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?

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.

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.

Muting the Sigh

God has been kneading my heart over the last few weeks, stretching and pulling, bringing the knotted, ugly pieces of me to the surface.

I have been wrestling with my apathetic feelings toward Sweet Mama, lately, and arrogance has crept in. The reel of mind conversation loops unkind, but genuine words.

I’ve done enough.

No one else would go this far.

She’ll be pregnant again in four months.

I am done with her; I am done with this.

I don’t care.

We have continued to email back-and-forth from prison. I stick to talking about the kids, because it’s the only conversation that doesn’t frustrate my love for her. Mama will be released in a few short months and her plans are not life-giving. She’s going back. To him. To the familiar. To the only life she knows.

Her resolve is to do better, but she doesn’t see the holes of her plan.

She called me, this week, and in a very abrupt, I-think-I-can-intimidate-you way, asked, “So how is this going to work with my kids when I get out?”

I wanted to slam the phone down and erase her from my memory. I’m pretty sure she has mistaken my kindness for weakness and thinks that somehow, in the end, we’ll co-raise her children together.

I tried a rational approach and expressed my hope that one day she would have a strong, healthy relationship with her kids, but walked her through some of Cisco’s traumatic experiences over the last two years in hopes that she would understand why he’s not ready for a relationship, now.

She didn’t see it.

I did more listening than talking and she released the selfish folds of her heart. Her love for her kids is true and real, but it’s tangled in her childlike focus on what she wants. Her experiences limit her abilities. She has probably never felt the depths of a mother’s love. Never felt sacrifice or cheering or mama bear protection. If she’s never seen it modeled, how is she to know?

We got off the phone and I was angry. I was angry that Sweet Mama couldn’t understand the fragility of Cisco’s heart or the inappropriateness of bringing one of the babies with me on a prison visit. She doesn’t see her relationship with me as a gift and seems to lack social awareness of not only how her words might affect my feelings, but also the usual practice, here.

I spewed my frustration to Ben and in effort to avoid apologies later, I set our conversation and friendship aside for a few days. I didn’t answer her follow-up phone calls or emails.

Instead I prayed.

I prayed for wisdom and asked God for fresh perspective.

His answer came in Galatians 6:9.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve given up on Sweet Mama – because it’s genuine. This path I’m navigating is not worn with travelers. It’s not usual, natural, or easy. I have to check my emotions at every turn and, continually, ask for a new supply of patience. I am not a born quitter, but the complexities of this challenge have worn me. When it comes down to it, my love for my kids is so much greater than my love for their mother.

But, my love for God is so much greater than my love for all else.

It’s no wonder my spirit is split.

I’ve been chewing on these words for days – do not become weary in doing good – do not become weary in doing good. Do not give up. Do not give up. Do not give up.

This morning, my reading was in Ephesians and I found the comfort I needed to right this flip-flop.

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good…

I was CREATED to do good.

And I agreed to love like Jesus when I said yes to him and yes to Sweet Mama.

I have to push forward. I have to continue to step well outside natural boundaries. I have to love this woman that is so difficult to love...because it’s in me.

The Jesus in me will erase my disgust, mute the sighs, and try again, today.

Adoption Day - 05

Driving to the courthouse was, understandably, familiar and stirred quiet reflection in our hearts. Ben held my hand and asked if I remembered our first adoption agency visit. We walked out deflated. It felt like we were never going to be parents. That was eight years ago.

It's almost too much to take in. The pain and adventure of the last several years have rooted two truths into our deepest places - 1) God redeems all things; 2) Marrying each other was the most significant life decision we made (second only to salvation). Nearly every day, Ben lays his head in my lap and says, "I couldn't do this with anyone else."

Our dating relationship wasn't remarkable. It looked pretty similar to everyone else around us. I would like to say, I had some divine revelation that Ben was the one for me or that I had wisdom beyond my time when I walked the aisle at 20. Sure, I was crazy about him and I knew he loved Jesus, but I had no idea the magnitude of treasure buried under his heart's surface. It wasn't until we hit hardship, years into marriage, that I discovered what a gift God gave me.

Nothing about our life, today, is ordinary, and I am grateful every day to be married to a man who says yes to our Father - even when he wants to say no.

I don't know what the next chapters hold, but we are settled in the closing of this one. There was something affirming, knowing this was our last adoption. Something fresh in the possibilities ahead and rich in the experiences behind.

The judge allowed everyone present an opportunity to share the meaning of the day. When I looked across the sea of faces, I was moved by the love and tears woven into all the words spoken. Days like today aren't specific to our team of seven. They inspire a greater community and encompass the many, many people who walk beside us, every day.

The presiding judge noted how difficult the morning had been and the joy she found in the goodness of such an event.

We had the opportunity to also meet the judge that was on our last three foster/adoption cases over the past two years. He hugged me tight and said in fourteen years of service he had never been able to keep three siblings together. He was, genuinely, grateful and found peace in meeting all three kids that until, today, were only a number in a file.

A friend noted how normal adoption has become over the last several years and that it's not until she talks to people outside our influence that she recognizes the gripping qualities of fear. Sadly, it's instinctive and limits the lives of most.

I am so thankful for God's gentle pressing and every yes along the way. From Rebekah's doorstep to each previous foster family to my growing interactions with Sweet Mama. Each relationship gives me glimpses into the true heart of God.

It is a great privilege to introduce you to the newest member of our team.

Hunter Samuel

True to our conviction, we kept Hunter's first name, but chose Samuel for his middle name because Samuel is my absolute favorite person in the Bible. Not only did the desperate prayers of his mother mirror my heart at one time, but I am hopeful that all of my children will grow in the presence of God and be quick to respond to his voice.

I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord for his whole life.

Samuel 1:27-28

I was in Prison and You Came to Visit Me

Over the last several weeks, I have had many well-intended people question my decision to visit Sweet Mama in prison. I know the concern is for the protection of our family. I understand their unease. I, too, have sought the Lord multiple times, this week.

How did we get, here?!?!

With each question, the Holy Spirit would answer with Matthew 25:35-36.

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.

My friend and I made the long drive together. She gripped my hand, tightly, and prayed for God's presence, before I walked in. I didn't have the slightest bubble of nerves.

I had to wait in a holding room for two hours before I could see her. I didn't have my phone or a book. I just sat there and prayed. I listened to the sad stories around me. There were many family members visiting prisoners that day and the mood was heavy.

The air was so thick, I pushed through tears, all afternoon. 

I had called the facility earlier to make sure I would be able to see her after making the long drive. The officer on duty said, "You must be Rebekah? You're the only person on her list."

Those few words broke my heart and set the tone for the hours before our visit.

I made eye contact with her from across the room while I was stopped at the third security station. When I passed the final inspection, I nearly ran to her and grabbed her as tight as I could. She sobbed and hugged me back with all her strength.

She kept apologizing for her tears, but I told her I wasn't in a hurry. She could cry for as long as she needed. She asked me a hundred questions in rapid succession. We started with Cisco and exhausted every topic on all three kids. I was happy to share our life with her, as I can only imagine the loneliness that eats through her days.

She asked me if it was hard to say yes to bringing home another baby when the agency called about Baby Brother. I only know how to be genuine, so I shared my heart and the emotions that came before our "yes".

She interrupted me halfway through and said, "I'm glad you brought this up." 

I didn't.

"This is what I have been wanting to talk to you about."

I braced myself for one of the many questions Ben and I imagined she would ask.

"I would like to have him back...what I mean to say is, I am going to fight to take him back."

[Silence]

I was shocked speechless. We, literally, sat staring at each other for a minute without a word. 

When my life - turned TV movie - started playing, again, a thousand thoughts rushed through my head. I am a confident girl who is not afraid of silence - uncomfortable or otherwise. So, I just sat there. I really didn't know what to say. Mama started in about the attorney she is meeting with, her hopes for a strong case, the brokenness in her heart, and the guilt she fights.

I never took my eyes from her.

After her ten minute monologue she looked at my face and said, "How does this make you feel?"

It took everything in me not to laugh. The humor was not in the seriousness of the conversation. I had to push down the giggles because of all the many questions Ben and I prayed and prepared answers for, THIS WAS NOT ONE OF THEM.

I took a breath and very lovingly and kindly said this. "My mama heart understands exactly why you want to do this and even respects your desire to fight. But, I am his mother, too. And as hard as you are going to fight, I am going to fight harder. Your kids have experienced trauma, but they find security in each other. If you saw the love that exists between them - the rolling, belly laughs that only Edie can get from Baby Brother - you would never try to pursue this."

Tears started streaming her face.

"You asked me to always be honest with you, even if the truth would hurt your heart. Baby Brother's adoption will be final in a few weeks. There is nothing you are going to be able to say or do to have the judge reverse his decision. If you follow your heart on this, you are only giving yourself false hope and I don't want to see you even more devastated on the other side."

I took her through the judge's instructions at the end of the termination trial to help her remember that her decision was irrevocable. That she agreed she was not impaired or coerced in any way to sign over her rights. I asked her if she remembered when the judge told her that "changing your mind" is not grounds for an appeal and that the time for filing an appeal has long since lapsed.

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. I just sat, quietly, and waited.

After several minutes, she calmed. With puffy eyes, she said, "Okay. I won't fight. Hearing you say that you would fight harder, reminds me that you love him as much as I do. I won't fight. You can be his mom."

Looking back, I understand that this is EXACTLY the scenario that keeps adoptive parents bound to fear. But, if I gave in to all of the [completely] rational fears I have had over the last several years, I would have limited God's ability to move in my life. I, certainly, wouldn't be mother to five, and I would have been settling for a pretty mediocre supply of blessing.

I want to live in overflow - every day.

There was absolutely a part of me that wanted to get up from our meeting, walk out on Sweet Mama, and never look back. It would be easy (and justifiable) to convince myself that she is not worth the energy.

But....if I had done that....how would I reconcile Matthew 25? How would I make an account that the Lord asked me to go to him in prison, but I was too uncomfortable?

Our [admittedly] crazy conversation strengthened our friendship. If I had turned my back on Mama, I would have missed my reward. I wouldn't have been able to offer her hope or stomp on the lies of the enemy or hear her parting words, when we hugged:

"Thank you....Thank you for being the only person that treats me like a human being."

I hope this challenges you to increase the depth of your love.

Shove your fears into a closest.
Pray for wisdom.
And invite someone in.

Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers or sisters of mine, you did for me.

 - Jesus

Preparing for Prison

Stand Firm.
Let nothing move you. 
Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord 
because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.

[I Corinthians 15:58]

This week, I committed to spending concentrated time in prayer and reading my Bible. On Friday, I will be visiting Sweet Mama in prison for the first time. The closest I've ever been to prison is a juvenile detention center that I used to visit to lead a young women's bible study. I don't expect this visit to be anything like that.

Given her security level, we will be able to speak face to face, but the list of visiting rules is long. I got the shakes reading them because...well... I am a rule follower and will certainly forget that hand touching isn't allowed when tears are trailing her cheeks.

Recently, I gave Sweet Mama my phone number and accepted her call for the first time a few days ago. I happened to be putting Edie to bed, so I switched the phone to speaker when we picked up. As soon as I said, "hello", I could hear the longing in her voice. She is desperate for friendship and desires so much more than I can give. Edie assumed it was Ben on the other side and, immediately, started chatting about her favorite jammies and snuggling her bunny.

I heard the awe before she broke to tears, "Is that...?"

"Yes! We're both, here. I was just putting Edie to bed." I tried to keep it light, "Isn't she a little chatter box?"

Sweet Mama only muffled sniffs. I let Edie talk and listened to Mama cry.

Before our time ran out, I told her that I would be visiting on Friday. The phone went dead before we could say goodbye.

The weight in my heart is not loaded by guilt or charity, but rather genuine compassion. The only difference between the two of us are the families we were born to. Without radical intervention, she doesn't have a fighting chance for a better life. Her world is too narrow and bound by love for a man that has brought her to ruin. 

I fill pages with Truth and encourage her to think big, yet her only dream is to "get out" and find him.

My commitment to prayer, this week, is in effort to squash the natural negatives that flow through my heart and to remember that love always hopes. Every time. In every situation.

Most of my nerves stem from the questions I know are coming. For weeks, Mama has been telling me that she has a few important "things" to discuss with me, but that she must do it in person.

I trust that God will give me the answers when needed, but Ben and I have been discussing one question at length. I am certain she will ask if she can see her kids, again. In prison or otherwise.

I am concerned for her heart after I share mine. Although my kindness may point to wide-open rainbows and ever-after castles of friendship, I am also a protective mama. And happen to be raising traumatized babies. Genuinely, my hope is that one day she and Cisco will both be in healthy, secure places, where a meaningful relationship can really blossom. But we're not there, today. 

After two years, we have finally tipped the scale in the slightest margin and are starting to see real victories with Cisco. Every week, I see new slivers of trust that allow him to inch his toes across the attachment line. I DREAM of the day, he jumps that divider and runs full force into our love. 

Mingling his fragile heart and Sweet Mama's irregular stability is a disaster that we're not willing to risk. And I know that will break her heart. 

I have also discerned an important perception through her last several letters. Sweet Mama questions God for the atrocities she's faced and hates that drugs ravaged her life. But sadly, her reflections are self-focused. She doesn't make the connection that drugs didn't just alter HER life, but nearly broke three little spirits, too. 

My prayer is that I will be able to share difficult truth with her, even though it will be painful to deliver and hear. If she doesn't make the connection between her choices and her kids' sacrifices, she might not ever break the cycle.

Friends, pray for me. 

I am desperate for wisdom as the light and darkness of our worlds are about to collide.

More Than Enough

"Mom. I've been looking at this trophy and thinking...do you think we could get a marker and write Pinchback over my old name?"

Before I could answer, Ty piped in, "Francisco. I don't think it's necessary to do that. This trophy is a reminder of who you used to be. You won it playing basketball as a [previous last name]. Just leave it."

I had to smile and sigh at the same time. Tyrus is more like me than I care to admit. Practicality has a tendency to block sympathy in both of us.

I dismissed Tyrus and told Francisco to bring his trophy closer. My heart filled as I wrote PINCHBACK in big block letters on his cheap-o plaque.

In a few weeks, he will have been with us for two years and the progress to family has been painstakingly slow. 

Three of our kids have really big personalities and another is a constant need-machine due to...well...being a baby. Francisco prefers to fade into the background and that's pretty easy to do around, here, with so much commotion. 

In the beginning of the school year, I was concerned that holding him in Kindergarten was giving him permission to regress. The first several weeks mirrored the last several. He couldn't name anyone in his class and was, purposely, choosing not to invest in relationships.

Everyone, including his teacher, kept encouraging us to just give him time.

Today, I was really struck by a theme.

God's love is always enough.

Every time it is whispered to my heart, fresh tears roll down my face.

Ben and I are purposeful in our love for Francisco and intentionally work at pulling him closer, but we've never been enough. We are exhausted most days and get more frustrated than we prefer. We miss opportunities all the time. We are every day people, striving for God's best, but in the failing moments find a measure of peace that our kids will have few memories of these days. We still have time to get it closer to right.

Despite the holes in our love, a miraculous transformation is in progress. Over the last three months, God has been wooing our tender-hearted, skittish boy and because his love IS enough, small pieces of Francisco's heart are not just peeking out, but remaining exposed.

Things that might make other parents smile, spark waterworks and praise in my heart. 

The first change was at school. Francisco announced that he had a friend. A friend who also happens to be one of five. His confidence continued to build when the rest of the class realized he knew most of his sight words and letters. On Ben's birthday, he was proud to talk about our family's birthday traditions with his teacher, and told me that he thought about chocolate cake all day. 

Right before break, he was sent 5 candy grams from classmates. My heart exploded.

He comes home from church and can re-tell the truths he learned.

He sticks up for himself when his brothers blame him for trouble.

When our knees touch on the couch, he doesn't move away.

His favorite  memory of 2015 was his adoption day.

Watching my sweet boy blossom has been such a lesson in faith for me. I get frustrated by the progress and some days wish that I could manipulate the time line and slap "redeemed" over his wounds, so that we can move on...which is, exactly, why my love isn't enough. It's not perfect or all-knowing. It doesn't operate with all the facts or with selfless ambition. 

What a relief to know that we don't have to have it together. God's love is everything. It's enough for me and it's enough for Francisco. His love is at work, when mine sleeps. His love whispers and pulls and moves Francisco at the right time, in the right moments, and earns genuine results.

And the best part is that God's love isn't exclusive. There is a young woman a couple hundred miles away, crying out for God's rescue. Her days are marked for her and the landscape only changes in her dreams where she can darken the light on the bars that hold her prisoner.

The more letters we exchange, the more conflicted I feel. The Jesus and mama in me tussle often over the direction that this is going. My defenses prickle; he nudges me past. I want to hold back; he asks for more.

I feel like I should be better at pride-swallowing, given the sequence of events that we've walked the last several years, but it still tastes bitter. I don't always want to give all of me. I don't always want to blaze an unknown trail.

But...then I get a nose-smashing, lip-touching kiss from my youngest six year old or see the magic dance behind his eyes when he tells a funny joke and I am, instantly, reminded that knowing him is worth sacrifice.

Whether I ever feel that for his mother or not doesn't matter. God's love is enough for her, too. And, right now, he is using me to show her what that means. Francisco's unfolding has been a timely backdrop. 

Sometimes love requires time and God asks us to remain steadfast while we wait.

Adoption Day for Little Miss!

It is with many tears and much joy that I introduce you to our Little Miss. She has been a firecracker from the beginning, a ball of personality, and her fierce independence helped her push through a pretty rough start. Her mama named her Edith - reward of war. We gave her the middle name of Elizabeth - fullness of God.

She fills every corner of our home with loud color and incredible sass. Her brothers adore her and I love her so much I can barely contain it.

Two months shy of two years. That's how long this little light has been in our life.

Her adoption was only supposed to take a few months.

I'm not really a "praise God through the storm" girl. Maybe if I was superhuman I could manage it...but that hasn't been my experience. It's more like a desperate cling to my Sailor as the wind and rain beat the tar out of me. I don't give up or stop believing, but praise for the circumstance isn't usually forthcoming when I'm soaking wet.

I would say that I am the kind of girl that memorizes the waves and praises God for the destruction once I'm through the other side.

It's been a difficult two years. Our hearts were squeezed and twisted well beyond comfort and we were asked to step into terrifying shores, but the reward is great because it surpassed earthly relevance a long time ago.

Sweet Mama and I continue to write back and forth and I am stunned by the beautiful opportunity that God laid in my lap. I feel unworthy of it. Every letter from prison gives me deeper insight into the darkness Edie's mother has faced alone, yet there is the faintest shimmer of hope. Her life is not over; all is not lost. Through our growing friendship, she is experiencing God's love.

Just this week, I sent my application in for approval to visit her.

As we sat in the courtroom, today, celebrating Michigan's adoption day, I was a remembering mess. God didn't close my womb out of cruelty or pack our suitcases and haphazardly push us onto this path. He, methodically, touched a myriad of pain points with his gentle thumb and whispered for our hearts to follow. This is how he makes all things new. This is how he redeems and connects nonredeemable circumstances to life giving results.

Our life has been a series of God-driven question marks and looking back it's easy to see how one yes led to the next. People love to ask us if we're "done" adopting, now. A reporter asked me, today. My answer is always the same. We will stop saying, yes, when God stops asking.

It's easy for our efforts to be mistaken as sacrifice, but the truth? The return on our time and love far surpasses the moments we give.

This was such a wonderful day of celebration for our family. All day, Edie kept saying, "I adopted! I adopted!" There is powerful identity in family. It feels so good to have finality in this part of our story. There is so much more to come from this little girl, her baby brother, and both of their mothers. But, today, we celebrate with tear-streaked faces.

There is one less lovie stuck in a life-sucking system.

Another Homecoming

Baby Brother's foster family spent the evening with us on Friday. There was a heavy knowing in the air, but it was really nice to spend time with them and to hear more of their story. Our kids were crazy. The kind of crazy you try your best to hide from people - especially people that are about to leave a costly gift with you (forever).

Sigh. But this is who we are. I like to think we control the chaos....but I always realize otherwise when people step in the front door for the first time.

Friday night went better than expected. He was only up for about an hour halfway through the night. It wasn't a painful or angry cry, it was more of a I-just-woke-up-in-a-strange-place-and-you-are-not-my-mother whimpering.

Ben joked (truthfully) that he makes the same sounds as Little Miss, only his decibel is about one-third of hers.

Last night was a bit rougher. He was up, on and off, for hours and that familiar beg to God set in, "Lord if you love me, please, PLEASE, let him sleep."

I know it's only been two and a half days, but I am tired. So tired.

People that told me I wouldn't notice a fifth - that anything after three is the same - lied.

It's a lot different.

Ben and I were like underpaid circus crew, this weekend, moving to the demands of the set. It took us three hours to get ready for church, this morning, but when we pulled into the parking lot on time, tears misted my eyes. We did it. And I know it will only get easier from here.

I am overwhelmed by the support that has flooded our doorstep.

Every day someone is handing me a gift card or asking if they can bring a meal. Today, we shared our hearts in front of our church, bringing people close to what God is doing in our growing family. Afterward our pastor asked the congregation to invest in God's work through us. He had us stand at the front of the altar and the stream of people that came was continuous. I cried, as family after family gave and shared their support, thanking us for saying yes.

One precious woman told me she had very little to give, but that she was a fierce prayer warrior and committed to bathe our family and Sweet Mama in prayer. Others offered free babysitting, and meals, and haircuts.

I am stunned with gratitude; I don't even know what to say.

A hot out-of-the-oven meal arrived, tonight, with a box of Tim Horton donuts that the kids went bananas for and I thanked God for his provision. This mama is exhausted, but the surge of energy I felt from all the helping hands around me, today, reminded me that we CAN do this...because we're not alone.

The bills will get paid, our sleep will be multiplied, and the kids will experience love.

Speaking of - I am awestruck at the tenderness my babies give so freely. I was worried about Little Miss. She is bossy and commands attention in every way. I knew she would have the hardest adjustment. Yet, she seemed to grow by years overnight. Sure, she still throws around, "My mommy" every other time she looks at her baby brother, making sure he understands the terms. But, she has been so interested in playing, reading, and helping me, I haven't seen any signs of spite or envy.

Baby Brother is such a bundle of sweetness. I've been wearing him, each day, and playing with him as much as I can (the boys rotate feedings). He is so relaxed and happy it's a breath of fresh air.

Rocking with him at night has been very emotional. The deep, fierce, mama bear love isn't there, yet, but I have this tremendous awareness of what a treasure this little boy is. In a way I've never felt before. I think of Sweet Mama everyday. The kids have been writing her letters and drawing her pictures, too. We popped at least 2 or 3 packages in the mail, this week.

I've been texting Foster Mama every time I think of her to ease her unsettled heart and let her know that we're taking the greatest care with her son.

All the while, knowing that the earthly love surrounding Baby Brother pales in comparison to the love of his Father. Wow.

It was a good, good weekend.

"She Wants You"

Why I bother showing up to court on time, I'll never know. An hour went by - still no movement. I made small talk with Baby Brother's family, read some in my book, and listened to background chatter. To most people it was just another day.

I could hear the clanking of chains behind me before I saw her face. I turned, quickly, in hopes to catch her eyes and as soon as they met, tears streamed both our faces. She mouthed "thank you" a dozen times on her way to holding in the jury box. Everything in me wanted to run to her; squeeze her hand. I watched, helplessly, as formalities began. All I could do was meet her gaze and hope she saw love.

Sweet Mama held true to her letter. She stood firm with her rights and forced the case to begin trial. I don't ever want to experience it again. Words will never be able to convey the brutal reality of what happened. Baby Brother's guardian ad litem and attorney hammered her points until the case was nothing but a bloody carcass, wide open for disease and prey. Sweet Mama sobbed on the witness stand and I, barely, held it together. I, literally, stuffed emotion to my toes, willing for it not to come out in distracting heaves.

Given your history with Cisco and [Little Miss], do you really think, it's fair to make Baby Brother wait over a year for permanency?

She held tissues to her face and, quietly sobbed, "no."

If Judge grants you the time that you're asking for AGAIN, what is going to be different when you're released from prison?

She shook her head and shrugged.

I said, "What is going to be different???? Would you say you're OPTIMISTIC that your addiction will be cured? What support do you have? You come from a family of drug addicts - do you expect them to help you? Did they help support you in the past?"

Mama was lost in a sea of pain and panic. The questions came too fast.

The attorney was relentless. I kept waiting for defense to shout "Objection!" but he sat with his head down. He had given up long before we started.

As the questions pressed on, I let go of my heart and let it shatter to the polished floor. Someone pressed tissue in my hand and asked if I was okay. I shook my head.

"Are you, [Baby Brother's] best option, right now?"

I barely heard her whisper..."no."

"I would like to approach the bench."

White noise came on and the attorneys rushed forward. The judge called for recess and asked everyone, but Sweet Mama and security to exit the courtroom, so that she could have some moments of privacy with her attorney.

When we got to the hall, Baby Brother's attorney explained that they didn't want Sweet Mama to have to endure anymore. They recessed to try and convince her to sign over her rights, voluntarily. Apart from the obvious relief from ruthless questioning, a direct release helps Sweet Mama have some footing should she get pregnant, again.

I walked out in silence, I could barely breathe.

Her attorney burst through the doors and pointed at me, "She wants you."

I heard the clerk lock the door behind me and the security guard verified my identity. I walked over to my broken friend and put a hand on her knee. I didn't bother asking if it was allowed.

"Thank you for being such a wonderful mother," she hiccuped between cries, "You are the mother I always intended to be. I don't know what to do. What should I do? I mean... I know what I should do...but I need to fight."

Tears streamed down my face and I took her hands in  mine. "Baby...you need to fight for YOU. Until you fight for you, you're never going to be able to fight for your kids. I love your kids like my own and I will take care of them as my own. It's time to let go. And trust God that good will follow. Look at this time as an opportunity you've never had. You have two years in a place that is going to feed you every day and keep you warm and safe. Get your high school diploma; get clean. God is handing you a fresh beginning. You just have to take it."

I don't know how long we sat there crying; time was still.

After several moments of sniffling silence, she said, "How are you going to do it? It's so many kids!"

I laughed and cried some more. "I know...but we WILL do it because we love you and we love your kids."

She looked down and whispered..."They're your kids, too. Thank you for writing me. I loved the pictures of Cisco and his brothers. It's helping me get through. If I do this, you have to promise me that you won't let anyone take Baby Brother from you. If I can't be his mom, it has to be you. Do you promise?"

I can hardly see to type this...

I told her about the drawing Cisco made, last night, and let her know she could write to him any time. Her attorney interrupted and told her it was time to decide. I hugged her tight and prayed that she'd feel a surge of strength. She couldn't return the squeeze, but she wet my face with her tears and I thanked God for crossing our paths.

An hour later, court returned to session and the adoption representative was present with signed papers in hand. Sweet Mama cried through all of the Judge's questions as he made sure she was not coerced, paid, or under the influence. Every time she looked at me, I saw Little Miss. Their similarities are so striking, I know this day will haunt me every time I see my girl cry.

Sweet Mama was escorted from the courtroom. I managed a quick hand-squeeze as she walked by and told her not to give up. The door closed, firmly, and I wondered if I would ever see her, again.

Baby Brother's attorney walked the court through placement and adoption recommendations. She looked at me and told the judge in all her years of service she had never seen a foster parent express so much compassion. She told him about my letter to prison, my willingness to encourage her during the recess, and somehow had even picked up the story about Cisco's "I love you" picture.

The judge choked up and told me he has a daughter the same age as Mama. He expressed the heartbreak of her story, thanked me for keeping the siblings together, and noted how Mama's love never stood a chance to her addiction and the addiction that tears through the rest of her family. He explained how easy it is for the players in court to be desensitized to such mess and thanked me for showing kindness.

And then it was over.

On the way out, I asked what will happen if no one picks her up on the day she is released. A likely possibility as she is hours from everything familiar.

"Probably a halfway house."

I sat in my car and sobbed until my meter ran out.

Baby Brother comes home on Friday, but the excitement of our next chapter is dulled by the cost.

There was one moment of connection, where Sweet Mama, Foster Mama, and me were all wiping tears and I thought about the preciousness of Baby Brother. Three mothers representing his past, present, and future, sharing in the agony of his story.

That moment in time can never be replicated. The three of us will never meet, again.

And somehow the weight of that is almost too much to bear.