That I AM

Matt and I were chatting yesterday after church. The babies were down for their naps a bit early. The older kids finishing a movie that helped me get ready for church earlier that morning.

He said it so clearly. Articulated with such wisdom.

We were mulling over why we Christians get in such funks. Satisfied with mediocre faith. Church attendance only. Going through the motions. We’ve all been there, but the conversation can’t just stop there. Else we run the risk of taking up residency there.

We’d landed that being challenged is certainly a key factor. But we don’t challenge ourselves. I’m certainly not going to push myself out of myself. We need someone else. Someone full of the Holy Spirit. Jesus speaking through someone.

And he hit it right on the head. We need someone to say, “Shouldn’t you be asking yourself if God wants that for you?”

You know, I’ve found in other peoples’ support a similar theme arise. The “that’s good for your family” theme. You know, it’s as if orphan care is a sole calling of my family. Or a few families. And their call is something else.

I used to think like that. Nursery care was my calling. You do the other stuff. Senior adult care is for you. Or those rowdy youth. Or crazy VBS kids. In fact, I’ll just fold the bulletins and sharpen the pencils. You mediate the funding argument. You pray for the terminally ill child.

Once He moved me past that phase I started praying for the terminally ill. Those with the life sentence and the failing lungs. Those that would most likely never get well. Those that went to see Jesus before I said my “amen”. Prayer became more than a “give me” fest. Prayer with it’s mystery slowly became comfortable. And the ‘no’s felt a little less stinging.

I started to pray for those missionaries I will never meet. The ones giving their lives overseas. The ones being tortured. I started reading some accounts. Those martyrs. Those starving to death to feed the lost. Prayers felt like portals. Intercession felt more alive. The mystery not so uncomfortable and unstable.

And suddenly my living room became a throne-room. Falling at His feet. Crying over injustice. Hurting for the aborted. Those who lost their life before taking a breath. Those stuck in sexual trafficking. Those little children lost in slavery. Doing sickening crimes. My stomach started churning. Such hurt. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. My prayer life had pushed me there. God was unveiling how much He wanted the lost and dying world… even when they’re still in their sin.

World Vision became an opportunity. An opportunity to be faceless and yet still foster Hope.

The orphan suddenly expanded to the helpless, the lost, the estranged, and the poor. The widow suddenly expanded into the hopeless, the stuck, and the ugliest least. The swept under the rug. The forgotten.

That’s what brought me to “my” boys. That’s what will bring you to “yours”.

It had nothing to do with comfort. It had nothing to do with ease. Or thrill. Or some kind of higher purpose.

It had everything to do with obedience.

When your Father calls. You say “here, I am, Lord. Send me.”

You don’t ask how much it’ll cost. You don’t weigh the heartache.

You don’t offer an alternative plan.

When you hear His voice. You RUN to meet Him.

It’s easy to get lost. I am not for foster care. I AM for Christ.

And He has brought me to fostering.

It would not have been my choice. I am not designed for fostering. I am not designed for mothering. I am designed for worship. And I worship through obedience.

He equips. He constructs. He ignites. He sustains. He recollects. And He rebuilds.

And it is through His love that I feel compelled.

Compelled to reach out to the orphan. Compelled to love the neighbor. Even when it’s not convenient. And when it’s frustrating. And when I just want to be “our family” without someone else calling the shots. Even when I just want to get away from always asking for help. Even when I want to be selfish and just hold my babies. Even when I’m jealous and don’t want him thinking so fondly of his mother when I know the choices she is knowingly making. Even when I am prideful and want to the world to acknowledge my struggle. Even when I want to hide because I don’t want exposed the worse version of my tired, undone self. I am compelled to run to the darkness. The Light cannot be contained.

I don’t have to fear losing myself. I AM.

I don’t have to fear walking a narrow path. I AM.

I don’t have to fear losing these boys. I AM.

I don’t have to fear never sleeping again. I AM.

I don’t have to fear life feeling disrupted. I AM.

It’s not my life to live.

It was crucified on the cross.

… And yet I live.

I Live.

Truly LIVE.

Not I but Christ that lives within me.

And I can do all things through Christ who gives me the strength that I need.

The strength that I need daily!

To daily set myself aside and say, “Yes, Lord. I choose to obey today.”

I don’t know what today holds. But I AM.

June 10, 2013 2

With Hugs

Big Guy,

I remember when you first came here. You were nervous. Would you need to take care of your baby brother? What is a foster home? “You are foster people!” you tried to make sense of it while talking to Rachael the next morning. But thank you for telling your worker that you felt comfortable here within an hour of meeting us for the first time. You were welcome before we knew your name.

I’m sorry about the lice and the baggy clothes. You were such a trooper. I don’t know what you came from, but you handled shots and dental care like a hero. Fillings are uncomfortable. Doctors are unfamiliar. And the ‘all new’s sure can overwhelm someone. Thank you for trying to sit so still through all the combings, and pickings, and recombings. And thank you for being brave while your hair was cut short. I know you didn’t want to. I didn’t want to either. But it had to be done. And now you no longer itch. We hope you never have to go through that again. You know, it’s funny how all that feels like an unreal bad dream when we look at you now.

I’m glad the spiderman border helped you feel loved. You matter so much to us. We were still just starting to get to know you back then. Feels like so long ago. We were just beginning to mesh together. Learning your favorite color, favorite foods, and favorite activities. We watched a lot of movies back then. Remember? You were still getting used to Rachael and Abi. New roommates are easier to handle with time. And it was still cold outside. And Little Man was sick.

It seems so long ago that all that happened. Such a blur. Introductions. Opening our arms and hearts.

And now it’s just like you’ve been here for years. We’re past the beginning rules. And on to the regular challenges.

You don’t put your hands up anymore. Remember that? You used to be scared when anyone would get into an argument. Now you know we’ll work it out. And we still love each other. And we’re going to keep each other safe.

You don’t need the closet light on anymore or the bedroom door left open. Remember that? I know, we still leave the closet light on. Helps to see Little Man when he sometimes needs a night bottle. But I’m glad you said you’re not scared to go to sleep anymore. And you jump into your bed with a hug without needing someone to sit with you. You’re so brave. And I hope if you do go back to Mom that you won’t feel scared to go to sleep there. Even if right now you’re still not sure.

I’m proud of you for making a friend (even if Daddy helped a bit). It’s so cool to get to see Bobby come over to play, even when he rings the doorbell while everyone’s napping. I’m glad he wants to see you. You are a great kid. You are A LOT of fun!

And honey, I know you hear me say this to you a lot, but that’s because I don’t want you to ever forget it… I love you. I love you so much and I care about you so much. I want you to be your best. And feel brave. And safe. And thank you for sharing with me when you don’t feel as brave.

I don’t know how long those adults at children’s services are going to be working with your Mom and Dad. And I know it’s a long time and feels like a long time. But thank you for being okay with staying with us for a long time while your Mom gets things done. And even if we’re only a stepping stone to renewed stability (you’ll understand what that means when you’re older), I’m really glad that you are with us. Yes, even when you get in trouble for bad choices. I’m still glad. Yes, even when we tell you to calm down and that you’re choosing to be annoying. We’re still glad that you are here with us. We are so blessed.

Thank you for asking me to push you on the swing. And hold your hand to play jumping games on the sidewalk. Thank you for running to show me a picture you drew at school or what you got from your Mom and Dad at visit.

I love being a part of your world.

I love you, Big Guy,

Always.

With Hugs,

Mommy Monica

June 3, 2013 0

Home

It’s been a wonderful Saturday, taking 5 out to a few stores and poking around on clearance racks for additions to the boys’ wardrobes. There were a few holes now that summer is creeping into the tail-end of spring. Two happy boys with new shorts and a few new shirts. Three happy girls, one who was napping and the other two adding creativity to the shopping experience of others. 😉

It was a simple morning, followed by lunch and two kid haircuts. One in the kitchen and one in front of the TV.

It is really simple. But it felt like home.

I remember sitting in the court room. There were just four of us back then. We sat in a line with the rest of the clan. We held signs, “we’ll take her!” and “we love you Aunt Alyssa!” We got the privilege to attend our Alyssa’s adoption court hearing. She completed the eight of my Matthew’s side. It was cool to hear a dusting of her case. She had been looking. Different foster homes. Trying on families. And then she came home. She choked through tears as she explained to the judge, “When I came to the Stauffer’s I just felt like I was home.” My skin still pricks up when I recall it all.

Sweet child of ours. The one that’s out there somewhere wanting a home. I don’t know if we’ve already met you. I don’t know if you’re already going to sleep in the boys’ room. But know that we are longing for you. Like a Mother hen collects her chicks. We’re waiting with anticipation. One is missing.

I pray that one day soon. Maybe sooner than I know. You will find us your home.

And to “my” sweet boys, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to call you mine. But I love you so. A choice love. And a love that can’t be changed by you not having our last name. And Big Guy? I agree. It would be pretty “cool” if you were born here. Right here amongst this home. And I pray that if we never get the privilege to call you our sons, I pray that you’ll find home. Real home. Where you can feel safe and loved and needed and adored.

Home.

June 1, 2013 0

Less Like Scars

This song just seems so appropriate in so many ways to be following the Always. post. Funny how no matter how many times you hit a valley He’s always there to make the best out of the surrender.

May 30, 2013 0

Always.

So things have gotten hard around here. I’ve hit a roadblock and need to refocus. I’ve lost my drive. I’ve lost my press. And I’ve somehow found myself going through the motions of foster care with lack of sympathy.

A lot has happened since the boys came to our home.

I’ve lost a part of me… almost like shedding a skin. These boys are changing me and sometimes I see the uglier side of myself. That’s what 5 kids 5 and under will do to you, even if they’re not all yours. They’ll drive you to the edge. And you can shine or you can repent. I’ve found my side of repentance and I’ve also learned I can handle far more than I thought I could. But then some news came.

And I hurt.

Mom made a choice.

And I hurt for these boys.

And there’s just a lot open.

And hurting.

And it feels out of control.

I find myself losing sympathy for mom. It’s not something she has done. It’s something she IS doing. Those are two different things. Our new worker spoke with wisdom. “Some parents are comfortable with seeing their kids once a week. It’s enough for them.” I’m scared we’re seeing that unfold.

And that opens a whole new world of hurts.

I’m glad the boys didn’t know we were talking about reunification as early as this summer. Because it would have come as a crushing blow to now be enrolling Big Guy in Kindergarten. Instead he can start his year with the hope of reunification… without the added anxiety… and feeling stuck. And lost.

Somewhere in the middle.

I didn’t know sheltering a child means experiencing the hurts yourself… and smiling when they come into the room. Well, maybe I just didn’t know it’s depth.

I wish I were one of those miraculous moms. You know, the ones with the 9,000 kids AND the foster kids. The ones that don’t sweat it and roll out the nurturing and full self-sacrifice like they were born to do this. I wish it didn’t drive me crazy to hear his shrieking. I wish I could tell the future. I wish I knew if I could fully attach to them now. And I wish this would just end.

I wish there was some way to know if these boys are supposed to be mine. I wish we knew if Mom would ever change her mind… or if the county would just give up and give them back despite the track-record. I wish I felt reassured that some judge is going to see the depth of this case. I wish I felt more in control when 5 kids need me all at once. I wish it weren’t so hard to load and unload 5 kids from the van. Or that it didn’t take serious luggage and at least 45 minutes to make a “surprise” escape from our home… and then we realize half-way there that we left something. I wish I felt more in control of our time-management and I wish I had the luxury to be lazy… or sleep in … ever! … without it costing me 2 extra nighttime nursings, a shower, and my sanity.

But I’ve come to the hard reality that I’m not living in a dream world. And “All IN” is not a one-time choice, but a daily and minutely choice when it comes to loving someone else’s child… through their repetitive mistakes.

I am no longer who I once was.

I cannot go back.

Even on days that I really want to.

And while this often feels like chaos. And the tears are real and really hurt.

And while I wish I could hit an escape button and somehow work myself out of this mess many times.

I am learning in the most difficult struggle I have faced to date that God never gives us more than we can handle. But we certainly cannot handle it without Him.

It’s hard to ask for help. EVERY DAY.

It’s hard to lay down the pride and pick up the baby, even though I know he’ll still be screaming in my arms and I have a headache. It’s hard to play go-between ensuring everyone’s happiness… or close to happiness. It’s hard to work on the beginnings of disciplining a child without knowing if you’ll ever see the fruit… or even be able to finish part of the lesson.

Orphan care feels too close sometimes.

And it feels too sacrificial sometimes.

And sometimes I just have to cry. … and let it all fall off my back for a few minutes.

But the morning comes, (too early and feeling too late sometimes), and the Lord equips for one more day.

And I find that I can readjust my white-knuckled grip… clinging to the cross.

God, hold me.

I need You in all of this.

I can’t do this.

You can.

And You are.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings. Or the next few moments for that matter.

But i do know this.