Category: my heart

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.

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Music Monday: A Worthy Cause

Many years ago this artist popped into my world. My sister brought her in from college and she has become the “above the rest” artist since. It’s been a joy to watch the Lord grow her in her faith and breath His heart for the lost and dying world into her music.

We got a chance to meet her in person at the beginning of our orphan care journey when we first stepped up to the plate of “whatever you’d have for our family in orphan care, you can count on us.” We had been to many concerts, small and big. But what I love the most is so far beyond her…. it’s Jesus coming through her. She just opens herself up.

 

It’s a cleaning day today so naturally I have a soundtrack to keep me moving. There’s a lot to be done and I work better, faster and harder when my heart is focused on Whom I am truly serving by serving my family.

 

“And I love because You loved me when I had nothing…”

 

 

 

I can’t shake that truth from my mind this morning …. and I hope I never do.

 

 

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By His Hand

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd9VEgsM2G4]

Foster care is hard. Caring for five children is hard. Caring for two babies six weeks apart in age is hard.

Those three sentences are the understatements of the year.

I would be lying to pretend that this was all easy. Mothering these five came so unnaturally and yet naturally to me.

I was always the one to say “I never want to have twins”.

I can still say that.

I don’t have twins.

I have “harder than twins” because my two are on two different need levels, two different sleep levels, two different skill levels and two different “how I understand love” levels while being so close that they are SUPER dependent.

It is hard. Very hard.

And I am thankful that even in the ugliness of the stripping of myself down to my raw haven’t-showered-for-days self, down to the very depths of my sanity shakings… Grace always finds me there.

I cannot do this.

The schedule is exhausting. The workload is intense. The constant lists, the constant balancing, the constant pouring out of everything that I have and everything that I am…

And yet I am blessed to find a groove. To turn and dry my wrinkled dishwater hands and find them… all five of them… smiling and delighting with large legos spread about. Little Man freshly wrapped in a blanket thanks to my toddler, Lil Red knocking down towers that Big Guy and my Commentator delightedly race to build so she can do likewise. And my dear Lil Blondie mothering Little Man and scooting nearby blocks closer to him so he can mouth them.

I don’t deserve this kind of blessing.

I don’t deserve their little hands in mine.

That’s grace for ya.

By the hand of God, our little mashed family of seven somehow works … even in the chaos.

– Thank you, Jesus.

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Open Letter

Dearest Mom,

I know you’ve made some bad choices. I know you’ve made some bad priorities. Thank you for letting us in as you try to figure this all out. And I’m sorry that it must feel alone. Yes, the consequences are real, but you’re still a hurting person… you didn’t create all this chaos.

It’d be so easy to stereotype you. But you are far more than a stereotype.

I can’t possibly explain to you how I changed today. It hurt me to watch you crying. And no one from the county would offer you a tissue from the box on the table. I’m glad Matt reached over to get the box.

Forgiveness has to come, Mom. Hurts hurt deep, but there IS hope.

You have hard decisions. You have many pieces to get together. Hard pieces. Complicated peices. Pieces that require you to overcome fears and reset priorities. There are serious hurts. And I can tell how it’s worn on you.

Thank you for wanting your boys back. I saw it in your eyes far before you ever voiced it today. And I saw it in their eyes that you love them.

Thank you for choosing to let us in. It must feel so cold. And so ripped open. And so vulnerable.

Things are spinning, Mom. You’re stuck and in the driver seat all at once. And it’s easy to point fingers and feel like everyone is giving you the blame.

Yes, there are responsibilities. Chances missed.

But you are a person. And we all make mistakes. And thanks to Jesus we are all given a second chance.

My heart breaks for you, Mom. I was just asking my Matthew the other day on the ride home… your sweet boys in the back seats. Your oldest playing with our girls. I just listened to them. Giggling over a bad “do you know what” joke.

“What would you do if you only had two hours with our girls each week?”

Matt fired off adventures in piggy-back rides, tickle wars, horsey rides, Bible stories and reading fairytales until he was blue in the face.

I thought about my baby in the back seat. The one with the sweeping red hair and those big beautiful eyes.

“I would nurse that baby the whole time. Read to my precious girls and snuggle. No, I’d nurse that baby for an hour and 55 minutes, pack up everyone and run for the border.”

Mom, I can’t even imagine. I would literally come undone.

You don’t have to make perfect choices to love your kids. Sometimes we do things without thinking. Sometimes we are unaware of the consequences. Sometimes we feel “above” the consequences. Sometimes we just make dumb moves. Sometimes we find ourselves in situations we never thought possible. Sure there are things we can do to avoid those kinds of situations, but sometimes life seems to spin out of control. And one bad choice seems to multiply out into utter chaos.

I know you love them. I can’t even imagine how you go on in the quiet house.

It hurts. I can see it on your face. Your body language. Though you hold a smile of sincere joy when they see you. Two hours go by too fast.

He told me he doesn’t like to meet in room four at the visitation center. He informed me room four has a clock. And that way you know what time it is and when the visit has to end.

I love how he wants to defy time with you.

You are still his hero.

Thank you for trying hard. Thank you for rising above the stereotype laid at the doorway of Children’s Services. Thank you for trying. Thank you. Keep trying. Keep changing.

Please don’t give up.

Please.

We are praying for you, Mom. We are praying for healing. Soul healing. And wisdom.

We are praying hard for you, Mom.

Remember those dear little faces. Those precious hands in yours. Those beautiful eyes.

Please don’t give up.

Even when it hurts to change.

You boys are amazing.

And they are so worth it.

Sincerely,

Mommy of three.

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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.

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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!

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