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.
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.
You have been.
And You always will be.
Always.
Music Monday: Give me Jesus
While waiting on a maintenance check, this choir took the opportunity to plant seeds.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ynyt7fshIY]
=) Beautiful.
My favorite part was how the stewardess was wiping away tears.
Hope it opened many doors for conversation on the flight.
Wordless Wednesdays: Quiver Full
Psalm 127: 3-5
Children are a heritage from the Lord,
offspring a reward from him.
Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are children born in one’s youth.
Blessed is the man
whose quiver is full of them.
During a battle not all arrows stay in the quiver. And we don’t know how long each of these arrows will stay with us. Time is never promised. But we’re delighting in our full quiver.
– Adore these dear ones.
Rising
So I wanted to take a moment to share how we are doing and how we have come to where we are today.
It’s a little hard to believe that 11 weeks ago (12 tomorrow) we first met “our” boys. It was just 3 days after my birthday. And while I had this feeling it could be “just around the corner” I had no idea how close the corner really was.
Our honeymoon was no honeymoon. Night 1 Little Man was up every 20 minutes. Every 20 MINUTES people and Matt and I got the opportunity to put our teamwork to the greatest victory we have had to date. It was rough. But we kept a lighthearted “don’t nurse the wrong baby” vibe as our new foster love began his round-robin of wake-up calls, echoed by our Hannah.
Day 2 was a blur of sleep deprivation followed by the termed “Jesus wrap” swaddler that took a “every 20 minute” cryer into the land of 8 hour sleeps. Suddenly the clouds broke on Day 3 and 5 felt manageable. We were still in the land of excitement decibel monitoring, “welcome to the new rules” management, and “that’s my Mommy” sharing training. Night 3 proved a wonderful 7 hour swaddling, while Big Guy continued to cry himself to sleep. We were still new. And confusing. And fun and exciting, but still “not Mom”.
Day 4 added some new groundwork on “this is how we do it here” training and then came the little cough. It was 8pm. Most were settled or close to settled in bed when the “little cough” began. The little cough returned our sleeping Little Man to 20 minute sound-offs. And by 4am, the little cough had turned to full-blown wheezing. We knew it was beyond us right then and there, but we didn’t know how bad it truly was. Looking back now I’m glad we didn’t know. I’m glad we didn’t know what we signed ourselves up for. Cause it was hard. Very hard.
A routine Dr. appointment turned into a trip “straight to the ER”. 70% oxygen level in the blood plus the wheezing and the mucus faucet meant my girls were having an extended play visit and Matt was meeting me downtown.
No one plans to move into the hospital for 2 days when they leave the house to go to work. But the unknowns of Little Man’s response to illness and his weakened immunity sent us through a whirlwind of crisis management. Little Man rode the rollercoaster of waiting out the illness while Matt caught the flu from the hospital and I tried to figure out balancing four kids who wanted their father ad brother back. The “i don’t know” hurt the most when asked constantly when Little Man and Daddy would return. We felt stuck. And out of control. Family swooped in to help ease the blow, allowing Matt a moment to get away to eat “non hospital” food and see his teary-eyed girls. But he was sick. And we couldn’t afford to be sick too. So there was still some hard distance.
After 2.5 days Little Man was released to go home. But it took the good part of 30 days to overcome his illness with choppy sleep and newborn-like discomforts. We were still studying him. And he does sick very ugly. He didn’t know us. And we didn’t know him. So comfort was hard to come by.
In the mean time, Hannah was being slowly untrained to sleep through the night and was learning separation anxiety early. My big girls took on the stress in different ways. Sometimes they just wanted to play by themselves and sometimes they would cry a little longer or be more stubborn in their defiance. They were testing that we were still as in love with them as we were before the boys. And happily, we passed the test. =)
Big Guy hit it off well with me. Playing built trust quickly. And stability breathed comfort into him. And honestly, it was Christ and Christ alone that covered the burns of the past when we could only assure him of his safety and rub his hair through the tears. Slowly the bedroom door was able to be closed more and more. He trusted we were still going to be there. And he was safe. Today it’s only open a crack.
Little Man healed from his 30 day bug and returned to sleeping well at night for 4 days. Then he got bronchitis. And we were back to square one. Only this time we got a suction machine from urgent care. Yay for tools! And we sucked that boy into a greater ability to sleep and eat to overcome his illness. After 2 weeks the oogies had cleared enough that he sounded “normal.” He stayed normal until the weather change and now sounds terrible again. But we’re used to how he does sickness now. And we’re used to identifying what we can and cannot suck out of him. Congestion is the poor boys default. And it’s not always accompanied by illness.
So here we find ourselves. embracing the new normal. Everyone going to bed in their own beds. Everyone comfortable enough with each other to sleep to their full potentials. Little Man is Matt’s baby at night. And I’m in charge of our Little Redhead. Then we flip coins for the older girls on growing pain and “have to go potty” random nights depending on how our assigned babies are sleeping.
Big Guy is no longer staying awake until 11pm in is bed, he has now become accustomed to a more typical 5 year old bedtime. He has begun memorizing Scripture with the family at bedtime and is delighting in his Sunday School class. He’s stopped being completely shy amidst the “let’s talk to the assistant pastor’s kids” addresses. And he is one seriously skilled madman on his “new to us” bike. His eyes hold trust. And he is expressing his deep hurts and his deep loves. And he’s stopped crying when it’s time to come back with us after his visits with his Mom. Matt’s “Daddy” many times and I’m “Mommy” “Mom” or “Monica” depending on his mood. We’ve never introduced ourselves as anything other than Matt and Monica. We let him decide who we are to him. =)
Little Man is showing increased muscle toning and accepting more and more distraction from toys and dustings of self-soothing. He is becoming more of a smiler and more predictable in his wants/needs. He was a harder cookie for me to love at first. (Just being honest). I am one the can handle sleep interruptions (within reason), but when you add that to a constant crying unless a bottle was held in the child’s mouth for the first weeks… it was quite hard in my balancing of 5. But we’re building a better relationship now and time to grow, mature and change has really helped mesh us both better.
And my girls… well with the grace of God we’ve been able to still preserve their innocence in all this. While it’s a challenge to stifle “too informed” announcements at the dinner table without peeking our Commentator’s interest, Big Guy is quite receptive to “yeah, let’s not talk about that” cues while still trusting that when he needs to talk to us about things we are more than willing to walk the harder roads with him. I am thankful for God’s grace in Big Guy’s quick-learning in this area. The Lord is sheltering my babies while opening their eyes to a Jesus love alive in compassion.
We still have our hiccups. And our silly tufts. And our control-issues. Oh and then there’s the frequented time-out corner…
But we’re meshing still. And we’re talking about sharing life together. And planning for “in the summer” without tears forming in Big Guys eyes at that reality. We’re still praying for Mom. She needs Jesus. And she needs healing. But she’s got the love of her boys right. And for that we are thankful.
You know, it’s funny in all this… the very fear of foster care that I had to begin. You know that one everyone so happily brings up in every conversation when they realize the boys aren’t ours… “Oh, how are you going to give them back? I could never do that.”
I don’t know. I really don’t. But it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t keep me up at night. I can’t change it. And it’s what God has given us. And if after I love these boys unconditionally for months or years they go back to Mom, then I’ve done what God has called me to do. And we’ll cry and we’ll carry on as a family. And if after I love these boys unconditionally for months or years and I become their legal Mommy, then I’ve done what God has called me to do. And we’ll cry and we’ll carry on as a family.
It is hard work.
But it is the right work.
And I trust my Maker.
He designed us for this.
So cheers to the challenge.
– To God be the glory.
Music Monday: From Exasperated Lips
Running is a very spiritual thing for me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell by my overly-labored breathing and red face that running comes in no way naturally to me. It is a fight. A battle between flesh and spirit.
Sometimes the flesh wins and I cut the run short, giving up on finding a rhythm or pace in which to endure.
But the majority of the time the spirit wins… overcoming the frustrated and throbbing flesh.
I have gotten the opportunity to begin running again. The weather’s turned just warm enough to not completely burn my throat. The world is a little less hectic. And it just feels like time. In so many ways. It’s just time.
I picked up the old mp3 player . (Yes, I’m still living in the world of record players. 😉 No I don’t have an iPod).
With a new battery, underarmor, and a selected route I hit the great outdoors.
The first mile was the usual “dragging from the tailgate of a car over shards of glass” and then the breathing and rhythm regulated. The body hit the groove. And the slower songs on the mp3 player weren’t as bothersome. I was in the groove. I no longer relied on the bass drum to keep pace.
I skipped a selection here or there when I hit a funk, fell a little off balance and needed the “keep up with me” pace.
My usual mix is a bunch of worship songs from various places and stages in my life. There’s the classic Apex worship. And the deep Job-like raw songs.
But somewhere near the end of my route this one came up. It’s an automatic “crank up the volume and be ready to hit repeat” one. There’s something about it. Those words. That all-out truth. A lifesong.
An absolute lifesong.
I tripped and fell on the median grass while closing my eyes. I couldn’t have cared how stupid I looked. My only audience was smiling. And I was pouring it all out for Him. He’s the reason I run. He’s the reason I want to whip this body into shape. I want to be used. Because He’s everything. And I’ll never be the same.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ywzlq2AiAuM]
So if you see me running through the neighborhood, with my beat red face, arms raised and a mud stain on my right pantleg, you’ll know I’ve been listening to it again. Come and join me in singing along… from exasperated lips.