Progress is Painful

I use Dictionary.com every day. I love words and their definitions. I'm kind of weird about it. 

Breakthrough has been on my mind a lot, lately, so I looked up its meaning today: "any significant or sudden development that removes a barrier to progress."

According to this definition, I would not say we've seen breakthrough, yet, with Sweet Boy. We are making progress (slowly), but not to the point that we've removed any barriers.

I'll try to sum up our last month the best I can without making this pages long. I have continued to journal Sweet Boy's days. This has been an extremely helpful tool that led to many discoveries. Before I get to that. Some changes occurred in the last month that have made a significant difference.

All five of us are home for the summer, now. Being home has offered me the opportunity to really see Sweet Boy. My radar is always on. Praying, thinking, measuring his reactions.

A few things have become clear. Sweet Boy does not feel like a member of our family; he requires time away from his brothers to recharge; and anxiety is not only affecting him, physically, but it is keeping his heart guarded.

We made a few changes to help Sweet Boy feel more ease and we have a child therapist coming to the house in a couple of weeks to meet with him for the first time, in his environment. 

Before this week, Sweet Boy had not had any diarrhea, gagging or throwing up episodes for weeks. This coupled with his small, but outward, forms of affection toward me, led me to believe that he was finally experiencing some peace.

A few weeks ago we sat on the couch together and I told him how proud I was to watch him scale the rock wall at the park (it took him all day to get up the nerve). He beamed with pride and then started crying. I rubbed his neck and asked him why that made him sad.

"I miss my mom and dad."

That statement socked me in the stomach. Not because he called someone else mom - there is no room for insecurity in my life - but because my darling boy has so much turmoil in his spirit that remains untouchable.

Each day that creeps by I feel more and more like his mom and I love him with a fierceness that is new. He is changing me. And I like the change. I like who he is helping me become.

We had Sweet Boy's foster family over, one day, this weekend. I have never seen Sweet Boy so excited. Interestingly, he referred to his foster mom as "Miss [name]" all day, but called his foster dad, "Dad". This made us wonder if Sweet Boy is starting to feel connected to me, but not Ben.

For the first time in three weeks, he threatened to throw-up, again, yesterday. We were coming home from an area that I was unfamiliar. I had told the boys to sit, quietly, and rest so that I could hear my GPS. I, vaguely, remember one of them saying, "Mom is so lost, she is never going to get us home." Insert Sweet Boy's gagging, crying, and warning of throw-up. I pulled over, quickly, looked him in the eyes and talked him through breathing exercises. For the first time, he didn't throw-up and I felt triumphant at our progress.

Today, I had a lot on my mind. Our termination trial is supposed to be on Thursday. I got word, yesterday, that a recent supreme court case is influencing termination trials, from here on out, and that we may not be able to move forward on Thursday. The judge called an emergency meeting with the attorneys, tomorrow, to discuss whether or not our case can be heard, this week.

I'm not anxious over the hiccup; I know that God will move in the direction of his plan (and I believe we are part of that plan), but it is frustrating to be put on hold. I was really looking forward to opening the adoption/forever family conversation with Sweet Boy.

All of these thoughts were rattling in my head on the way to a birthday party this afternoon. Ty and LJ were asleep when Sweet Boy said, "Mom, I have rocks in my tummy, again. I'm going to throw up."

It was probably more stupidity than bravery, but I was still rolling on last night's victory. I reminded Sweet Boy to take big deep breaths, "Honey, you're not going to throw-up...you're going to talk to me, instead...we'll work through it, together."

It worked. But....this was the conversation.

"Buddy, you're not throwing up because you're sick. You're throwing up because you're nervous. Let's talk about that. Do you know what nervous is?"

He didn't.

"It's like being afraid. You might get nervous about something that you're unsure of. Like if you don't know that we're going home, or maybe who is going to be at a party. I think things that you don't know make you nervous. What do you think?"

"I think I'm nervous."

"Okay, well, let's talk about it. Are you nervous about the trampoline party?"

I tipped my rearview mirror down for a better view of him, in time to see a shoulder shrug.

"You don't want to jump your brains out????"

He giggled.

"You don't have to honey. Mama is not going to jump. If the jumping makes you nervous, you can sit with me."

"Would you hold my hand?" Progress.

"Buddy, I will always hold your hand. You just have to tell Mom when you're feeling nervous...Do you know how very much I love you?

"...like a hundred?"

"Like a hundred buckets! I love you so much, honey. And I'm going to be your mom forever. Do you know that?"

"Forever? Why?"

"Because your Daddy and I want you to be a part of our family forever. We don't ever want you to have to move, again, or live with another family....Would you like that?"

"No."

I thought I might have misheard him so I asked, again, "Would you like to live with us forever."

"No."

I was stunned. "Why not, buddy?"

"You're not my mom. I don't love you. I want to go back and live with [foster familly]."

I faltered. I didn't know what to say. As if I wasn't having a conversation with a beyond-his-years four year old, I naively tried another approach. "Buddy, we'd be so sad if you left us. Wouldn't you miss your brothers?"

"No."

"I don't understand. I thought you liked it, here, honey. Why would you want to leave?"

"I already told you."

End of conversation.

I was told. And it was too much for my heart to hear.

I thought living with a boy that does not belong to me, was not birthed to me, and I only feel slight motherly leanings toward was an overwhelming challenge.

I was not prepared for the truth in this conversation.

Living with a boy that does not belong to me, was not birthed to me, that I only feel slight motherly leanings toward....that confirmed he does not love me nor want to be in my home feels impossible.

My heart is broken for him.

Ahhh! My Sweet Boy that I love more with every passing day is trapped inside his own turmoil without any authority to make his wishes come true. I have tears streaming down my face as I type this.

The only comfort I have is that my feelings are fleeting. I know what seems impossible today IS possible.

As we drove the rest of the way to the party, I felt the love of God surround me. Into my spirit, he quickened a knowing...that one day Sweet Boy and I will share a bond that cannot be compared.

Until then, I have to lay his life in the Knower's hands. It's all I can do.

Tyrus is Five!

FIVE

How is that even possible?

My baby. My heart.

All of my prayers and dreams laid squealing on Rebekah's tummy, five years ago, today.

I love the bond that Tyrus and I share. We are so similar and like hearted.

Ty is curious and perceptive; tender and forgiving.

I had a work trip, last week, and before I left, I asked the boys if anyone wanted to take a walk with me to the mailbox. They all jumped up in response, but while the other two raced down the road, my tender heart said, "Mom...can I just hold your hand? I'm really going to miss you." Minutes later, we all said our goodbyes, and while everyone headed back to the house, my baby boy ran back and asked for one last hug. I held him tight and choked back tears.

He rubs my back and often asks if I'm okay. He's the first to help, first to show compassion, and the first to problem solve a solution.

God gave Tyrus the exact heart that was needed to be a part of this unconventional family. He openly accepts new siblings without question, argument, or insecurity. He shares his life, parents, and bedroom with joy and never complains.

Hardworking and level-headed, my sweet boy fills my heart with pride.

I smile and marvel at his spirit. The man I know he will become.

One day I was watching him, drinking in the moment, thinking about how sad I will be when he allows another girl to hold his heart. He asked me what I was thinking about and I shared my fear that he would grow-up and not need me anymore. Since that day, he offers reassurance, "Mama, I am going to marry Eva (my best friend's daughter), but I will call you every day" or "Mom, you don't ever have to be sad when I buy my own house, I will always come visit."

My Ty is a built in ego-boost. Everything is extraordinary to him. "Mom, this is the best dinner I've ever had"; "Mom, you are the best painter in the whole world"; "Mom, you are the bestest mom"; "Mom, this is the best day of my whole life." He walks out life with a full heart and positive attitude. It's more than a little contagious.

God used this boy to bring life to my barren heart and to birth a dream in my spirit for our family to come. My gratitude is of the greatest depth.

It's such a privilege to raise these little jewels of treasure. The days go fast, but I hold onto the moments the best I can.

Happy birthday to my lovie! It's going to be a great day full of simple surprises and favorite things!

Fears

So, I decided, last week, to start keeping a food/potty/upset journal for Sweet Boy to see if I could recognize any patterns. We have an appointment with his doctor, later this summer, and I would like to be able to give her a full picture of what we're seeing/experiencing. After a lengthy conversation with his last foster mom and reading through the activities from our week, I am convinced that his tummy troubles are anxiety. Sweet Boy lived with his last foster mom for six months before coming to us three months ago and she said he never experienced ANY of the symptoms I describe.

But...that was during a time in his life when he had only walked through one disruption and the contrast of environments was so, vastly, different. He experienced peace for the first time, since birth, when he came into that home.

In his eyes, the move to our home is (I presume) unexplainable.

Last night, something happened at the dinner table that required Ben to discipline Sweet Boy. Immediately after, he started coughing and told us that he was going to "choke" his new word for throwing up. I told him that he was fine and that he needed to take two big deep breaths instead and showed him how to do it. He didn't throw up.

That night when I was laying in bed with him, I told him that after reading through his journal, daddy and I felt like his tummy aches were because of things that he is feeling in his heart or thinking about in his head. I used the word "anxiety" and explained what it meant. When I mentioned fear, he said, "I'm afraid of things, mom."

"Well, let's talk about that, honey. What are you afraid of?"

"Dragons. I am really afraid of dragons."

I bit back my laughter and talked him through it as if it were a logical fear.

What else, honey. What else are you afraid of?

"Well...I'm also really afraid of crocodiles."

Clearly our conversation was going nowhere, but I persevered, hoping we'd get to something more meaningful. We talked about the power of God and the job of the Holy Spirit. I told him that he never has to be afraid at night (most nights he lays awake for a long time) because his brothers are with him and we're not far away. I ended the conversation with another stab at his fears. "Honey, is there anything else that you're afraid of that you want to talk about?"

He was thoughtful for a really long time. So long, that I would have thought he had fallen asleep if I wasn't staring at his eye balls. He, finally, looked at me and with complete seriousness, said, "Mom, I am REALLY afraid of walking fast backwards."

I couldn't hold my laugh in that time and responded by saying, "Well, buddy, that is really easy to fix. Stop walking backwards!"

"No. No, mom. I'm not afraid to walk backwards SLOW. I'm really good at walking slow. I'm afraid of walking backwards fast."

Oh, goodness.

We're not really getting any closer to solving his tummy troubles, but little rays of personality are starting to shine through the cracks in Sweet Boy's very tall-walled exterior.

God is on our side.

 

I took both of these pictures, today. Ty and Little Miss have a, closely woven, bond. I'm pretty sure they prefer each others company over ours. They play and laugh and snuggle. It, truly, is a live stream of God's faithfulness to his promise. Ty was unrelenting in his prayers for a baby sister and the joy in his heart at her arrival is evident, every time they're together.

I pick the kids up from preschool everyday (today was our last day!) and have a few hours with them before Ben gets home. As soon as he walks in the door, it's a main event. All other activities cease and ALL the kids pile on. They want to snuggle and tickle and tell him all about their day's adventures. It's magical to watch. Even the baby joins in, calling "Da-da". No one even notices when I slip out to work on dinner!

Pictures like these highlight the warmth and fullness of our family. 

And it's genuine. We thank God everyday for the measure he has poured into our life.

What these pictures don't show is the heavy cloak that drapes my heart for Sweet Boy. He continues to be distant with sporadic engagement. He is always on the outside looking in, observing. We are overly inclusive, but we respect his need for space.

Today, Ty and LJ woke-up with gusto. They were jazzed up about the last day of school and couldn't wait to get there. I listened to their banter and smiled as they sang, "School's out for the summer!" As usual, Sweet Boy sat, quietly, smiling occasionally, and ate a few bites of breakfast. After a few minutes he pushed it away and asked if he could be excused. That was not usual. All three boys can eat their body weight in cereal and oatmeal, requiring Ben and I to cut them off at the point of overload. I asked him if everything was alright and he said, "Yeah. I just want to get dressed."

He can be moody and internal, so I didn't think much of it and he was off to finish getting ready. About five minutes into our drive he threw up. This has become a somewhat normal occurance and I pulled over as soon as I heard his gulp.

We headed back home, took a quick bath, changed his clothes, and had a chat before deciding whether or not he should stay home. We've ruled out allergies, as his throwing up seems to be a trend, but not consistent enough to point to anything but anxiety.

He was tight lipped.

"Honey, can you talk to Mom about how you're feeling?"

Shrug.

"Does your tummy hurt?"

He shook his head no.

"Are you nervous?"

Shrug.

"Do you have thoughts in your head that you can tell me?"

"I was just thinking about the stuff coming out of my mouth, Mom."

The only thing out of the ordinary about our morning was the fact that it was the last day of school. I had to run with that strategy because there was no other obvious trigger. I re-assured Sweet Boy that last days of school are full of fun and explained why the boys were so excited about summer. I told him all the things we love to do in the summer and emphasized how glad we are that he will get to do all of those things with us, since he's part of our family, now, too.

I let him choose whether or not he wanted to go to school, but prayed he'd pick the latter. Today, was, also, my last day of work, as I will be off most of the summer to stay home with the kids. He said he wanted to go. By the time we got back to school, he had disposed of his melancholy and was excited to see his teachers and friends.

I prepped the teachers on our eventful morning and asked them to call me if he became distant or sad. 

I never got a call.

It's so hard to know what is eating at him. Was it the talk of change in routine? A previous last day of school experience? Did he misinterpret "last day" for last day in our family? I watch LJ's unwavering security and pray for the same swift redemption of Sweet Boy's. I know it will come, but the wait is excruciating...

I couldn't shake this morning's incident all day and thought through all the ways I fail him as a mother. I'm not looking for reassurance, here. I know that I AM a good mother in a multitude of ways, but things are different, now, with four.

I'm exhausted most of the time and do my best to push us through our day, making sure we have underpants on and full bellies. There's not a lot of room for extras...and Sweet Boy needs a lot of extra, right now.

The one area that has been grossly neglected is my quiet time with God. Instead of daily bread, I'm living off years of stored up faith. It's good, but not enough. Pretty much how I feel toward my ability to mother, right now.

Tonight, after the kids went to bed, I headed for the patio with my Bible. I was desperate for rejuvenation and wisdom. I committed to making his presence a priority and giving him some of my precious sleep minutes before the kids get up. I have to. If I don't, I fear we won't survive the summer!

I need supernatural direction and love for my newest son. Both Ben and I love him with a compassionate, Christian love...but we have yet to feel motherly/fatherly love for this son that does his best to play the part, but withholds the treasures of his heart.

I didn't get the answers I'm so desperate for, tonight, but my spirit was filled with reassurance. I know God is on our side. He brought us to this place. He will not leave us, now.

We are going to explore therapy, but we want to wait until after the results of the termination trial (end of June). What this boy needs, more than anything, right now, is to know that he will never move, again. That I will be his mom forever and Ben will be his dad forever. That his newest siblings will be, here, for all of his firsts - camping, dating, driving - all of it. We. Are. Family. He needs to hear it over and over and over and over, again. We used to tell LJ no less than a dozen times a week. He needed constant reassurance that we were not just another stop on his path.

Sweet Boy needs that, too.

Three homes in one year is too many for a four year old boy.

Thankfully, our trial is nearing the month mark. Given the delicacy of our little man's heart, it still seems like a decade away. I'm, normally, a strict "pray God's best" girl, but I can, barely, handle the torment I feel wrestling in Sweet Boy's heart. I'm praying for finality...that Sweet Boy and Little Miss will know us as home. Forever.

Victory for the Broken

As challenging as foster kids can be to bring home, the familiarity of it is comforting the second time around. I find myself worrying less and trusting God more. It's so much easier to believe God's redemption, when I have a little heart-beating symbol of it sleeping one room over. Just as LJ has blossomed into this beautiful, creative, high-energy, life giving wonder, Sweet boy will, too...in time.

As he settles into our routine and family, one concern is obvious, Sweet Boy has learned to protect his heart - he has become void of most emotion.

When he first came to us, he was very emotional, similar to our experience with LJ. He didn't have the ability to regulate his reactions per situation. In the last several weeks, however, he conditioned himself to turn his feelings off, completely. When he gets hurt - nothing. When he's sick - nothing. When one of the boys takes something from him - nothing. He has become agreeable all of the time.

When we leave the house his anxiety radar kicks into high gear and we infer that behind his veiled questions, he's really asking, "When are you giving me away?"

And truly, why wouldn't his little heart wonder? What Ty would consider absurdity has been LJ and Sweet Boy's reality. Sweet Boy lived with his biological grandfather for 3 years before coming into care. Then he lived with his foster family for six months before coming to us. In his limited experience, we'll send him on his way, any day, without warning.

I would think that such deep, swirling complexities of this little boy's heart would paralyze me, but I remain confident. Time will heal Sweet Boy's raw, self-patched wounds. And God will be faithful to show me the best ways to love my new son. Even though Sweet Boy has not been privy to the revelations in my heart, yet, I find great joy in the truths that we're hemming around his little life.

We got together with Sweet Boy's foster family a couple of weeks ago and it was such a wonderful time of connection. I'm telling you, God does something really special when we're willing to open our hearts and love beyond our ability. Our family keeps expanding in unexpected ways, each time we bring a child home. It's amazing!

When we drove home that day, a line was drawn in permanency for Sweet Boy. People will no longer walk in and out of his life. By getting together with his foster family (and extended family), we were able to show Sweet Boy that he matters. That the people in his life are in his life to stay.

We're (slowly) helping him re-define family; re-define forever.

One day at a time.

As the cries of my heart find rhythm in this very up and down season, I want to encourage you to read a book that has inspired me. I think it is a wonderful resource for families trying to understand the ache behind their child's broken story.

 It's called Scattered Links by Michelle Weidenbenner.



I'm not being paid to offer this review, I simply, found life in this story. Life so similar to the one we're walking through, right now. It's a fictional depiction of a young girl's Russian reality. Poor and abandoned, her shattered pieces carry through to her American adoption. Even though the content is difficult, it's an easy read that is impossible to put down. I found myself warring for Oksana, but crying over the failure that her American parents felt, while still desperately hoping for reunion with her birth mother. It will draw compassion from deep corners and inspire you to love more.

It was such a good read; I hope you'll pick it up!

Small victories lead to changed lives and it encourages this mama's heart that the shout of victory is becoming a resounding roar...

My Treasures.

I am such a proud Mama.

These boys play and love and giggle like they've been brothers from birth. We've had such beautiful weather and are enjoying the first spring on our property. The boys play outside at every chance they get for hours on end. There seems to be no shortage of things to do.

Inside there are lots of rules. Outside? Very few. I love that. I love watching their creativity and energy. Yesterday, they were riding their scooters as fast as they could from the driveway to lawn, which propelled them pretty good, off their scooters and down the hill. I watched all three of them giggle and roll their way down, destroying their jeans. I couldn't turn away out of awe.

Awe at their acceptance and resilience. 

Every one of them was worth the wait. Worth the risk. They are treasures of the greatest price.

More

We all have more strength than we think we possess.

It is miraculous that Ben and I made it through the past eight weeks. Really. Those early days seem like an irritating blur in an alter reality. I'm not sure how we got through it, but we did. This morning, Ben and I enjoyed an early morning snuggle on our back deck. The sun warmed our backs as we watched all three boys don rain boots and bike helmets (the boys wear them like uniforms). Little Miss played on a quilt at our feet and we soaked it all in.

Our property; our kids. Time stands still when I think about the fullness of God in my life. Just a few short years ago my empty arms ached for babies to hold...and, now, I have four.

For YEARS we dreamed of a house on property where the boys could run and shout and catch frogs. Today, we sat in awe at all that God has given us. It's more than we asked for. More than we imagined. But, that's our God, isn't it? The God of so much more.

This was a week of more.

Sweet Boy and I are friendly with one another, but when it comes to affection, I have been traveling on a one-way street. Similar to our experience with LJ, Sweet Boy took to Ben right away and never held back warmth. I'm just the mom. And, sadly, in foster care, that doesn't mean much.

A couple days ago, the boys were watching Cinderella. It was toward the end where the animals are trying to free her from her locked room and the fat cat has the mouse, Gus, trapped under a teacup. Sweet boy was frozen with fear. He looked at me and said, "M-o---o--m--m, will you hold me? I'm scared!"

He often will paralyze at any sign of conflict, but this was the first time he had ever reached out to me for comfort. I held him tight and urged him to look at the TV and told him we'd watch it together. I explained what was happening and told him how the story ended, so that he wouldn't have to fear for the mouse's safety.

Yesterday, I was feeding the baby, and he asked if he could sit with us. He didn't want to talk, so we just sat, quietly, together, with my hand resting on his knee. It was the first time he sought me out on his own, without the other boys around.

Today - oh, today! - he crawled into my arms when I was resting on the couch and asked if he could lay with me. I, nearly, cried for joy. He snuggled right in and I held him as close as I could without smothering him. When I said, "I really love you, buddy," he was quick to reply, "I love you, too."

For the first time.

And, now, I know we're going to be okay.

 

  

We're going to be more than okay.