Increase

My morning began with one child crying because (in our house) her refusal to eat yesterday’s supper resulted in a repeated menu for breakfast. And, because she did not like the menu anymore for breakfast then she had for supper, while I was in the kitchen fixing a bottle, she spooned about half of her portion onto her sister’s plate in an effort to appear finished.
After breakfast, 2 of my children chose to put the books they were supposed to be reading in the play yard with their baby brother so he could chew on them. (Please note that I had actually asked for this NOT to happen.)
Next, they snuck into the kitchen where they climbed a stool to reach my stash of semi-sweet chocolate chips where they proceeded to eat ALL of them. ALL of them. Like three cups worth.
The next activity was to move away from the coloring station I had carefully provided with a (BLACK!!!) crayon and color all over a wall/door in the bedroom.
Then while I was teaching this child to wash crayon off of a wall, another child was sent to the bathroom to throw away a piece of trash. Instead, she chose to pump the hand soap all over the bathroom sink and floor.
At lunch time, the saga continued. Instead of drinking the milk out of the sippy cup that had been provided, a child climbed out of her chair and crawled across the table to get MY cup of milk which she proceeded to spill over herself, the entire table, and the floor beneath. (*Sigh. I guess my floor needed mopped anyways??)

**One important side note: I WAS present and aware of my children this morning, I just am not omnipresent. I was also very aware of where my children were (at least where they were supposed to be), I am just not omniscient. Sometimes those little boogers just out-fox the system. Anyways…

Now it is naptime. Finally. I am sitting on the couch in a quiet (for now) house, eating my lunch… somewhat cold and sans milk, but lunch nonetheless. And I am encouraged. And not just because it is naptime and the house is quiet.

You see, I was growing weary in parenting. The perfect balance of truth and grace, of requiring obedience without modeling legalism, of understanding “they are kids” yet not allowing lawlessness, of discipline out of love and not out of embarrassment… well, let’s just say that the balance definitely wasn’t perfect. The balance was eluding me. And I was tired. Parenting is hard. I love my children dearly and want God’s very best for their little lives. I want them to grow up to love Jesus, to follow Him, to love and serve others. But, honestly, my kids are naughty! Often! And I was growing weary. Nothing seemed to “work.”

And then I went to church on Sunday. Our pastor always reads through the Bible passage before breaking it down and as he read these words a light bulb went off in my head and a huge burden was lifted.

“Now the law came in to increase the trespass, but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, … leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

~Romas 5:20-21

The underlined words above were immediately underlined in my Bible as I turned to my husband in excitement. “It is part of the gospel plan when the girls disobey!! This is a ‘parenting’ verse!!!” Apparently our pastor thought so as well, because he did spend more time in the sermon sharing how this verse related to parenting. Oh the refreshment! The encouragement!

The purpose of the law is to INCREASE the rebellion, the sin, the trespass. The goal is not to have “laws” so that my children will obey all of them! The goal is to have “laws” so that my children’s inability to obey is made evident! Because grace must be contrasted with failure. Unless I understand what my consequences SHOULD be, I do not understand what God gives me instead! His grace! His endless, abundant grace. Grace. Favor that is not deserved. Not earned. Simply given. Christ’s righteousness given to cover my unrighteousness.

I know that the story I told of my morning was really quite funny. It’s one of those “I’m a mom of young kids” stories that we tell to laugh at or remember after they have grown up. But there are other days. Days where sin abounds in ways that just aren’t as cute. The hitting, the biting, the temper tantrums. The lying, deceit, hateful speech. Those are hard days as a mom at home all day in the midst of it. Those days can break a parent’s heart. Those days can feel like defeat. But a parent that has been redeemed by God’s amazing grace can recognize that those days can be used of God. Those days could be perfectly crafted by God so that the child’s heart can be drawn to something that cannot be created by itself. Grace. Grace that can reign through righteousness. Those days can be used – even at a very young age – to introduce our children to the grace that is offered from God through Christ. The grace that can lead to eternal life in Christ.

That is why God’s plan is so very beautiful. So different than any human plan. Because God uses the ugliness, the brokeness, the absolute depravity of our lives, to reveal His beauty.

So, take heart, Mommy. Be encouraged. Be refreshed. Patiently and consistently reveal to your children their inability to obey. They need God’s grace. They need it to reign through righteousness in their lives. And we get to help them understand. We have been given such a precious responsibility. And we can smile when trespasses increase because we know this is how God designed His gospel to be made manifest. 

Threat

This morning, while out finishing up the grocery and last minute Christmas shopping, my oldest kept noticing my painted nails. She LOVES anything girly and painted nails are no exception. She kept asking “could you paint my nails?”, “when can you paint my nails?”, and “could we paint my nails today?” I strove, and mostly succeeded, to maintain an even temper and gently answer each question. (Please know: my painted nails were NOT the only subject) My oldest struggles with quietness. She feels that if the space around us is quiet, something must be wrong. Talking and maintaining the relationship is something that makes her feel safe.

So, even though her questions tested my patience this morning, when she laid awake in her bed for almost 2 hrs this afternoon, I took pity on her and allowed her to get up from nap before her sisters were awake. And, because I had been touching up my nails, all my nail supplies were out, and, I decided to offer her an extra blessing. I painted her nails. And here is where the real story begins.

While I was painting her nails, my daughter relaxed, remained silent, and leaned her head against my arm while I finished up.

She relaxed, remained silent, and leaned her head against my arm.

I have younger siblings. I have loads of nieces and nephews. I have babysat countless adorable little ones. I know this is not a weird behavior. It is an action of trust. A lack of fear. A sign of comfort. It is natural for children to feel this way around their parents. However, this is very rare behavior from my daughter.

You see, my daughter still views the world through a lens of fear. She is not comfortable the majority of the time. She does not trust me entirely.

My daughter learned, during the first 3 years of her life, that she was the only one. If she cried, she was the only one who could meet her need. When she felt scared, she was the only one who could keep her (and her 2 little sisters) safe. When she was unsure of where her next meal would come from, she was the only one who could who could control her surroundings. She created a little world where she was safe. She was comfortable. She was in charge. This was a system she could trust. This was a system that worked. She could count on herself. She wouldn't stop caring for her. She was safe…in her care.

And do you know what I am in her world? I am a threat. If she trusts me, she can no longer trust herself, and this is scary. This is life-changing. This is real. This is a behavior that she learned. A behavior she had to learn. She wasn't given a choice. But, this is also something I must begin to show her can be "un-learned." I must begin to teach. I must begin to show that this is not the only reality she can know.

If you know my daughter, you know that she is sweet. You know that she is loving. That she is lovable and loves to be cuddled and loved. She will latch on to you and seem to give herself completely into your care. It's not an act. She loves big and loves to be loved. But you are safe. You are not a threat. You are not in her life every day. You are not the one asking for a special place in her life. The place. The place she has not surrendered to anyone since her infancy. That place in her little world where she is in charge. Where she is safe. Where no one threatens her reign. No one seeks to de-throne her terrified little heart.

I get it. I live this way often myself. I want to be safe and I will do what it takes (even sinfully) to ensure that happens. Just ask my husband. I am a master at manipulating situations so that I can control my feelings. My safety. My emotions. So, I get it. I understand. I can see right through the armor that she has carefully constructed to keep herself secure.

And so, when my daughter silently relaxed and leaned her head against my arm, I remained silent. I simply enjoyed the moment. I finished painting her nails. I kissed her sweet forehead.

And I gave her up. I gave her to the only One who can truly care for her.

"My darling daughter. I understand that, in your eyes, I am a threat to your safety at the same time that I am the security you are most desperately seeking. I understand that you are not trying to hurt me. I understand that it will take time. I understand that I will have to prove myself. That you will have to learn to trust me. I understand that you have been trained to think so differently than I do. I understand that you have experienced things in your short life that I will likely never experience. I understand.

And, dear daughter, I want you to understand something. I love you. I will be here. As long as God gives me breath, I will fight for your heart. You are mine. Mine to hold. Mine to protect. Mine to care for. Mine to treasure. I will continue to seek to win your trust through consistently loving you. By being there when you fall apart. By sitting calmly through your outburst. By sitting quietly and waiting until you are ready to talk.

You see, my precious little girl, I will do all these things because I understand something else. I am not enough. No matter how much I love you. No matter how patiently and consistently I seek to help you understand. No matter how much I give to you. I am not enough. You have a gaping wound. A hole. A longing that I cannot fill. There is only One who can love you perfectly. Only One who can be trusted completely. Only One who cares more for your safety than you. And me. Only One who gave everything to make you His. And, I pray, my little one. I pray that you will one day belong to Him. That you will recklessly choose to abandon your heart to His goodness. 

Because He… Jesus Christ… is not a threat to you."

Adoption

Three months. It has been three months since the day we adopted our daughters. I have tried to write this post multiple times and it just seems like I can’t. For some reason, these memories are too precious, too sacred to write about with any structure or finesse. I’ve tried to write it as a story, as a cohesive thought, or even with poetic lyrics, but I just can’t. I can’t pull these precious, precious memories together with any type of structure or flow. These memories are stuck in my mind as fragments that are wrapped in light. Like my wedding day. Too precious to try to string together. Beautiful moments that are frozen as stills in my memory.

So, you all get to view the unfiltered, gorgeous, fragmented, mess of beautiful memories that represent our adoption day. I want these memories to be documented and I truly hope they will be a blessing, an encouragement, or a reminder to you all of your own precious memories. Enjoy.

I remember that my parents were here. In town. All the way from Idaho. Because adopting from foster care is a crazy, beautiful mess, we didn’t know our exact date until after their plane tickets were purchased. We had just given it our best guess and prayed God would work it all out. He did.

I remember my little brother was here, too. My girls just love “Uncle.” 

I remember friends: Joey and Cara, Drake and Sarah, coming over the weekend before the adoption to help fix our yard up and clean our house.
I remember our neighbor, Dustin, bringing over a stump grinder to help take out the old, ugly bushes that were in front of our house.

I remember sitting in the living room at my sewing machine that morning. My wet hair was hanging down my back. I was doing little bits of mending or altering to make our outfits "just right. The girls were running around helping Grandma and Grandpa "hide" the clutter that had accumulated.

I remember Justin calling. I remember him teasing and laughing as he told me that it was time for me to stop whatever I was doing to go get ready. He didn't want me to be stressed or running late. He knew these pictures would be some of the most precious we owned. He wanted me to smile genuinely without concern.

Grandpa Kim and Grandma Tina were there, too. There to rejoice with us. And, so was Aunty Jordan. How precious to have family come to celebrate with us!

I remember that...even though my hubby had me start getting ready waaaaaaaaaay earlier than I thought was necessary... we still had to stop at Burger King for lunch. 

I remember that I cried the ENTIRE way to the courthouse. My girls kept asking what was wrong and I just said "I was so happy." To this day, Norra still tells everyone who asks about her adoption day that I cried because I was "so happy."

I remember being nervous. The words "formal proceeding" were used very frequently when speaking of our adoption. I had visions of sitting in a courtroom with 3 little girls, a strict judge and procedure, and trying to keep the girls from wiggling or talking. I imagined much stress.

I remember our lawyer. He reminded me of my dad. He was so excited for us and so careful to take good care of us.

I remember that the judge smiled. He chuckled when he asked Justin and I to raise our right hands to be sworn in and all the girls raised their hands as well. He gave the girls suckers, and he told us that this kind of proceeding was a bright spot in his week. He said that in a world where his job was to require people to fulfill their responsibilities, it was a blessing to meet a couple who were voluntarily adding to their responsibility.

He said that "without hesitation" the courts were granting our request to adopt.

I remember Annie Hill being there to document our adoption. I remember how relieved I was when I saw her walking down the hall towards us. I was still nervous about the whole proceeding, but I was relieved because I knew we would have good pictures!

I remember Annie snapping this shot right before the judge reminded us that no photos could be taken during the formal court proceedings.

I remember the judge asking our family and DCS workers if they had anything to add before he ruled. I remember our family case mangers, our parents, and my brother all sharing about the love and care they had seen in our family. About their excitement that this day had come. About how happy we were to all become a family.

I remember that, when I was asked to state my full name, I said, "Lydia Dorice Peabody." I remember the whole room pausing and then my sweet husband saying, "Wait, Lydia, that's not right!"

I remember that our CASA was there. The sweet, "grandma" figure who had popped in on us unexpected many times the previous 20 months. The one who had always loved how we "let our kids be kids" and how "real" our family was. (This may have just been a nice way of saying that our house was always on the messy side, but it always encouraged me anyways!!)

I remember that our current family case managers were there.

I also remember that our first family case manager was there. This was extra special because she was the one who introduced us to our daughters. The one who pushed our license through early so that we could take this special placement. The one who asked if we would consider taking a placement of 3 little girls.

I remember the judge mentioning that "now I definitely had the big family I always wanted" and I remember chuckling to myself thinking that this was just the begining!!

I remember taking pictures outside the courthouse. It was so surreal to take pictures knowing that we were finally a forever family!!

Then, we re-enacted a picture we had taken for our 2 year anniversary. So fun to see how the kids had grown!!

It was also extra fun to kiss my hubby that day. We hadn't "made a family" in the traditional sense, but a family we were!!

I remember sitting down in the car after the adoption. After taking pictures. I remember suddenly feeling absolutely, completely exhausted. 

I remember that when we got home, I asked my parents and hubby if I could just go lie down. Then I remember waking up and coming downstairs to find them all sleeping in our living room. Adoptions are exhausting!

I remember trying to take pictures of the girls on the couch before we left...

And I remember trying to take pictures of the girls on the bench before the adoption proceedings...






...And I remember Annie finally getting a good picture of all of them!

I remember all the people who came to our open house that evening. I remember just standing their in our dining room with this giant swarm of people all around, all through the house, filling the back yard. I remember not knowing what to think or how to process it all. How in the world was it possible that we had been so blessed.

I remember all the precious gifts that were given to our family and to our girls. So much thoughtfulness, time, and care was put into many of those gifts!

And, I remember lying awake that night. Crying. Just remembering. The roller-coaster was finally over. We are a family. 

Forever.

Dear Mommy

Dear Mommy,

Do you know I held your baby boy this weekend? He is tiny, new, and helpless. Do you know how sweet he is? His little neck is wrinkly with newborn baby skin. Dry, peeling, perfect baby skin. His hands and feet are perfect. And tiny. His little nose wrinkles when he sleeps. He smiles when his belly is full. A crooked grin. A foreshadowing of the mischievous boy he will (no doubt) become. He loves to cuddle up next to my face while I whisper in his ear. He loves to be wrapped up tight, but always pulls one hand free up next to his face. Do you know I loved him? Do you know he’s forever in my heart? He is perfect and precious, and I held him for you.

Dear Mommy,

Do you know I was angry? In the middle of the night when I first held your baby boy, I was angry. As I bathed and re-bathed him. As I boiled the bottle and pacifiers. As I washed and re-washed the clothes. I was angry. When I tried to find kind words to explain his presence in my life to others. I was angry.  How could you allow this? How could you make this mistake? How could you forget how much he needed you? I was angry. At you.

Dear Mommy,

Do you know I understand? I understand your past. I know. I don’t know the details, but I know. The overall picture is most likely full of sadness. I understand. Becoming a mom when your life is already in broken pieces is hard. I understand. I know that you probably have no idea how to take care of yourself, let alone this precious boy. I understand. I know you’re trying. I know you want to try. I know it’s hard. I understand.

Dear Mommy,

Do you know how much I grieve for you? I know the world is broken. I know you love your little man and I know that you were terrified this weekend. I know your arms were empty. I know your heart was breaking. I know you didn’t know who was holding your baby. I know that you are probably broken. Lost. Alone. Without Christ. Scared. In pain. Defeated. Oh, how I grieve for you. How I cry over you.

Dear Mommy,

Do you know I pray for you? As I grieve, I pray. When my arms feel empty. When they miss holding your little boy, I pray for you. When I wake in the morning from a full night of sleep, I pray for you. When I put the baby clothes back in the dresser. Fold the blankets. Wash the bottles. I pray for you. When I print a picture and put it on our wall, I pray for you. And I will continue to pray for you. As the days go by and the weight in my heart changes: lessens, yet grows, I will pray for you. You see, you’re part of my family now. And I will pray for you.

Dear Mommy,
Do you know how much I love you? You’re so brave. You’re so strong. I know you’ve made mistakes. Made choices that cost you greatly. Made choices that ended up hurting your son. Made choices that made me angry. But I love you. I know I will probably never meet you in this lifetime. Can probably never tell you here, but I love you. Oh, how I long for God’s best for you! Oh, how my heart yearns for you to know you are loved.

Dear Mommy,

Do you know I hope for you? I know what your past is full of. I know how bleak your present is. But I hope. I hope for your future. I know that you are surrounded with help. And I hope for you. I know you have access to much. That many are striving for your success. And I hope for you. I know that people can grow. Can change. Can turn back down the path. Can make new choices. Can heal. And I hope for you.

Dear Mommy,

Do you know I long to see you someday? Do you know I pray, I plead with my Father to draw you near to Himself? To send light into your darkness. To rescue you. He loves you. He’s preparing a place for His children to live forever with Him. And I long. I hope. I pray. That someday I will see you. And your son. Again. Forever.

Dear Mommy,

"For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of His glory He may grant you to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your heart through faith - that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. 

Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen." (Ephesians 3:14-21)

Three

Today, my precious husband and I are celebrating our third year of marriage. It only seems right that I should write a little something about us J

A few months ago I read a blog post where a wife likened the years of their marriage to parenting a child approximately that age. For some reason this analogy resonated with me and (at least in our marriage) I can see the comparisons rather clearly.

If you’re tracking with that analogy, you will have realized that my husband and I just finished the year referred to in children as “the terrible twos.” (I can see the raised eyebrows and question marks in your eyes from here behind my computer screen.) This does NOT mean that this year has been terrible, but I CAN clearly see a correlation. I’ll explain. Don’t worry. But first, let’s go for a little walk down memory lane. (I LOVE memory lane J )

Year 1:  Precious newborn baby. Extremes. Extreme highs and extreme lows. Oh, I remember our first year of marriage! How wonderful and terrible all wrapped into one beautiful mess. We had to re-learn everything. There were hours, days, weeks, months of total bliss. Times when I just couldn’t believe how strong my love for this man was! Times when I wanted to cry because this love was so special. So wonderful. Then there were the times that were opposite. Times when I cried and wondered why no one ever told me how hard it was going to be. Things could go from white to black and back again within just a few hours…or minutes.

When I think back to times in my career as a mother, this totally gels. Newborns are just so precious. So precious that sometimes your heart wants to break with the preciousness of it all! Every single tiny milestone is celebrated and so special. They grow so quickly, but in such tiny steps. Everything is new and soft and precious. And then there is the opposite. The times when the crying just won’t stop. The times when you, as a parent, are just so exhausted that you truly don’t know which way is up and which is down. The days of continual blow-outs. The crazy schedule. The “worn” feeling. It’s all part of that wonderful, glorious first year that is just so hard. Hard, but perfect.

Year 2:  Your little one has had a birthday. The sleepless nights, and worn out feelings are memories. You actually get dressed in the morning, and somehow all of the joys that were so huge and overwhelming during that first year are growing! There are such big milestones this year! Walking, talking, eating. Learning to drink from a sippy cup. From a straw. Running, climbing, exploring, destroying. Yes, there are bumps and bruises. There are the tumbles down the stairs, and the tantrums over the terribleness of a specific food. Naptimes change and life rearranges. However, physical growth is the main characteristic. Leaps and bounds, giant steps of growth.

For Justin and I, those steps of growth were huge. The “sleepless nights” of the first year were forgotten and we were best buddies. We bought a motorcycle that summer. Moved into our first home. Became parents. Weathered huge storms in areas like health, loss, and those first days/weeks of parenting. In many ways, I think we did ourselves a dis-service during this year. Both in our marriage and in parenting. There is something so blinding about huge milestones. It looks a lot like emotional/spiritual growth when in reality it is simply physical growth. We did grow that year, but over all, we let the milestones take over. We enjoyed the ride. In lots of ways it was this year of glorious milestones that set us up for success in year 3, and in some ways it set the stage for the blind-siding reality that was year 3.

Year 3:  The terrible twos. In year 3 of a child’s life, the huge, physical milestones slow down and the growth turns more towards intellectual and developmental growth. It is so fun. Seriously! You get to experience the joy of actually conversing with your child. They watch, observe, and copy. (Sometimes at the exact times when you would rather they didn’t!) At times, it is almost like you can watch their little brains working as they concentrate on learning a new skill. But perhaps the biggest change is in their expression of desires. You see, when you have a two-year-old, you begin to realize that last year you were seeing little tiny flashes of their heart. But those little tiny flashes of their heart weren’t expressed super clearly and were covered up by lots of exciting milestones. This year it’s different. Your child has learned to express their desires. Clearly. Often loudly. And they want what they want with a fierceness that is shocking! You find yourself wondering, “Where did my little angel go?” only to realize that this is merely the expression of a heart they have been cultivating. A heart that in many ways you, yourself, have been enabling.

This is where Justin and I found ourselves this past year. You see, when you get married, you are forced into a different level of honesty, of vulnerability, and of transparency with your spouse. You just cannot hide everything about yourself when you begin living together! I think this is one of the biggest reason for all of the extremes in that first year. There is the person that you fell in love with and there is the person that you are learning about. Two sinners. In the same house. Sharing the same bed. It’s bound to result in lots of extreme ups and downs!! And then that second year comes with all it’s exciting milestones and you kindof forget that the growth you began in that first year must continue! Just because you reached new levels of transparency, vulnerability, and honesty doesn’t mean that those levels are deep enough. Growth must continue. Stunted growth is really never a good thing. In our specific situation, the huge milestones of life slowed down a little, and we began to realize that we hadn’t been dealing with the little “flashes” of our hearts that had been showing through in the previous year. We had run through that year enjoying the newfound companionship that we had grown into, but both of us had stopped dealing with the hard, deep things in our hearts. This year, they came screaming out. Loudly. Sinfully. In very hurtful ways. We had a lot of growing to do.

So that’s it. The truth of “terrible twos.” Our hearts are wicked, and when they shine out it’s pretty terrible. But, God’s grace is bigger, and growth is so sweet. In both the two-year-old and the marriage, the relationship that grows through these times and chooses to change as a result is so much sweeter and so much stronger. And, I’m thankful.

I’m thankful for this year that exposed our terrible hearts because it also exposed the greatness of God’s grace.

I’m thankful for the growth that has resulted from the collision of our terrible hearts and God’s great grace.

I’m thankful for the deeper relationship that has come from that growth.

I’m thankful for my husband who has patiently, graciously, and lovingly dealt with the exposition of my terrible heart.

I’m thankful for my husband who has humbly and diligently allowed God to expose his own heart and push him to grow in the areas that have been exposed.

I’m thankful for God’s gift of year 1: the year that gave us extreme joys and taught us to grow through extreme sorrows.

I’m thankful for God’s gift of year 2: the year that gave us such precious memories of fun milestones and special times of companionship.

I’m thankful for God’s gift of year 3: the year that taught us to keep growing AND to keep enjoying the companionship that we have with our God and with each other.

I’m thankful for the picture below. This picture has been the equivalent of “watching your two-year-old sleep” for me this year J (You parents know what I mean!)

And, I’m thankful for year 4! I’m so excited to see what God will teach us, take us through, and bless us with this next year!!!

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!