Growing

I’ve written a lot about my daughters. About fostering. About brokenness and about heartbreak. About challenges and trials. About new names and adoption.  I’ve read even more than I’ve written. I’ve read about RAD. About patience. About lovingly “re-training” all those habits that they learned. Habits that were built into them before they could even walk or talk. I’ve read countless stories of children “like them.” Of situations they may have experienced. I’ve read court reports and documents detailing my daughters' actual experiences and allegations of even more. And, more than I’ve written or read, I’ve experienced. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve laid awake crying. Sobbing. Begging God to help me minister to these precious souls He has entrusted to my husband and I. Or the nights that I’ve been awakened to a screaming, terrified child. A child cowering in the corner of her bed. A child who refuses my loving touches because she is not fully awake. And then there were the days. The days when I truly wondered if I would make it through. Wondering if the weight of everything I was experiencing would crush me. Or wondering if any of this would ever get better. If they would ever begin to heal.

Guess what? Slowly, but surely, we are changing. We are growing. Today I’m weeping, my heart overflowing with different memories.

I sent my littles to play outside in the yard this morning. They went straight to the back corner where they found some long sticks and buckets. They are going exploring. They are traipsing through our yard collecting things for their buckets.

I couldn’t help but remember that the first time I tried to play outside with my little girls, they stood with their backs pressed against the sliding door. Nothing I did could convince them to venture any further into the yard.

And moments like this help me to remember other times…

The day my husband grabbed me in the kitchen to kiss me … and my daughter covered her mouth with her hands and giggled … instead of covering her eyes while crying.

The day I realized that my daughter had dropped the “Justin” from “Daddy Justin” and was just saying … “Daddy.”

The day another daughter ran into my arms for a hug … all on her own. Or the day this same daughter said, “Mommy, I want to hug you.” This daughter who wouldn't usually accept my love or comfort even when she was hurt or scared. This daughter is initiating affection.

The time when my daughter put her arm around my leg and said to a stranger in the grocery store, “This is my mommy" ... instead of seeming to know the stranger better than myself.

The day my daughter (almost 20 months old) spoke her first words ... my silent little girl was beginning to open up.

The day my daughter began to smile and giggle when I explained what “adoption” meant … instead of growing confused and concerned.

The day a friend told me my daughters were beginning to “look” like they belonged to us. That they were picking up our mannerisms and facial expressions.

The day my daughter threw a fit over a very normal, "small child" thing. The day she seemed like her 3-year-old self more than the almost adult self she tried to be most days.

The day I gave my daughters a snack on the couch in the living room … and I didn’t find any of it hidden away … saved … kept out of insecurity.

We haven’t made it yet. I still have a daughter who exhibits many of the RAD characteristics. I still have a daughter who flinches if I move my hands too fast too close to her little face. I still have a daughter who eats out of the trash can … even right after a meal. I still have a daughter who cries in fear over the idea of marriage. I still have long nights and longer days.

But...

Our God is mighty, powerful, and able to change brokenness.Just as my loving heavenly Father is slowly changing me, a broken, sinful, rebellious daughter into the precious image of His Son. Just as He is changing me. His love is changing my daughters. Days like today give me hope for tomorrow. 

We are growing.