Category: just me

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.

2

Encouraging the Label

This may officially label me a dork, but I just wanted to share…

I love homeschooling. I love seeing how far she’s come. I delight in her hack-job cutting showing signs of control. I thrill at her choppy pencil lines taking on greater form. It excites me to hole-punch her work and flip back through two years of building skill.

It’s breathing hope into our upcoming Kindergarten work,

It’s such a delight to sit down with my little blondie and count animals. Or be blown away when she correctly identifies colors and numbers. Things I’ve never formally taught her. Things she has absorbed with a light in her eyes.

I just love homeschooling. I love sitting beside them when the lightbulb turns on. I love overhearing my preschooler educating my toddler because she just can’t help but share her worksheets while I’m transferring laundry.

I love watching the mastery and encouraging the efforts pre-mastery.

I just love the slow mornings… just the three of us. While the babies nap and Big Guy is gone fulfilling the state’s requirement of public schooling.

I just love it.

I really just love it.

The paste and the rice play and the sharpened pencils and the crayons and the worksheets.

Yes, I’m one of those dorks.

And I won’t have it any other way.

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What a blessing, indeed!

3

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.

0

In the Morning.

Today I am feeling really beat down by orphan care. Between the bickering, twin 2’s constant discontentment and downright screaming today, my Hannah’s undoing of her sleep training (be it due to the added stress of our household, the addition of Twin 2 in our room for the 1.5 months before we moved him out, or her own demise), and now round 3 of lice as discovered once again in my two year old’s hair after the culprit being our oldest foster son. Today I just want to run away. I want to take my biological family and run away. I want to hide from the constant beat-down. I want to hide from the sicknesses of twin 2. I want to hide from the chaos of five kids. I want to hide from the constant battles and struggles. I just want to take “my kids” and run away from all of this orphan care.

I won’t. But I just want to be honest.

Not every day is glamorous. And this Mommying is really hard. And it hurts. And it brings me to tears. And there are moments I just want to run away. It’s hard to love someone so much that you want to run away from them and yet take them with you as well.

Today I want to blame someone. I want to call up his Mom and ask her how she could do this to them. I want to call up his “Dad” and ask him why this was ever okay. I want to yell at someone for the harm they have done to these kids. And I want to cry and hold them and just run away.

And I want to yell at someone for how little of a Mom I have left to give to my girls after dealing with the babies. I want to cry to someone about how much it hurts to tell my four year old that no I can’t play with her AGAIN because I have another diaper to do, or a baby to calm, or I just can’t think straight after another hard night of being up every 45 minutes. And I want to cry to someone as my baby screams at bedtime because she’s overwhelmed and tired and just flat out mad – coping with all the changes. And I want to take my favorite blanket and hide away at the bottom of my closet because it all feels like too much and it all won’t stop swirling.

I may sound like a wimp. I may sound like a fool. But I just wanted to be honest.

This hurts. And this is really hard.

And I want to fall on my face again before God and ask Him why. Why is it so hard? Why does it have to be this way? And what will I possibly do if after seeing my utter raw self these boys go home?

There’s silence.

A lot of silence.

But I know He’s listening. And I know He cares.

Joy will come in the morning…. it just has to!

1

Screentime

I can’t tell you how many conversations have been interrupted by emails and text messages on someone’s web-accessed phone. It’s that awkward moment of wondering when they’ll come back and wondering why your live interaction was not a priority over suspendable communications.

 

It’s that little hurt of not being important enough, even though you made the time to make them important enough.

 

Sometimes I miss the instant communication I think I could have with text messaging, but then I remember those moments and am happy it’s out of our price range on our phone plan.

 

This is an add for a particular day this past October when we were to “disconnect and enjoy”. But I think this message applies every day that we have iPads, iPhones, blackberries, texting phones, and computers. The computer’s my balance challenge so I’m not out of the loop here.

But I’ve never found putting an electronic on hold to delight in the reality of now to ever be disappointing.

 

Life’s happening out there… and we’re missing it in exchange for screentime.

 

4

Music Monday: Be Still

I remember sitting on the floor in my room, well before the household awoke and listening to this song each morning. It was still frosty and cold and I had to get going to make it in time to High School. But I made it a point to sit, sometimes praying, sometimes reading the Word during that time, but many times just sitting with open hands and letting the song pray for me.

He is God.

Then when I went off to college I remember sitting in the hallway outside my dorm room. It was too early and my roommate wouldn’t let me keep a light on, so I sat in the hallway, in the corner of our fourth floor dorm building each morning at 5, just praying and reading the Word. Since my french class started at 8a I got up every morning at 5a, going to bed early despite the bustle of college, so I could spend however long the Holy Spirit led me to pour over God’s Word.

It was still.

Not a soul was awake on the floor.

The showers were vacant and the fall air crisp on that Tennessee morning.

After a quick shower, sometimes foregoing one because I ran out of time, I walked across the campus to this soundtrack.

Frost hung in the cold breeze. Hardly a soul in sight as the campus slept.

It was still.

And I knew that there was, and is, and will be forever… God.

This song is very dear to my heart.

2

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