy enough to believe that when He says do it, He means it and still childlike enough to believe that where it matters, He will not let me fail.
It wasn’t always that way.  God had to work hard for me.  Tucked in the mountains of Tennessee, feeling alone and unloved, and because of trauma in my childhood, I learned to fend for myself.  My nose was pierced before it was cute (we are talking the 90’s baby) and I could cuss out a sailor.  I was angry.  I was lost.   And I was determined to need no one. 
During a particular ugly time I vaguely remember my step dad going to church.   I didn’t think much of it at the time.
One day I went to church.  That day changed my life forever.  At the risk of sounded more like a kook then I already do I will say this: God spoke directly to me.   He literally called my name. 
Inexplicably my step dad quit going to church and he certainly was not going to go to the little black church down the road from our house in Sevier County, TN.   Life continued on as it has a tendency to do.   I learned and I grew and I joined the choir.  I still miss singing in that beautiful choir even if, according to them, this silly white girl clapped funny. 
One day, out of the blue I looked out at the crowd from the choir box and there sat my mom and my step dad.   Elder Page leaned back and whispered to me:
“I know that man sitting with your mom”
“You do?”
“Yes.   He came here one day.  During the altar call he came down and asked for prayer for his daughter.  I have been praying for her ever since”
I was that daughter.   This little white girl was sitting behind the man that had prayed for her faithfully and that one day had the privilege of leading her to Christ…singing in the choir in his church, the only black church in Sevierville, TN that I am aware of  in 1995.
All that to say this:
I was adopted by God.  Not because I was beautiful or talented or even slightly attractive but because of His great love.  And because of His great love I am compelled to love.  When I look at these children I see myself, I see my sister and I see Daddy God reaching down to save us.  I remember that He has restored the dignity that was stolen from us and I remember that He gave so much.   How can I say no to His call?   In my weak moments I must admit that there is still a small voice in the very core of who I am crying out “More, God, more of you…” but the whole of me is frightened of what that will cost.   May God cause that small voice to become a deafening roar so that even those who are near may hear it too…may I learn to stop fighting and start dying.
Religion that our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress….James 1:27
The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25:40
I would love to hear your story.   Leave a comment, link your blog, drop me an email.   Tell me what is amazing about you…

Sometimes it’s all very big and scary….

The thing about anniversaries is that they always come back.  They are big looming beasts to these littles who, although cognitively they can not articulate or understand them, react nonetheless.  It’s May.  One whole year since they transitioned here, to their fourth and final home.   The feelings are big and the behaviors are scary. 

One, the younger, is doing quite well actually.   He is learning to play well with the other children and does so often without supervision.  Hugs are kisses are enjoyed, even sought after.   Snuggle time with mom is special for both of us.  He is beginning to feel safe and loved.

Not surprisingly, it is the older son that is struggling.   Hugs and kisses are scary things…hard to trust.   Too much and he is sent spiraling out of control leaving us both confused and wary.  The screaming will start and we will be cleaning up pee again.   It would be easy to compare the two and label one good and one bad.  It would be easy to give up, to cover my wounds and raw nerves and leave him, withdrawing the affection that he is so frightened of, so unsure how to respond to…

It would be easy to answer fear’s call and protect myself.

But that’s not love.  

So right now, I am acknowledging my need for a break.   He is in his bed, safe.   I am upstairs breathing in God’s grace, caring for myself.   Perhaps I will knit all little, perhaps I will get the hoop spinning but whatever I do I will celebrate me  and I will celebrate who God is in all of this.

Then in a bit, I will get him from his bed and I will enter his pain again for as long as I can handle.  I will acknowledge it and I will help him find words to take away the fear of it and I will pray.   I will speak truth over him….

You are loved.   You are wanted.   You are valuable.   God has not forgotten.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!
¹⁶ See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are ever before me.”   Is 49:15-16

Foster/Adoptive Mom Survival Guide: Resources

Here are some things I love.  Things that keep me sane.

RAD Mom: A great resource if you are dealing with Reactive Attachment Disorder.

www.homeasoftplacetofall.blogspot.com Seriously good stuff here.  Her words resonate with this trauma mama in a profound way.

Christine Moers on You tube Take a deep breath and watch her videos.  Just try it, you will feel better.  Promise.

This blog.  Written by a foster child that aged out…it is very insightful.  Yes. there is language…might as well get over it now.

This book.  Nancy Thomas’ methods have changed our home, for the better.  We modify to fit our littles but the premise is the same.

Compelled by Love by Heidi Baker Not necessarily about foster care/adoption but specifically about sacrificial love.

Risk is Right by John Piper Because it is.  This book reminds us that we were made for more than white picket fences in suburbia

The Foster Care/Adoptive Mom’s Survival Guide: Expectations

or as my cousin used to say: Don’t should on yourself!

Expectations.  Everyone has them and they are not necessarily a bad thing BUT they get in the way sometimes.   So much of life is about perspective. Realistic expectations are key.

When we first started on this journey I expected to instantly feel overwhelming love for these littles.   I didn’t.  You know what I felt?  Frustration because of the constant pushing.  Fear that they would always be this out of control.  And tired, I was really, really tired.   What I thought I should feel and what I really felt were not lining up.

The tyranny of expectations didn’t stop there.  I expected my bio children to be kinder, more compassionate.  I expected my husband to anticipate when I needed a break.  I expected the 3 year old to stop peeing all over my house (guys we are not talking accidents here) and certainly the 4 year old should be able to control himself for just 5 minutes while I use the bathroom right?

Wrong.   Expectations were running the show and I was frustrated, overwhelmed and disappointed. 

Enter grace.   It doesn’t mean that you expect less, it is just that you hope more.  You accept where you are, where they are and you enter the moment.   You will mess up, they will mess up but the great big God who does all things well does wonderful work in broken hearts.  Expectations demands results now, grace waits for the best, understanding that the healing takes time.   Expectations are bound up in self.  Grace is bound up in God.

Ain't Nothing Pretty Here....

Best I can tell I have been sick for three weeks now.  I started getting better and then wham! For the past 5 days I have been in bed with a fever.  No worries, the doc is calling in antibiotics but like I said...ain't nothing pretty here.

So the day before yesterday we had a ewe that is prolapsing.  Her best chance is for us to put in a few sutures so that she does not continue to push out her insides and risk infection.  Yeah, not pretty.  This is at best a 2 man job even when the ewe is well dosed with pain killers (which she was), one to hold the ewe still and one to put in the sutures.  I may or may not have ended up in the middle of the barn floor with my head between my knees trying not to pass out.  Nope, ain't nothing pretty here.

Then yesterday, oh yesterday takes the cake.  If I had any false beliefs that I was super mom they went up in smoke yesterday.   Much of the day was spent begging, bribing or threatening children in the hopes that I.could.just.sleep(!)  But, alas, sleep evaded me and the children acted like insane criminals children act when a parent need sleep and it is raining.  Finally, oh joy of joys it is nap time for someone other than me.  Boys are nestled in their bed and I can sleep.  Still not pretty but hey...we are on our way right?  Nope!  Just at that moment the case worker shows up for our surprise inspection.  No, please not today!!!  I sit down to chat (did I mention we just got a new case worker?).  I apologize for the state of the house (its pretty much trashed) and smile while we discuss the latest struggles.  I glance up from the conversation and I swear to you this is the truth:
Every bra and panty I own is smiling at me from living room (did I mention our new caseworker is a he?). Come on say it with me now.....Ain't nothing pretty here!

Just keepin' real folks.

Falling….

I posted this song once already but I feel compelled to post it once more…

 

I will love you…

 

Just in case you didn’t listen here are the lyrics:

You are a house that’s broken down

You are a house that’s burning

And everything in me wants to run

but that’s not love…

If you fall I’ll fall with you

If you hurt I’ll feel it too

Even if my heart turns black and blue

I will love you

I planted seeds down in the ground

Not every one is growing

When I am tempted to give up

I choose love

Beauty and light will fight for you

Goodness will rise

It shines for you.

It’s official we are adopting!   No relatives have asked to be considered and the paperwork (at least on our end) is filled out.  The adoption worker comes tonight, we never know what tomorrow will bring but for right now, this moment we are thankful.

I share a lot of about my boys.  One day I will post their beautiful pictures and introduce them to you officially.   They make me laugh.  They make me cry.  And they have taught me more about myself than I have ever cared to know.  I am excited that they will, by God’s grace and provision be part of our family according to the law but  sometimes…they are a house that’s burning and it feels like everything is on fire; and sometimes…. everything in me wants to run but that’s not love.

This song has special meaning to me especially on the days when I see the ashes and the behaviors make it all feel too hard, the days when my heart is black and blue and the RAD screams to be heard, acknowledged …and I want to scream back or cry or run but I must take a deep breath and fall.

I am learning what love really means.  It is not partnership and it is not disposable.   There are no guarantees and there are no contracts (if you then I).  It is frightening because it requires a dependence on something other than myself and it involves risk.  Love is nonexistent outside of denial of self, yet self whithers and dies unless it receives it.  And although it can be hard to give, it is at times even harder receive….what a conundrum, a beautiful enigma!  But in the end it’s the best thing I have to offer and although it costs much; the more I give the richer I become.   Sometimes I love with words, sometimes love speaks best through touch, sometimes I love with boundaries and sometimes I fall.

To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.   GK Chesterton

The Art of Listening….

Today was a glory day.  It did not start out the way.   It started out with my eyes bugging out of my head while the therapist talked me down.  It started out with K. riding with his hands WHERE I CAN SEE THEM AT ALL TIMES! which generally means straight up in the air because although I am not exactly sure what he was doing in the back seat I am sure it involved his hands and spit.   Hey, at least it wasn’t pee.   AND THEN(!) we sit in the waiting room (waiting rooms are battlezones for RAD moms everywhere).   “Do we need to go over the rules?” I ask.   He answers no and smiles.  I glance at the stranger two seats again and decide what the heck, let him do his worst, Carrie is in the next room after all…she will vouch for me.  

*a bit of explanation: these peanuts are desperate for attention and control and strangers are fun to manipulate.   I have been accused of hitting them, slamming heads against beds, refusing food and water….you name it.

Anyway, K. then says in his most pitiful voice.  “Mom (insert dramatic pause and does eyes) thank you so much for my…..coat.” (this is a favorite tool of K.’s mention a basic necessity like a coat, shoes, underwear, water, whatever and ham it up so that it appears as if he is so deprived that he is thrilled that this one need has finally been met.)  And then looks pointedly at the aforementioned stranger waiting for the shocked expression of pity.   I don’t know that man’s name or anything about him but I kinda love him cuz he just.sat.there.    Score one for team mom!!  Let the battle begin!

Of course this all is relayed to Carrie (our attachment therapist) who then had a conversation with K. explaining the rules of waiting rooms and moms and all that kind of stuff.  We talked about mom and how she loved everyone and in the midst of the conversation K says:

“David and Jed have a mom”

Ouch.   No wonder we have been acting out.   Notice who he doesn’t mention having a mom?   Yeah, when you are a little peanut not having a mom to call your own is a scary place to be.

Sigh.   I wasn’t listening.again.   Oh, I heard the screams and the crying but I totally missed what he was desperately trying to say….

So we drove home (and drove and drove….an hour is a looooong time) and he had to put his hands up again but this time when he glared at me I listened.  I did not react.   I smiled my love at him and said “hey, lets see who spots the first hawk!”

Tonight I am not a loser, I am a winner

 

Oh!  and I love our adoption worker!   She is going through the adoption process herself and we swapped white mom + black kids + Walmart stories.   Funny stuff, guys, funny stuff.

Tomorrow at 1 pm or…..I am so sick of pee

I should apologize…you never get to hear about the glory days.  The days of sunshine and roses when no one pees all over my house or screams.  The days of finished school and a clean house.   I don’t talk about them much here but they do happen occasionally.   In fact sometimes they come in streaks and for a bit all seems well.

Today is not one of those days.   Today I want to cry buckets Today I have cried buckets. I don’t cry often but today it’s just all too much.  The peeing the screaming the demanding the spitting.   I miss my old life today.  I miss having friends and being able to plan a lunch date without everything going to hell in a hand basket before I walk out the flipping door.

Life for trauma mamas….this pretty well sums it up

I miss not having to wash the daily load of pee soaked clothing.   I miss not having to listen to a four old scream and cry b/c I won’t let him go into the bathroom again after just having been in the 15 minutes ago (literally) because a. he drinks out of the toilet if not supervised or worse and b. I just want to finish the paragraph I am reading out loud for school.  (and yes, we’ve been to the doctor this is not a physical problem).  You know what else I miss?   Listening to you explain away their behaviors with “that’s just kids for you” and having it be true.   Fear is a horrible thing that makes these precious souls act out in ways that exhausts me and leaves me begging for more grace to reassure them one more time with words and actions:  I’m not going to leave you.  

Which brings me to what is happening tomorrow afternoon.   We have been assigned an adoption worker and our first meeting is tomorrow.   We are further along on making good on our promise to them.   We are excited to move on to permanency and hopefully healing but today I am a little tired and a little lonely (okay in the interest of full disclosure: a lot tired and a lot lonely).  I worry if I have asked too much of the bios, if I have asked too much of myself.   Please don’t judge me for putting it all here in black and white.  Keeping it quiet doesn’t make it any less true, it just covers normal human emotions in shame.   Getting it out makes it easier to do what must be done and robs the raw emotions of their power.  If you are of the praying sort….send some our way for the process to move quickly.   These littles really need to hear me say “You are home. forever”

Why in the world are you doing this???

By this I mean older child adoption and foster care and it’s a good question.  In fact while sitting on the phone with a fellow soldier (my kiddo’s former foster mom…) we were asking ourselves that very question.   Why are we doing this again?

I will tell you this:

we don’t do it for money …we frequently work overtime and we are always on call.  No… you can’t pay us enough for all the work we do.

we don’t do it for praise or for a thank you.  There isn’t any coming.  In fact we are often scrutinized by well meaning adults who feel it is their duty to inform us how exactly they would handle the situation with “cute beyond words little Johnny”.  And I won’t tell what “cute beyond words little Johnny” says but here’s a hint: it isn’t thank you.

we don’t do it because we want more kids….have you seen the sitcom Eight is Enough?  Do I really need to elaborate on this one?

The truth is the work is hard and exhausting and there are days when we wonder why we do this ourselves.  We know the risks (yes we really do, we have heard the horror stories.  We understand it can go horribly wrong and that all the love and help we can give may not be enough.)

But, if you and I were chatting over a cup of coffee and you asked me this I would tell you….

we do it for hope…we do it for the ones who might make it.  We do it for dreams and for futures…

we do it because we are soldiers….we fight for them because they can’t do it for themselves and because we are afraid no one else will…

we do it because we are compelled….honestly we have no choice.  We think of giving up but we can’t…God has burned into our hearts the need to do this thing, to become more than we were before so they can become all they were meant to be.

And if you and I were chatting over a cup of coffee (we really ought to do that sometime) I would quietly ask you if you know someone like me, a fellow soldier.   If you do…take the time to understand.  Educate yourself if you can.  These precious, precious children often come in to our homes much like a wounded animal and like a wounded animal they snap at the ones who are desperately trying to help.  We really do have a heart for these little ones but we are not able to parent them in the same way we would for non-traumatized kiddos.  You may watch us and think we are over controlling or tough but to a child who has not been cared for or worse, abused…kindness is frightening.  If I am too kind I appear weak and if I am weak they feel they must gain control.   Often they do not feel empathy and do not react appropriately when they encounter it.  It is hard to understand or even fathom but they respond best to strength and clear (even seemingly controlling) expectations.  We must protect them and those they come in contact with and it is exhausting.  Please be patient while we help them heal.

In which we discuss the A word…

You thought I had gone off the deep end and was going to start cussing didn’t ya?   No, never fear…the A word in this case in adoption (I considered using the “F” word instead for foster care but I didn’t want to give anyone a heart attack!)

It has been an interesting journey from when I first felt the call to do foster care and older child adoption.  The farmer was not there even a little but my heart burned with it…I couldn’t get it out of my mind.   I often tease the farmer when he doesn’t give me my way:

“I am just going to tell my Daddy!”

And truth be told that is exactly what I do.  I whine to God about everything, not because I don’t reverence Him (I do) and not because I think He will give me whatever I want if I ask in just the right way (I don’t) but because the Bible tells us that we have been adopted and we have received the spirit of Abba.   He is a Father and He cares.  He cares about the little things and He cares about the big things…it’s even okay to tattle!

There were two things I knew during that time when the farmer and I didn’t see quite eye to eye 1.  This was too big to do without both of us totally sold on the idea and 2.  the only way the farmer was going to change his mind was if Abba stepped in and changed his heart on the matter.  He is way too stubborn!

So I stopped talking about it and just prayed. 

Our foster care license was approved on the 14th of this month.   Little ones come into our care officially in just a little while and if all goes as planned this will be their forever home. The farmer and I are having the time of our lives.

I won’t pretend that I am not tired, overwhelmed and little frightened but I know Abba knows where we are going and His promises are true.  By His grace we will make it even if we do have a few bags under our eyes!

Yeah, I’m exhausted…

I dropped the little ones off this morning.  Then I slept all day.  I am not used to short people who require constant supervision or 3 am breathing treatments.  It’s all new and at times, frightening.  Sometimes I think I must be supermom, other times I think I am a blooming idiot.   The truth is I am somewhere in the middle.

I keep asking the kids…

are you okay with this?

are you sure?

In a weaker moment I huddled in my bathtub while they mercifully slept and I cried out to God…”Did I hear you right?  Is this really what you have called us to?? Cuz I am tired and a little inept and a lot afraid.”

I was gently reminded of a verse:

James 1:27- Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their trouble….

The conversation continued throughout the weekend…

what about my kids?

they are safest in my will….

I’m not sure I am strong enough to do this…

My strength is made perfect in weakness…

I’m tired….

I will give you rest.