Sunday, October 15, 2017

Making A Way

Have you ever been on a carnival ride with endless spinning and find yourself in somewhat less of a  neutral state? You can't say you hate the ride because the darling next to you is wide-eyed and giggly, but the spinning is quite annoying, your heart is a little panicky, and your eyes are closed, begging for time to hurry and dump you back to a place that is more comfortable.

This is the scenario that best pictures how our life has felt over the last several months and prompted an unintentional departure from this space. 

In the quiet moments, I know the truth. But...quiet would only be heard in this house if someone was jumping on the sofa shouting it with all their might. And disorder has a way of unraveling me...quickly...and causes me to wonder why on earth God picked me.

There was a moment, last spring, at the end of an IEP (special education) meeting for LJ that I let the chaos win and fear bludgeoned my heart. I barely held my sobs as I ran-walked to the car. 

We were failing LJ. 

For the first time in my adult life, I ran away. I, quickly, sent a text message to work, but otherwise didn't tell anyone how I was feeling or where I was going. I just ran. I gave God a list of jobs I would have been exceptional at and presented different scenarios that would, presumably, have been better for LJ. Because he's a gentleman, he didn't interrupt. I went on and on and on. I cried for five hours straight and only stopped long enough to try on and purchase a new pair of Nike sneakers. That helped a little.

As I pulled back into the parking lot of the school and shut the car (and by car, I mean bus) off. The Holy Spirit delivered his one liner.

God did not pull LJ from disaster just to fail in your family.

So true. And I knew it was true. I held my breath for a few seconds and let it sink deep into my heart before the door opened and I had to let all the little people back in.

I don't want to bore you with days of details, but I have to tell this story.

LJ's clinical labels include emotionally impaired, ADHD, ODD, and some OCD. 

School is an ever-living nightmare. 

The meeting I attended was to recommend LJ for special education. Our school is amazing and the plan was strategic, but there was one huge problem. We live on a two county district line. Our current school is in our city, but we are assigned to attend school in the neighboring county. When we found the perfect country home to fill with more babies, we understood the special education risk, and chose to attend school as a school of choice family. It was a part of our story that we were sure about.

Fast forward four years and we had a weighty decision to make in 10 days. If we signed and accepted the IEP recommendation, LJ was going to have to switch districts and attend a different school than his brothers. If we didn't sign, he could continue on, but it would be without the services he, desperately, needed.

We prayed and cried and talked to every person that would listen. I even wrote a raw-heart letter to both superintendents begging for them to make an exception in our case. When our request was denied, Ben held my hand and reminded me that the Knower of all things, knows LJ best. We wondered if sending LJ to a district on his own might benefit him in surprising ways and tried to settle into the summer without thinking about it. I couldn't think about it; sending the boys to different schools ripped my heart in two.

Two weeks before school started, the principal of our school called, and opened with, "You must be praying hard. I've never seen anything like this in my career." 

Legislation specific to our predicament was passed in our benefit, weeks before, and required the two districts to join a cooperative agreement. The principal was calling to tell me that LJ would receive full special education benefits as if he was an in-district student. And I didn't have to do anything.

This was an Ebenezer raising moment for us. God made a way for LJ where there was NO WAY. He cares so much for his son, he cleared the necessary debris and changed legislation for him. Equally as significant - his way was on its way, while we were walking through the mud. 

This was not a coincidence or act of man. 

It was a miracle that I hadn't even thought to ask for. It's the sort of thing that begs consideration...what else haven't I asked God for?

I don't know if school will ever be less of a challenge for LJ. I don't know if he will learn to control his emotions or recognize his triggers. What I do know is that he is worth the investment and God will never fail him. Or me.

Even in the disorder.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

God Sees

"I don't know what to do! Tell me what to do!? I think I'm going to cut my tether and run."

Wait, wait, wait....slow the information train down. 

I hadn't heard from Sweet Mama in over a month; the last few conversations we had were difficult ones. She discovered she was pregnant, again, and waffled between abortion, parenting, or asking us to parent. She admitted it was an uncomfortable conversation to have with me (I agreed), but she had no one else to turn to. 

I mostly listened while my insides screamed.

"They put me on a tether and if I don't have a permanent place to live TOMORROW, my PO is hauling my a** to jail. I can't do it. Not again. Not pregnant. I am going to run. Doesn't that seem like the best choice?!?!"

After I was schooled on why she was tethered, what a PO is, and why shelters aren't an option, I asked if jail was the worst multiple choice answer. I couldn't think of a kinder way to say it, so I just went for the punch-in-the-face approach.

She lectured me up one side and down the other for such a suggestion, but all I could think about was dependable shelter, meals, and medical care. 

I can't relate to most of her experiences and pretending isn't genuine, but I care for her deeply and do my best to listen to the Holy Spirit so that I can give her godly counsel.

She asked if I would wire money to help secure housing. She was desperate and I could hear it in her voice. But I said no.

I pleaded with her not to run and tried to paint a picture of what that would mean for her and her baby. It was well over two weeks before I learned her whereabouts.

She didn't run. She did go to jail. And she lost the baby.

I felt immediate relief on all three accounts and then I heard (really heard) the shake in her voice and I saw a picture of her heart.

It is so important that we, intentionally, remove our natural lenses in such situations because despite our best efforts to love generously, we are tarnished by experience and influence. I didn't share this story for a long time because I didn't want anyone to voice the same unfiltered thoughts that I had.

Yes. This baby was rescued from a life of risk and separation...but at her mother's expense. Does one life hold more value than the other? 

Imagine the loss.

Three babies born to Sweet Mama were removed, brutally, by the legal proceedings in a courtroom - and while I did my best to keep their memories vivid and alive - there was never a goodbye. 

Now there is a fourth. The details are different, but the loss is the same. Life on the inside; barren on the outside. 

I've spent weeks thinking about the severity of Sweet Mama's circumstances and the mix-match of our stories. Her heart is shredded...yet she doesn't give up. She, stubbornly, holds on challenging others to defy her will. I see so much of her daughter in her. They are fighters; survivors. 

I feel the feels when I think about Edith and her story. Named by her mama - reward of war. The truth in it is chilling.

Somewhere in all the darkness, Sweet Mama has a flicker of hope.

She hopes for a kinder life. The chance to love and mother and know peace.

Do you know what her name means? 

I only looked it up, today.

God sees.

God sees her. He knows her comings and goings. When she sits; when she stands. Even when her thoughts are afar, he knows them. He loves her so much that he called me - the mother of her children - to see her, too.

...and I'm doing my best to see her as he does. Whole and worthy and of priceless value.



Who has God asked you to see?




Thursday, December 22, 2016

Fight for Love

In looking back over my year, there is one question circulating my mind and it doesn't have anything to do with my house or money or body weight.

With what measure did I love?

Fourteen months ago, God violently shook our hearts and asked us to step outside of our plan and bring home baby number five. Only weeks into sleep deprivation and complete chaos, God pulled me in further and asked me to show up for Sweet Mama. This wasn't a gentle calling that lead to a casual check-in. It was more of a walk-into-her-room-and-scatter-the-darkness type of event.

After 30ish years of walking with the Lord, I can boast in my direction following. I wouldn't say that I always see the world through a kingdom lens or that my natural frustrations don't blur the clarity, but when it comes to Sweet Mama, somewhere along the way, God swapped my heart for his, and loving her became instinct. But not easy.

It wouldn't be fair to measure my love for my kids, or my husband, or my closest people. That's too obvious; predictable. Loving them takes very little effort.

The true measurement of love is found in messy relationships with obscure boundaries and complicated outcomes. Sometimes those relationships exist within our families and friendships, but more often they surface, suddenly, in the catastrophes of life. Because these experiences are marked with pain, bias, and inequality, it's easy for justice to strangle our love. We must fight for love.

I have been wrestling God over my relationship with Sweet Mama. He asks for more than I want to give and he never lets me settle within boundaries that make me feel safe. Sweet Mama is a fighter by nature and rules her life with aggression and manipulation.She takes more than she gives and rarely acknowledges our part in her story. It would be easy to cut off our connection and most would find it reasonable - maybe even necessary.

A few weeks ago, Sweet Mama started a social campaign to take her kids back and used pictures I had sent her. In my humanness, I was enraged. For several hours, I let myself think on my own and to those closest to me I ranted. It wasn't her intended threat that angered me (our adoptions are final and legal), it was her disregard for my heart and theirs. To no one in particular, I raised my fist and listed all the ways I had gone beyond. I relived the atrocities she committed and made sure to emphasize words like MY KIDS and MY FAMILY.

Earthly wisdom encouraged me to close accounts, inform police, and take precautions, but thankfully the whisper of the Holy Spirit held more authority. Even in my fury, I knew the answer. She needed love more than ever. Her brokenness leaves her desperate, grasping for pieces she will never be able to put together on her own. I let my frustrations rest and after a few days, let God use me to administer healing to her heart. In the beginning of our conversation, her walls were very dark. Her words were ugly and harsh, but mine were soft and kind. When she spewed, I listened. Twice, I wanted to walk the other way; twice, God, gently, nudged me back. I listened; she cried. And then we broke through.

It took both patience and time for the window of her heart to open long enough for me to slip through. It wasn't as grisly as she let on, but it was full of dents and craters. Family, life, people, men - they've all let her down. The knee-jerk Christian response to this dilemma is to vocalize God's all encompassing, redeeming love...but then walk away.

That isn't gospel. That isn't love.

God uses us to reveal himself to others, but if we refuse to view people the way he does, we will never make impact. On the contrary, when we ignore our impulses and let the love of God turn our hearts toward others, that is where the supernatural magic happens.










Sunday, November 13, 2016

Adoption is Ugly



We had the rare privilege of sharing our weekend with Ty's first mama, Rebekah. Our last few visits have been in Colorado, which means this was the first time Rebekah had met all of our kids! Having her in our home at our dinner table made the world right, again. The first few hours, Ty couldn't stop talking. He wanted to share his whole world. Between writing samples and yo-yo tricks, he would ask, "What's your favorite color?" and "How long did we live together?"

My heart soared the heavens watching Ty's love explode at having both of his mamas in one place. I had to push tears to deep places as our conversations traveled varied depths. Apart from the distance, we would say our relationship is ideal. Our love is genuine, our connection runs deep.

But.

The treasure we find in each other came at such a high cost. So high, that it will never be paid in full. Listening to my friend -  my sister - share her heart and the loss that tugs at its corners was almost too much to hear, but it's critical for our relationship. I'm not about meaningless friendships. The real nuggets of gold are unearthed in hard, rocky places and we can't be afraid to visit them.

While my path to adoption was marked with loss, the pain was dulled the first time I held Tyrus in my arms and obliterated by the time I rocked Hunter. I haven't forgotten the start of our story and, easily, slip into the darkness with other friends walking it, but it's not a reality I live with every day. Eight years ago, I begged God to let me mother one...and, today, there are five little people around my table asking for breakfast - simultaneously; at high volumes. That's my reality.

Rebekah's path is different. She gave what most women couldn't and while adoption is packaged pretty and our photos look nice, the violent tearing of Rebekah's heart is kept hidden. Only those that dare to ask, hear the truth. There is not a bandage big enough to cover the hole. She watches another woman mother her son.

As the other woman, I listen to her heart and acknowledge the pain to which there is no cure. The best we can be is honest and share our son without fear, arrogance, or distrust.

As the three of us drove to the airport, Ty and Rebekah sat side-by-side, fitting a year's worth of questions in one sitting. I fought tears when I looked in the mirror and saw Ty fighting them, too. Rebekah shared a lesson with him about anchors and how powerful they are when buried in our heavenly Father. Then she gave him a little anchor keepsake to remember all that she had said. When I told him it was okay to be sad, he sobbed and Rebekah held him. I barely got through a prayer of safe travels before we got out of the car and by the time we stood together on the sidewalk we were a hot mess.

Anyone witnessing the scene would have been teary over the untamed weeping of a seven year old boy, but had they known the truth, we would have been an internet sensation for sure. This was the first goodbye that Rebekah's pain echoed through her son's. I thought he was going to be sick. I'm not sure how long we stood there or how many goodbyes were said, but Ty was in the car ready to buckle and jumped out before I could shut the door, screaming for Rebekah to come back.

We both knelt down and circled him tight. Our words and tears covering our huddle; I'm not even sure who said what, but we told him how supremely special he is. That he has two mothers whose love for him is only second to God's. Rebekah and I, hurriedly, exchanged love, both afraid to look at each other, and Ty cried most of the way home.

As soon as we walked in the house, he ran to Ben and the tears came again. We held him together and let him cry it out. We didn't bother with words.

Adoption is beautiful and redeeming and an ever-reflection of God's love for us, but not tonight. Tonight it's ugly, unfair, and unnatural.


Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Small Moments

When I was younger, who was going to be where was a big deal. In fact, when I was 16, I threw a party and the first two calls I made were to the coolest boys at church. I wasn't crushing on either of them, but if they showed up, they would draw numbers and the party would be a success.

As the story goes, both boys came. And I ended up marrying one of them. I would definitely consider that night a win.

I, recently, turned 35. Hands-down my favorite thing about my thirties is the rich contentedness. I still like that same boy to show up to my parties, but beyond that there is a settled peace about our life. And that's saying something with the circus we're trying to run around here. It makes sense why so many kids are embarrassed by their parents actions.

Kids are still working it out; they're excitable. And when excitable bumps up against steady, there is bound to be a reaction.

The other day one of the boys said, "Mom, can I sleep with you tonight?"

No.

"But why? I really want to snuggle...ALL night."

Because I want to snuggle your daddy all night.

"Why?"

There are lots of reasons, but mostly because he keeps my feet warm and gives me really, really, REALLY good kisses. I love kissing your dad.

Immediately I received a "MoMMMM!!!" with an exaggerated eye roll and head shaking.

We don't hide our affection from our kids. In a world of shadowed love and manipulation, it's really important that our kids see our outward displays of love for them and each other. And even though they feign disgust, I think they like to see us playing kissy-face. It makes them feel safe; secure.

And security is on the short list of things we must instill in our kids.

At seven, the boys have already experienced some pressure from their peers. In fact, one of them refused to swim all summer at day camp because someone told him he was fat, during the first week. I wish I could whip up a smoothie that would, instantly, fill our kids with super-knowledge. I want to infuse my experiences all at once to save them from difficulties I've seasoned. Knowing I can't is frustrating. Instead, I have to standby this slow evolution and remind myself that these things take time.

Our sweet Cisco boy came to live with us two and a half years ago, and would you believe that we're, just now, starting to see our son for the first time? Security doesn't happen over night - or even many nights. The same could be said about character, humility, patience, and the like.

We have to be steadfast and we can't let the gut-punches win. There are little people watching. Yes, they see our mess-ups and slipped frustration, but they also see our resolve to do what's right. They value what we value and love what we love.

Ben was outside throwing the football with the boys, this week, after an hour or so, Cisco looked up and said, "I love you, dad."

Small moments matter.

While it will take decades for them to settle into their own identities, there are hundreds of points along the way that our actions drive their roots deep.





Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Light-Wrapping in the Dark

I am a hard-working, educated mama. For dinner, I had a large salad and chicken pizza, drizzled in barbecue sauce. For dessert, I had a sugared donut from our favorite cider mill. I could call more than a dozen people, right now - this instant - that would show up for me if needed. My bed is warm, my bills are paid, and my morning is full of promise.

I didn't spend much time, today, thinking about the mamas that went without. Actually, I didn't spend any time thinking about anyone. I rushed around trying to do my best to get all my little people to their places. It was one of those days that just didn't work and brought tears more times than not. I exhaled louder than necessary, when I finally sat down in the quiet dark. You know the moment -they're all asleep (you want to sleep) and you drink it in. I love the stillness. It makes total sense that God likes to meet there. I want to LIVE there.

My phone buzzed.

"I'm stuck in a bad situation..."

Sweet Mama.

I put the phone down without reading more, set my head to my hands, and threw out a what-are-you-doing-to-me, "Lord?"

Help her.

"I hear what you're saying, but...." haven't I helped enough? I didn't voice that last part. It sounded better in my head.

Help her.

Our relationship was never easy, but her release from prison has brought an onslaught of uncomfortable conversations and necessary boundaries. I sighed and read the rest of her message.

She needed a safe place to stay. Her roommate was using, her first paycheck undelivered, she had no one to call and no where to go. She apologized for asking, promised to pay me back, and gave me a number to book a weekly-rated motel. I could feel her desperation.

Help her.

Without hesitation, I picked up the phone and called the motel. No room. I, quickly, texted our case worker and asked for resources. Within minutes, she sent me women's shelters and named places to stay clear of.

Everything was full or required in-person payment. The shelters all had wait lists. I was told to call back every day between 8-9am to hold her spot, in hopes that something will open in the coming weeks. For every day I don't call, her name will move further down the list.

I spent 90 minutes scouring the city for a safe haven. Nothing.

My frustration grew with every phone call. Our system fails our kids and, now it's failing her. Sure, Sweet Mama gets help here and services there, but she needs radical intervention - someone to hold her hand and walk her through the mud. With two years of sobriety behind and a heart full of dreams ahead, she is at the point of balance. Anything can happen, but odds point south.

She was forced to stay put, tonight, but we made a plan for the morning. I know God will protect her, but I don't know what that means for me.

Help her.

I wanted to end our relationship three times, this week, but God kept pushing me forward.

In all of his years of ministry, Jesus, certainly, could have used the excuses I've been trying out - this isn't easy; this isn't comfortable; the cost is too great; I've done enough.

But he didn't. And because he didn't, I have salvation, today.

Aren't you glad that Jesus didn't see the soldiers coming and say, "I'm out. THIS is where I draw the line. I've done enough." Wouldn't he have been justified?

As much as I want to resist it, I can't deny the begging of my heart. I don't know what comes next or how this looks. And it's a little terrifying. Okay, it's A LOT terrifying. But, I rest in this - God doesn't abandon us when the monsters of the night creep before us.

Instead, he scatters the darkness and wraps us in light.

We CAN do hard things.




Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Pieces of Me

My leave-taking from this space was unintended. As it turns out, raising five kids, is tough.

Really tough.

And it's not just because none of them pee without spraying the toilet first.

Somewhere in the meal-making, clothes folding, hair cutting, appointment driving, T-ball cheering, and job going cycle, my identity became singular in focus and so many of my favorite attributes shelved themselves.

It wasn't like this happened overnight. The changes came slowly and, mostly, I was able to re-adjust to each new state of crazy, while living content.

I am a career mama by choice and the sacrifices I've made in that area have probably been the hardest. As challenges and opportunities in the workplace have surfaced, the terms always remain constant. I only have a small portion to give and it has to be enough...even when it's not.

I understand the big picture. And, more importantly, I know who drew it.

I know this time is temporary and fleeting. The sweetest moments will stand out best and we might ask for the clock to reverse. I'm not chasing after tomorrow or glossing over the giggles and kisses today.

But, I do stand in front of the mirror, wondering about the girl who stares back.

Her clothes are wrinkly and hair unkept. Showers, meaningful conversations, and self-investment are luxuries often missed. Apart from Jesus and family - so many things she loves are far from close.

Her dreams are dusty.

A few weeks ago I sat on our back hill and let the tears stream. Ben came and laid his head on my lap and we talked, quietly. I appreciate the steadiness of our marriage. We never rest in the challenges of the day or swap faith for fear. We release our shortcomings to the night and rise in victory with the freshness of morning. Rarely does our frustration attack the other.

So, when it comes to identity, how do I reconcile uneven footing, when my faith and marriage test strong? It's a good life when your God and husband are wild about you...and you know it.

Yet, I look around...and there are pieces of me everywhere and no real plan for resolve. And I plan for everything.

I'm not going to lie, it's unsettling.

Ben and I spent last week in a remote chalet in the Smoky Mountains.


Ahhhhmazing.



My family took our kids and gifted us several days of solitude. I didn't know how desperate we were for the fill-up, until we got away. Renewal drenched every part - body, soul, and spirit.

I spent a lot of time reading my Bible and shaving my legs.

Although my pieces are still here and there and my day-to-day hasn't changed, I am anchored in Colossians 1:17. He [Jesus] is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

What a relief.

My pieces aren't missing! Some are just...well, sort of stretched out of sight, with supernatural elasti-glue.

The adventure of it teases me with promise. While the picture grows with each fixed section, how many fragments dangle in shadows waiting for discovery?

Some pieces won't fit for a long time; others will surface easily.

But, they're all here...

.....even if the baby dunks them in the bathtub or they double as artwork for a season.