Broken

This post has been swirling around in my head for many months. It is something that I work through personally almost daily as a foster/adoptive mom, but have a hard time expressing in a way that makes sense.

There are so many “common” questions that are asked of parents in our unique situation, but there are some that are much harder to answer.

“I know they’re adopted, but are they yours (speaking of emotional attachment)?”

“Are they ‘normal?’”

“Are these issues that you will deal with when they are teenagers?”

These questions aren’t always phrased as questions. Sometimes they are phrased as statements with extreme stories attached. You’ve all heard them: 

“You know, my brother’s, uncle’s, step-mother’s grandpa adopted kids and…(insert horrible story here).”

Now please don’t think I’m living in a hole. I know that those stories exist and that horrible things really do happen, but this post isn’t about those stories. It’s about something I am learning in spite of the fact that some of those stories are true.

I have three adopted daughters. This week, my two-year-old has begun exercising an ability that she has been capable of for many months: climbing out of her crib. Sunday afternoon my husband and I were enjoying…well, let's just say that we were enjoying the quiet of the house during naptime..., when an adorable Paula wandered into our room informing us that she “needed to poop.” This may seem totally normal to many of you moms out there. For us, however, it is not something we have had to work with our children on. I’m going to spare you all of the details because they are very heavy, but let’s just say that the background our children came from made this part of parenting (and many, many other parts) very unique. 

For our oldest, it took months of training and reassuring before she would EVER leave her bedroom – even if it meant wetting the bed, sleeping in her throw-up, or remaining scared from a nightmare. It is still very rare that she will come to inform us of a need. She will typically wait for me to come to her. 

Our second child has never seemed to feel a need to come get us – or maybe just not yet recognized that she can. She never climbed out of her crib and is my “loner” child. It took many months for her to run to me to kiss a skinned knee or other injury even during the daytime. She seems to be unaware that there is or will be an “answer” for her hurts. 
Unfortunately, both of them have seen too much of the brokenness that the world has to offer. 

My little Paula, on the other hand, still seems blissfully unaware of it and my heart hurts for the day she will begin to see the brokenness of her past.

Because her past is broken. She is broken. Her sisters are broken. In fact…all of us are broken!

I was recently struggling through a personal issue that was causing me to feel very “broken.” My husband and I were speaking with a counselor about the issue and he said something that turned my thinking completely around to where it should rightly be. He said, “Well, you are broken! We are all broken. This side of heaven everyone is broken.”

Broken: separated into parts or pieces by being hit, damaged, etc; not working properly; not kept or honored.

Each part of this definition can easily be applied to any one of us. We all have experienced a feeling of “brokenness” at some point in our lives. For me personally, this feeling is something that I have fought against and sought to subdue for most of my life. I wanted no one to know how broken I really was. I wanted to conceal it, pretend it didn’t exist, look as perfect as possible. I have felt deep shame at the aspects of my life that I viewed as irreparably broken and have struggled to admit the depth of my brokenness.

When the counselor spoke those words to me, it jolted me back to truth. The truth is that if we refuse to recognize our brokenness, we make the cross of Christ an unnecessary evil! Why did God have to send His Son to die the death of a criminal in our place, to right the wrongs, and perfectly satisfy His justice and love? If we are not broken, we have no need for a Savior. If we are not broken, Christ died in vain. If we are not broken, no satisfaction of God’s wrath would be needed for us to have a relationship with Him!

Here’s another question I get asked:

“How can you do it? How can you care for kids so ‘broken’ without your own heart breaking over and over again?”

My answer? I can’t. We don’t. Our heart does break over and over again. We are stretched past the limits of our own wisdom almost daily. But there is also great hope. It’s in darkness that light shines the brightest. And Christ wins. This brokenness will end. For my daughters. For you. For me. We are all broken and one day…

We will all be whole. Healed. Made perfect through Christ. No more tears. No more pain. No more brokenness.

Weight

I promised a blog detailing the wonderful, joy-filled adoption of our daughters. It is coming. I promise. But today, I have heavier things on my heart and I wanted to share in the moment.

There is a little baby boy sleeping soundly on my chest as I write this. He doesn't weigh much. Only a smidge over 9 lbs. However, one would think - judging from the heaviness of my heart - that he weighed a couple tons.

I have only known Mr "I" for 7 days. I firmly believe in love at first sight. It's happened to me a couple times in my life and last Wednesday morning was no exception. The adoption of our daughters had been finalized only a week and a day when we got "the call." Fellow foster parents know what call I'm referring to.

 "...baby boy...almost 2 months old...dropped off at our office...adorable...needs a bath...length of placement is guessed to be short-term...adorable...baby boy..."

We hadn't really planned on being ready that fast, but there is nothing quite like a call like this. In my years of reading as a teenager and young adult, I always loved the stories of foundling babies. Babies who appeared on your doorstep or young ones left on church steps. There is something inside the heart of a mother (whether she is already a mother or not!) that aches and longs for the idea of a little one that needy. Someone unable to care for themselves who needs you to love them. Love them, snuggle them, care for them. A little one who has experienced the opposite of this kind of care creates a cry for love that you simply cannot resist. These calls from DCS are the modern day equivalent to that. And you fall in love. Hopelessly, fully, completely in love. Maybe because you know its right. Maybe because you can't help it. Maybe because you know that every child - no matter how long they will be in your care - deserves to be loved with the unconditional, secure, unending love of parents. Of a daddy. A mommy.

I am writing this just an hour after receiving another call. This was the call letting me know that we would be saying goodbye to Mr "I" today.

Now you may be reading and saying to yourself, "Oh, this is the reason for the weight on her heart."

I've just gotta be real with you all. I started writing this blog in my head (yes, I write them in my head first) when I was up on the couch feeding little man in the wee hours of the morning during that very first night. That weight really comes from the very first moment you feel the responsibility. From the moment you fall in love. So...instantly.

I believe that the special love of a parent to a child always comes with weight. That ache deep in your heart that is hard to describe. However (without having experienced the weight of love for a biological child personally), I believe that the weight of loving a foster child is very different. The weight of the deep, instantaneous, embedded in your heart forever love is tied together with a pain that is equally as strong. And, those two emotions are tied so closely together it is hard to tell where one begins and the other ends. It touches each aspect of your life as you care for these precious children.

When you count the fingers and toes, reveling in their tinyness, there is the weight of wondering - how did it feel for biological mommy to count them during those first hours of life.
When you hear the tiny snores and feel the weight of a soundly sleeping body, there is the weight of pain - not yours, but the pain felt by a biological parent not experiencing these moments - not even knowing where their child is.
When you are awakened with cries of night terrors or devise special feeding plans to provide nourishment that was lacking, there is the weight of anger - anger directed towards whoever could treat a precious child in such a way.
When the smile directed at you is a result of your voice and face, there is the weight of loss - knowing that this little one does not belong to you.
There is the weight of moments lost to you that you will never know, the weight of responsibility to cherish the moment you are in now - not knowing how many you will have, and there is the weight of handing the child back to another person - probably forever.
There is the weight of knowing that you have given this child a place in your heart. Forever. And the weight of knowing that you will not always be there. You won't always get to heal the hurts, or calm the fears. They will probably have to experience those again and your arms will not be there to hold them.

And, as a believer in Christ, there is the weight of trust. Trust in the all-sovereign Saviour. This weight must be the heaviest because He is the only one who sees and knows all things. He knows the desperate longing of my heart to see this child again. For eternity. He hears the fervent, tear-filled prayers that the introduction to His love received in our home - no matter how brief - would be a seed. He sees the path of this precious little one - things that have been, are, and will be. And He loves. So much more perfectly than I ever could. He is good. And He is the one we must cling to. He is the one who called us to this kind of love for others and He is the one who will hold our hearts in His love as the weight breaks them over and over again.

And there is the settled weight of peace. There is peace in resting in the care of our loving Father who knows the weight. Who has experienced the weight. Who will bring justice, right the wrongs, and wipe away our tears. In His time. In his perfect plan.

We love you, little man!

Names

I wanted to share a personal joy this morning.

From the very moment that the courts declared that we were now on a "path to adoption," people have been asking a question. It was a question that caught both my husband and me off guard and caused a little bit of panic.

"Are you going to change their names?"

I don't know for sure all the reasons this caused panic, but it really just seemed like a huge responsibility! These little ones had been through so much in their lives. We wanted to give them something from us, but also feared taking anything away from them. A new name fits well with the glorious picture of the gospel in adoption, but what to choose? How much should we change? What would mean the most to them in future days?

In this situation, we made the choice to simply add a new middle name for each of our daughters. Their birth certificate will still have their original middle names, but we will probably only verbally speak the new middle names. This way they could have something from us, but we didn’t remove either of the names that their birth parents chose for them. I hope and pray that as they grow, they will begin to realize the love and care that was given in the choosing of each of their names. From both sets of their parents.

 I wanted to share our choices with you all as well as a little letter to each of my daughters.  I'm also adding in some pictures taken during that first week, when we first met the three little girls who would become our daughters.

For our oldest daughter, Norra, we chose to add the name "Alexa." Alexa means "protector." This was the role that she took on with her younger sisters as she was often left solely responsible for the care of her two younger sisters. We wanted to honor her for her sacrifices at such a young age and also encourage her to continue to be the “protector” for her younger siblings. At the same time, it is our hope and prayer that she will quickly realize that she cannot be the ultimate protector for either herself or her sisters. We long for the day when she will recognize Jesus Christ as the ultimate protector in her life.

“Norra Alexa Brownfield, thank you for protecting your sisters. Thank you for doing your best to take care of all their needs even when you were so young and needy yourself. We are so proud of you. Thank you also for trusting Daddy and me to take over the role of protector for you and your sisters. We know that it was, and sometimes still is, very hard for you to trust us. We are so thankful that God gave you to us. We are so thankful for the opportunity to protect you. But most of all, sweet Norra Alexa, we pray for a day to come when you will choose a perfect protector to care for all the aspects of your life. A perfect protector who gave His life so that you could be safe in His arms forever. We hope and pray that the journey you have taken in learning to trust Daddy and me as imperfect protectors will create in you a longing to know the perfect protector, Jesus Christ.

Your Daddy and Mommy love you, Norra Alexa Brownfield.”

For our middle daughter, Aleesa, we chose to add the name “Lael.” Lael is a Hebrew name that means “belonging to God.” As we looked over the months of our little Aleesa’s life before we met her, we see a story. A story that will hurt when she begins to see it herself. “Belonging” is not a word that could describe her early days. This is the truth of her past, but it is not true of her future. While we are truly blessed and thankful to have the opportunity for Aleesa to “belong” to us, we want her to know from an early age that the truest place of belonging for her is in a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

“Aleesa Lael Brownfield, thank you for opening your heart to us. We know that it was very hard for you to accept love, hugs, kisses, or snuggles. We cherish the little snuggle bug that you have become! We also know that there will be days in the future when you realize things about your past that will hurt. You will cry, and we will hold you and keep loving you. We love holding you, and loving you, and reassuring you of your place in our family forever, but know that our arms aren’t quite big enough. Aleesa Lael, there is only one place where you will find true, forever belonging. That place is in the arms of our Savior, Jesus Christ. We pray that you will quickly open your heart to Him and allow Him to begin to redeem those months of pain. We pray that the love and belonging you find in our arms will open your heart to receive the perfect love and belonging in Jesus’ perfect embrace.

Your Daddy and Mommy love you, Aleesa Lael Brownfield.”

For our youngest daughter, Paula, we chose to add the name “Joylynn.” Joylynn means “joyful one” and when combined with the meaning of her first name means “little joyful one.” Paula was only 4 months old when she was placed in our arms. For all that she had been through, I was shocked to find her one of the most content, consistently joyful babies I had ever met! In the early days when my husband and I were trying to figure out how to take care of 3 new daughters all at once, this joyfulness and contentedness was one of the biggest evidences of God’s grace to us! We believe that Paula has shown true joy amidst hard circumstances and pray that this will be evident throughout her life. However, we know that the only way for true joy to continue to flourish in our daughter’s life is as a fruit of God’s Spirit in her. We pray that she will quickly realize her need for Christ and that her joy would continue to flow freely as a result of His indwelling.

“Paula Joylynn Brownfield, thank you for being our little ray of sunshine during those crazy early days. You were so flexible and hardly ever cried, even when we had to follow crazy feeding schedules to try to re-balance all the things your little body needed. Your smile was always so bright and we were thrilled to be able to celebrate your little milestones: your first toothy grin, learning to splash in the bath, and the morning I awoke panicked because you slept through the night only to be greeted by your huge smile from within your swaddle. Paula Joylynn, you have shown contented joy to us. Joy that doesn’t depend on the circumstances around you. We believe this is evidence of God’s image in you. We know that in and of yourself, you can never experience lasting joy through life’s challenges and we are so excited to introduce you to our Savior, the one who longs to live within you and provide a true joy that is unaltered by all the curves, hills, and valleys that will come in your lifetime. We pray for the day that your joy will come from an even greater reflection of God’s likeness – His Spirit within you.

Your Daddy and Mommy love you, Paula Joylynn Brownfield. “

 

 

 

 

Chapters

I grew up as a reader. I absolutely love to read. In fact, I loved to read so much as a young person that my parents actually limited the amount of reading I could do each day! That being said, I have a bittersweet relationship with chapters. Chapters signify the end of something. They also signify a beginning. I am almost always excited about new things: new chapters. I love to look forward to new things and anticipate change with excitement. However, I dread the end of chapters. (This is probably due in large part to the fact that my mom always said, "When you finish that chapter, you're done reading for the day!") I don't like to see good things come to an end. If I could, I would go back and relive certain chapters in my life.
I believe that our lives are often lived in chapters. They are all part of one big book and our gracious Heavenly Father has carefully written each word, each line, each chapter. And so, while the end of chapters often makes me sad, I love looking forward to the new chapters that will reveal just a little more of His amazing plan for my life!
My husband and I seem to be entering a time in life where many chapters are coming to an end while at the same time many new chapters. We are so excited to watch God continue to perfectly lead us through His story in a way that brings the most glory to Him! There is one chapter, though, that was extremely difficult to choose to close, and even more difficult to follow through on.
One year ago, I resigned from my day job and moved my career home - I became a full-time mommy and I absolutely love that. I consider it a great blessing to be able to stay at home with my kiddos. However, we still needed for me to generate a bit of income and so we decided that we would endeavor to help out other mommy's who didn't have the same luxury that I did of staying at home.
I became a nanny. Throughout this past year, I have fallen in love with these little ones. They became my little buddies and friends, and I count their parents among my dear friends as well.
I just wanted to take a moment and relive this little chapter. To show you some of the reasons that I will miss that season of life very much. There are so many pictures and memories that I could share with you, but I'll try to just stick with a few.
I love you, Adelaide, Louis, and Ahnaliyah! Thank you for blessing me with your presence in my home!

This little peanut is just the cutest thing. Her facial expressions and gorgeous blue eyes melted my heart from the very first day.

This little hunk was the only boy in the household and quickly caught up to the size/weight of my youngest who is about 8 months older. He has always been a charmer. Just look at that smile!

Miss Ahnaliyah was just in my home for a few months, but quickly became my oldest daughter's best friend. She often stayed with me when my oldest was at preschool, and helped me not to miss her as much.

Surrender

A few weeks ago, during a Sunday morning church service, the worship team began to lead us in the song “I Surrender All.” As I was singing, I began to pray and ask God what it was in my heart that I was not truly surrendering to Him. I began to think through the various things in my life and was consciously seeking to give the control of all aspects of my life to God. As we continued worshipping, I looked to my left and saw my oldest daughter who is four-years-old. She had one hand raised in worship and was singing each word loudly with just a bit of a delay and in a key of her own choosing. What a precious sight. I smiled down at her and suddenly my heart froze. My mind suddenly centered on one thought:

“I cannot choose adoption for my daughter.”

That sentence is still hard for me to write. And, while it is completely true in an earthly sense, it is infinitely more true in a spiritual sense. You see, as parents, it is our job to accurately reflect Christ’s love to our children. It is our responsibility to train them in the way they should go. To teach them the ways of the Lord when they are sitting down and standing up, going out and coming in. To show them how to hide God’s Word in their hearts and fear our Lord! But, as I could hardly bring myself to acknowledge that morning, that is where my responsibility as a parent stops. I am not the one who is responsible to save my children. I am not the one who will bring them into right fellowship with a Holy God. I cannot choose adoption for my children. My God, the great, terrible, awesome, jealous, loving, merciful, all-powerful, holy, just God. He is the one who will choose. I must surrender that decision to Him.

When my husband and I chose to pursue the growth of our earthly family through fostering and adoption, I often thought to myself, “What a wonderful opportunity this will be to be a picture of Christ’s love to these precious children and those watching!” I mean, earthly adoption is such a GORGEOUS picture of our adoption in Christ! We seek to explain adoption to our daughters in such a way that they know it is just a picture of the greatest adoption imaginable! During my oldest daughter’s most vulnerable, insecure times I have explained that, while earthly “pictures” can fail us, there is a God who can give her the permanent security that she longs for. And when our daughters grow up and cry for the unfaithfulness of earthly parent figures, I will cry with them while explaining that the brokenness of earthly pictures is designed to make us long for the day when we will no longer need pictures. For the day we will experience the perfect relationships we were designed for.

I’m beginning to see that, along with all those beautiful pictures, God has been giving me a picture to help me in my choice to surrender to Him. Truthfully? I struggle to surrender. I’m afraid. It doesn’t always seem safe to me to trust such a huge, powerful God with something so precious. But God has provided for me a picture. A broken picture, but a picture. You see, I can fill out paperwork, train, study, become certified, love, and provide a home for three precious girls and still be unable to choose physical adoption! There is a judge somewhere out there. A judge who tries to do what’s right for everyone. One who seeks to be just, merciful, and unbiased. That judge is the one who gets to choose adoption for my girls.

This does not seem like a safe, secure process to surrender to and, in many ways, it’s not. It’s human. It’s broken. It’s sin cursed. But it’s a picture, and I am thankful. I’m thankful that I have a picture to look at to help me understand how I need to trust my God. Because, although the realness of letting someone other than myself decide my daughters’ spiritual future seems like the most dangerous, “unsafe” thing to do, it’s the way God has designed it. And my God is not human. He’s not broken. He’s not sin cursed.  

I love this quote from C. S. Lewis when describing Aslan:

“Safe? … Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you!”
~ C.S. Lewis

I don’t know God’s plan for my daughters. I don’t know if their hearts are hard toward our Shepherd or if they have been predestined for adoption. That’s not my choice. That’s God’s choice. And He is good.

"I surrender all."

 

Memories

A few times during these past weeks, my husband and I have been flipping through all the pictures on his iPad. Pictures that go back to months ago. Pictures taken in a house that we no longer live in. And the tiny apartment before that. Pictures with a 3-year-old who was much too grown up for her age. A two-year-old with such sad eyes who never smiled. The baby who is now a toddler. That bubble bath with splashes and giggles. Their first beds. The new toy. The first Christmas together as a family. The first Christmas together as a couple. That crazy Christmas vacation. The first rooms we decorated together as a couple. The first time we met the little girls who now hold such a huge place in our hearts and lives.

Pictures that make us remember things we had forgotten.

Each time we look through pictures that seem to be further back than my mind can remember, I end up very emotional because I know that there are things that I have forgotten that cannot be remembered simply by looking at a picture.

The truth of the matter is that some memories simply cannot be captured in a snapshot. The way my heart melts when one of my little ones smile up into my eyes. The joy of a husband who comes to find and kiss me when he gets home each evening. The sound of my oldest randomly saying, “Mommy, thank you for cooking this delicious supper!” The ecstasy of potty training successes. Stealing a precious moment with the hubby while the girls are watching a little TV show. The sweet smell of freshly lotioned girls during cuddle time. Hearing the first sentence. The feel of little arms around my neck. Seeing the way adoring eyes light up when Daddy walks into the room. Watching a wonderful husband be transformed into an amazing daddy. The ache of my heart when I see their pain. The joy of sharing in their victories over struggle.

The reality of this truth spurs me to a unique kind of action. The action of slowing down and savouring each moment with these precious gifts. My husband. Each of my precious children. This crazy time of life. All of these things are precious gifts from God that cannot be taken for granted or simply rushed through. Each moment has been given for me to cherish. And in that truth, I remember that this life is temporary. Even as I focus on how blessed I am or how much I cherish each moment, it simply is not enough. I long to know my Saviour. Truly know Him. I long to be perfectly transformed into His image. The way He designed me to be. And... I long for a perfect memory. One that can truly appreciate and remember how much He has done for and given to me.

Worn

“I'm tired I'm worn

My heart is heavy

From the work it takes to keep on breathing

I've made mistakes

I've let my hope fail

My soul feels crushed by the weight of this world

I know I need to lift my eyes up

But I'm to weak

Life just won't let up

And I know that You can give me rest

So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win

Let me know the struggle ends

That You can mend a heart that's frail and torn

I want to know a song can rise from ashes of a broken life

And all that's dead inside can be reborn

Cause I'm worn”

 

It seems these days that this is the song my heart is singing. The world is broken. Hearts are hurting. Innocent children suffer. Memories bring shame and pain. Sleep is not a place of rest. Fear seeks a foothold. Hiding seems best.

 

And yet, although all of this is one reality in my life, it is not the only reality. The true cry of this song is one that is filled with the hope of the surety of God’s promises. God’s promises that redemption will win. God’s promises that songs can rise from ashes. God’s promises that dead can be reborn. God’s promises that the struggle will end.

“...that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death…”   

~Philippians 3:10

A wise and godly woman once read this verse to me. She told me that we cannot really know Christ until we have not only known Him through the power of His resurrection, but in the fellowship of His suffering. She said that just like precious jewels glimmer most beautifully against a black backdrop, so the power of Christ’s resurrection is reflected in full splendor against the backdrop of His suffering.

And so, while my heart yearns for the end of the struggle, for the redemption, and for the final resurrection, it is also resting in the precious fellowship with my Savior that can only be found in suffering. There is a certain and wonderful joy in saying the words “I’m worn,” as it is at the end of myself that I see the grace of my God in full view.

“...that I may know Him…”