When I look at my children, I often see them as they are on the outside.
Dirty.
Loud.
Smelly (face it...kids smell...not good!).
Argumentative.
Hard work.
Then sometimes, God blesses me with a look inside. Then I see just a small heart, and it's laying nestled in my hands. It is very obviously a gift.
Today as we sat around the table, we were talking with The Boy about control and trust. How we really don't have control. He gets that intellectually but for the child from a hard place, the illusion of control is all they have. He is holding on tight to that illusion for dear life. He lives in a constant state of control. Fear. It guides all his decisions.
Often he will sit perched, like he's ready to spring out of his seat at a moments notice. Especially if he's in your lap. Never relaxed.
Recently he snuck some pretzels out of the pantry and ate them in his room. Then he panicked. And rather than come talk with me, he didn't trust that I'd forgive him, he ate soap and hair gel. This was to cover the smell of the pretzels on his breath.
That fear turns off all logical thinking and he just acts in total self-preservation. This is so common of a traumatized child. This intelligent boy panicked. Flight, fight, or freeze!
As we talked today about learning to trust that God will do all for good so that we can give that up fear and illusion of control, Tony asked him,
"Do you believe that we like you? Do you believe that we love you?"
Head bowed he responded with a very wishy washy, "yes". And suddenly his countenance that is always guarded and watchful crumbled. Tears brimmed.
"Do you really?" I asked, "Because the look on your face says you aren't so sure. Look in my eyes. We. Chose. You. We. Picked. You. We. Wanted. You."
Tony, "The first moment I saw a picture of you, I knew. You. Were. My. Son. Mine." pause. "Can you tell me something we do that makes you feel loved?"
Silence. This precious boy whom I have labored over for 3 1/2 years; Who Tony has reached out to for 3 1/2 years cannot think of something that we do that makes him FEEL LOVED.
All the other children, thinking we are playing a game are giggling with their hands raised. They all begin naming ways they feel loved: presents, hugs and kisses, being sung to, read to...
Finally the boy murmmers, "When you take me to soccer." Tears begin to fall for real now.
"Why are you crying" I ask as he crawls into my lap.
"Because, my old parents, they never hugged me."
I cannot choke down the tears. Later, I cannot even relay this conversation to my mother-in-law without beginning to cry.
"This?" I tell him, "This is the real Boy. He is sad. And there is nothing wrong with feeling sad. The Boy I usually see is pretending nothing is wrong a lot. But the REAL Boy has a lot of sadness. I wish the real Boy would share his sad feelings with me more often. Because I love him and love to hug him."
Suddenly we are surrounded with sisters who all want to hug The Boy. He is inundated with giggling girls who love their big brother and want to see him smile. And he smiles. A real smile. And for the first time in a long time, relaxes in my lap.
Our Family
Our Family: Pops, Me, The Teenager, The Boy, The Freckle Faced Ninja, Miss Priss, Miss Sassy Pants, Madi-Lou-Who, & Dora the Explorer
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Impatience
Feeling a tad sad tonight. Our therapist came this afternoon. She spends time with our 5 year old then asked me if school was getting better for her. I let her know that she's still struggling with being impulsive and similar behaviors and that I felt the teacher was probably very frustrated. "Yeah, I could tell. Dora the Explorer (nickname) described what it's like in the classroom." It was not happy what she described. The impatience and frustration her teacher is feeling is fully communicating to Dora. She may act 2 but she has the intellect of an 8 year old!
Then she asked if I was planning to move her to a new classroom. Ugh.
I am torn between thoughts of past students who had similar challenges. Did I treat them so impatiently that they knew I didn't like them? When they described me outside of school, was it as someone who only yells? That makes me sad.
The other half of me is sad for my sweet, impulsive, bright, cut a hole in her pants and shirt today girl. I KNOW how frustrating she can be. I also know what an amazing smile she has when I connect with her. And I know I just yelled at her too.
I want to smack my own head and wonder HOW God could have called someone like ME to this. Why in the world is He trusting ME with these children! I am too quick to jump to conclusions, too quick to condemn, too comfortable with peace and quiet, too....holy cow I'm a mess!
But isn't that just like God? We get in the middle of something WE thought WE had only to discover WE have NO CONTROL! WE are a MESS! And hopefully, we then discover the He is there waiting for us. He's equipped us with all we need. Him.
Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land. For I will not leave you until I have done what I promised you.
Genesis 28:15
I hunted off and on for months for a therapist for our kids. I kept quitting in frustration. Then one day I prayed, "Come on God. Please. I NEED for this." Later that same day I emailed a church about their VBS. BAM! I'm in an email conversation with a licensed therapist who leads worship there. She's worked with traumatized children for years. Only God.
So here I am, yet again, trying to heal, fix, solve all on my own. I'm forgetting that He is waiting to hold my hand and lead us through this journey.
So if you're like me, you're still fixated on the school situation I mentioned at the beginning of this post. What to do? I will totally admit that my Mama Bear instinct says, go tell this woman off and yank my baby out of that place!
But my, "I just yelled at her myself, was once a teacher in her shoes" self stops short. What if she's just as frustrated as I was a moment ago? What if my parents had judged me as harshly? What if God had given up on my messy, imperfect self and not trusted me with these children?
As it is written: "None is righteous, no, not one;"
Romans 3:10
She is not more messy than me so how do I give up on her for what I have myself done? She is not tormenting my child. She is just frustrated. She is not abusive, just so very impatient.
So I am praying for her patience. Praying for God to bring gentleness out in her. Praying for the words to say when I meet with her in a week. Praying that my words touch her heart and soul. Praying for guidance with and healing for my little Dora.
Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body.
Proverbs 16:24
Then she asked if I was planning to move her to a new classroom. Ugh.
I am torn between thoughts of past students who had similar challenges. Did I treat them so impatiently that they knew I didn't like them? When they described me outside of school, was it as someone who only yells? That makes me sad.
The other half of me is sad for my sweet, impulsive, bright, cut a hole in her pants and shirt today girl. I KNOW how frustrating she can be. I also know what an amazing smile she has when I connect with her. And I know I just yelled at her too.
I want to smack my own head and wonder HOW God could have called someone like ME to this. Why in the world is He trusting ME with these children! I am too quick to jump to conclusions, too quick to condemn, too comfortable with peace and quiet, too....holy cow I'm a mess!
But isn't that just like God? We get in the middle of something WE thought WE had only to discover WE have NO CONTROL! WE are a MESS! And hopefully, we then discover the He is there waiting for us. He's equipped us with all we need. Him.
Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land. For I will not leave you until I have done what I promised you.
Genesis 28:15
I hunted off and on for months for a therapist for our kids. I kept quitting in frustration. Then one day I prayed, "Come on God. Please. I NEED for this." Later that same day I emailed a church about their VBS. BAM! I'm in an email conversation with a licensed therapist who leads worship there. She's worked with traumatized children for years. Only God.
So here I am, yet again, trying to heal, fix, solve all on my own. I'm forgetting that He is waiting to hold my hand and lead us through this journey.
So if you're like me, you're still fixated on the school situation I mentioned at the beginning of this post. What to do? I will totally admit that my Mama Bear instinct says, go tell this woman off and yank my baby out of that place!
But my, "I just yelled at her myself, was once a teacher in her shoes" self stops short. What if she's just as frustrated as I was a moment ago? What if my parents had judged me as harshly? What if God had given up on my messy, imperfect self and not trusted me with these children?
As it is written: "None is righteous, no, not one;"
Romans 3:10
She is not more messy than me so how do I give up on her for what I have myself done? She is not tormenting my child. She is just frustrated. She is not abusive, just so very impatient.
So I am praying for her patience. Praying for God to bring gentleness out in her. Praying for the words to say when I meet with her in a week. Praying that my words touch her heart and soul. Praying for guidance with and healing for my little Dora.
Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body.
Proverbs 16:24
Thursday, November 21, 2013
And Then We Were 9
 |
| Teen Extraordinaire! |
 |
| Ninjas Warriors - Watch out!! |
I got the call on a Friday. September 20th to be exact. We prayed on Saturday and Sunday. We said yes on Monday. 7 days later 3 new children joined our family. So here's our family now:
 |
| The Tooth Fairy, a fairy princess, a butterfly, and Dorothy |
Gabby - 15
The Boy (Will) - 9
The Freckle Faced Ninja - 7
Miss Priss (Lydia Grace) - 7
Miss Sassy Pants - 6
Dora the Explorer - 5
Madi-Lou-Who - 5
FYI: We will not post face shots or use their names on my blog or social media until our adoption is final.So, we had 1 week prepare for this new part of our family's journey and all along the way we have been met by the hands of Christ.
1 week to complete a 3 month homestudy process. And through it we had the opportunity to share our story at 2 doctor offices and watch as they bent over backwards to help us get things done with amazing speed! Things came together that we had no reason to believe would come together that fast!
1 week to prepare our house to hold 7 children. Over the weekend I had prayed through all doubts and fears. I had total confidence that this was where God was leading us. Once I made the phone call, I became assailed with doubts and anxiety about how we could do all that was needed, did I even know what was needed, was I really prepared to walk this road of discomfort again. And once again God met us in our need. He supplied everything:
- an interior decorator to help us organize bedrooms (thank you Andria!!)
- a teenager who in my moments of frustration and anxiety, quietly asks, "How can I help mom?" Who said to me in a moment when I feared I might cry in front of everyone, "ya know, they aren't as bad as I thought they'd be. I think things are going to be just fine!" Thank you so much Gabby Gonzalez, you are such a blessing to all of us!
- A laundry fairy named Jeannie Gautier who I can never thank enough!!!!
- Willing hands to donate furniture, help us move and organize things (thank you Tony's men's group, April, Tracy, & Amy, Dean & Rachel!)
- Friends with willing hearts to ask how we are and listen to our story. Again and again! :)
- Family...could we be blessed with any better family? All of our family has loved and supported us as we broke the news they'd be gaining more grands/nieces/newphew/cousins! They have welcomed, helped, prayed, and loved. Thank you all!!!!
- Financial blessings from countless people ranging from checks out of the blue to putting money under our name at a clothing store!!
- 2 Care Teams organized by Promise686 (www.promise686.org) to bring us meals several times a week, babysit occasionally, and support us (If you are a foster parent or have adopted children from trauma, or just been through a time of trial, you know what a HUGE blessing it is to have dinner just SHOW UP!! Thanks to all who are on our Care Teams!)
- a new refrigerator, fixed back fence, and carpeting in our now playroom (Finn Smith and friends, you are wonderful!!!)
- Yard Help...Hallelujah! (Thanks so much Jeff!!)
- Most importantly, people to constantly pray for and over us! You have no idea how this has blessed us and we have felt your prayers to be sure!!
1 week to prepare our teenager to go through a huge life transition again.
1 week to prepare our children to re-live what they had been through. To help them understand that these kids might be with us only for a time. As excited as we might be to welcome new sisters and a brother, they weren't exactly thrilled to be coming to live with us. And it was going to be hard. And hard is OK.
We knew we were saying yes to 3 freckly foster children. What we didn't know is for how long. They were not yet legally free to adopt but the expectation was that they would become free. That their mother's parental rights would be terminated. In 3 months. Or in 6 months. The judge felt mom needed more time than the 12 months she'd had.
On Monday night they came amidst what felt like chaos. Beds not ready, dressers still to be put in place, clothes in chaos.
On Tuesday the chaos became real. Registering for school, teaching routines, restraining one after another during some pretty intense tantrums, trying to explain to them what in the world was happening to them.
6 different families in 1 year. At least 4 schools. 3 schools this school year alone. Their heads were whirling. And so was their behavior.
They had not seen their biological mother in several weeks and there was a very real possibility that we would need to take them to see her. The last visit had been very traumatic so how to prepare them for it. And how to prepare ourselves for the aftermath. Tuesday we were told they'd let us know but there would be a visit in the next week.
Wednesday we got an email. The subject said, "A great big praise the Lord". The sender was the a supervisor at our agency. The body said, "Social worker was in court all day. On a positive note, TPR (termination) WAS GRANTED!!!! There will be not more visits."
To say we were stunned would be a huge understatement! We'd prepared ourselves to let these children go in six or eight months if that was God's plan and suddenly the were ours! With that came a great sadness. This meant that, despite her poor choices, these three innocents could not go see the person that they had more connection to than anyone. This woman who is more of a child herself, raised by parents much like herself. I see her as a scared, lonely, abused child in my mind's eye when I look at these children.
I am sad for her life losses. The path she was set upon with no one to rescue her. I am sad for the loss my children feel, all of them, because of someone else's choices.
But I am also reminded of the sovereignty of God and his plan of redemption. It's now my job to impart this to these babies. To teach children who feel unloved and unlovely, that their life has purpose. It has beauty. That THEY are beautiful. That what has happened in to them was NOT in their control. Not their fault.
But first...I must explain that they can never. see. their. mother. again. How? How? I'm at a loss. And the chaos of settling in swirls around us.
By the end of the first week we have both been hit and kicked and dealt with what feels like 100 tantrums. One won't sleep more than four hours at a stretch then she's awake two. One is so angry and yells, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" if your hand reaches towards him. One knows every song I would never let my kids hear in a million years and the Miley Cyrus like moves to match them! They are all so angry, frustrated, confused.
My stomach is in knots and I constantly pray that God will give me peace. I cannot eat and I feel as if I've had too much coffee and no sleep, which I have. Both.
Week two is much the same with maybe a couple less tantrums. Bath and bedtime takes two hours and it is completely necessary that all hands are on deck. I am constantly on the verge of tears and not sure which way is up.
At the end of week two I realize that they have no school on Monday and I'm in a panic because Tony won't be here. HOW AM I GOING TO SURVIVE THAT? And Thanksgiving break? And Christmas break? As I ask a friend to pray for that I begin to realize that I am so busy worrying about tomorrow that I am forgetting to live in today.
Suddenly I am calm. God's peace that I had been praying for settles over me like a blanket as I realize God is in control of tomorrow. He always was. We will all survive one way or another. And the day comes. It is our best day yet. And my heart, my faith, has turned a corner.
Somewhere around the third week our Freckle Faced Ninja made the connection based on The Boy telling his story that he was not going home to his mom again. I guess it was time to talk about it. He heard it, denied it, took responsibility for it himself. Miss Sassy Pants refused to hear it at all for a long time. Freezes anytime any discussion of the past comes up. Dora the Explorer gets a furrowed brow then launches into a story about her birth parents that makes us all sad. She's so matter of fact about it. Maybe that's why it's so sad.
Now here we are seven weeks down this road and I am amazed. The child who would not let me touch him now asks for constant hugs. The child who never smiled for 3 weeks, giggles and laughs with joy. The child with the Miley Cyrus moves...well they all do them now so that's not exactly forward progress but she also has begun to make eye contact for more than 3 seconds. We see playfulness and joy where before all we saw was anger. We see the tentative beginnings of sibling bonds and the full-blown ability to fight like any brothers and sisters do. The fear that did paralyze them as soon as the lights go out for bedtime is still present but it's not quite so paralyzing.
Most days are still hard. We've moved from survival mode to beginning down the long road. This road to healing where there is no end in sight. Yet if we could just see around the bend in the road we'd see, really see as God sees, the child who could be. This is the time we are desiring to see the child hiding behind the coping mechanisms.
What will the real Miss Sassy Pants be like? Behind that tough exterior that tells everyone what to do and tries to make sure no one is getting into trouble, is there a soft-hearted ballerina? Or perhaps a spunky soccer player? I can't imagine the energy she expends focusing on keeping everyone on the straight and narrow. And the thoughts of why she does it makes me so sad. To look at this sweet thing and realize that she feels the burden of keeping everything copacetic so no one gets yelled at. Or worse. To think that she feels the burden of CAUSING the pain her mother experienced at the hands of another. That she thinks she had the power to stop the hurting at someone else's hands. This long road of us teaching her how little of it all was in her power. How little of it all was her burden to bear. And how it is time to let go of control because it is God's job to hold the world together, not hers.
And now is when the stories just begin to come out in drips, a few here and a few there. Part of me desires to hear them in hopes they will help me find the cause of the anxiety that is causing Dora the Explorer to have such a hard time going to sleep and to wake up from 2 am to 4 am every night. But part of me doesn't want to know. It rips at my heart to hear some of the things my children say, as if it's normal to sleep in the trunk of the car. Or to share a "hotel room" with 5 kids and 4 adults. Or to have more kids come to live with you, causing a shortage of food.
Seeking ways to build trust with The Boy who is starting to hoard food out of fear again. Desiring to give new coping skills to replace the lying that is done by several of them, again out of fear. Wanting to replace their inner fear life with one of faith and trust and dependency.
How to show God to The Freckle Faced Ninja? How to walk beside him as he begins to let the anger drain out and replace it with the constant joy of KNOWING that he is the kid of a KING and not the kid of a jerk. That no matter how his earthly father acted, succeeded or failed, that there is one who loves him so dearly that He was willing to die for him. He is like a wall of wooden slats. The sun shines through slim gaps in the wood but not enough to warm the room. That is his joy. It leaks through but does not yet pour out. It is a beginning though. I am seeing him begin to spring more and more leaks as the wood weakens and the anger holds less sway.
Many have asked how we are doing. I will tell you honestly, I am tired. I am exhausted. So is Tony. And some days by bedtime I wonder how I will get up and do this again tomorrow. But each day I do. And each day I see beauty and joy and laughter in my children. Some days the chaos is too much for this introvert and her introverted husband (I am SURE God has a sense of humor...2 introverts raising 2 introverts...plus 5 extroverts....).
Many days I lose my cool too often and must ask for forgiveness. Many days I'm too mad to remember to ask until they are all asleep.
Many nights I am baffled and on the internet or buried in a book trying to find answers to behaviors.
I am overwhelmed with 2 therapists, dr appointments, psychologicals, IEP and SST school meetings, laundry & dishes, dentist appointments that require sedation because of the amount of work needed on such a little mouth.
And everyday I am over run by eager hugs and kisses, children who demand more tickling, and dare me to zerbert their tummy.
Mostly I am amazed that God has blessed me with his long road. Each hurdle we jump, we jump together as a family. And there is Christ to catch us if we stumble as we land. I am grateful for every mud puddle along the way because each time I will look down and see God's reflection looking back at me out of it and hopefully be able to keep walking. Thank you for walking this long road with us!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
What color are Cheerios?
I had an uncle growing up that wasn't really my uncle. His name was John Henry. I hope you all had one like him. He was best friends with my mother's brother Bob and was treated like one of the family. I don't remember much about him except that he seemed tall to my 5 or 6 year old self, had dark skin, a big smile, and he was usually one of the reasons I'd get to giggling at the dinner table and end up having to leave the table for a few minutes to compose myself!
As a child in a small town in the south in the mid to late 70's, I didn't realize how unique this friendship between my uncle and John Henry was. How it pushed the boundaries of what was typical. How it stretched some of my family. And how they loved him. I saw John Henry. Others saw a black man. Still others saw a friend. Wonder what God saw?
Sadly John Henry's life ended far too early but I wonder about him in our lives and how today it would not matter that our skin colors didn't match. Or does it?
I think partly because of John Henry and partly because of my mother's students and friends being a variety of races, as a young child, I was completely unconscious of racism. Skin color was sort of like hair color in my world at that young age. My best friend in kindergarten was Monica. She stood up for me when I was teased for my short "boyish" haircut. To me she was brave and strong. She never had less than 6 beautiful braids with colorful barrettes on each one. I was so jealous! Now looking back I wonder if there were times when I should have stood up for her. Times when maybe she was treated wrongly because of her skin color.
As I hit my pre-teen and teen years I began to see an under current of discomfort between people of different cultures, ethnic groups, or races. I have seen and heard stories of past and present offenses against people based on differences that just make me ill. Some of them are so current and so crude it would shock you if you didn't witness it first hand. It makes my heart ache that we treat others so badly based on a difference like skin color. Something God created. That the Almighty views as beautiful!
Recently I discovered that Cheerios used a biracial couple in a commercial, along with a biracial child. My normal reaction would have been, "cute kid!" expect that my attention was taken by the violently negative responses some have made to this commercial. Before I go any further, I want to say that I think General Mills is AWESOME because their response was to simply disable the ability to comment on the commercial and delete the negative comments. They stood behind the commercial.
I was embarrassed, saddened,...and convicted.
It made me look inside and wonder what I think of others. What do I think of other races? What do I think of biracial marriage? Children? All those answers were pretty positive. I think children who are mixed race are gorgeous! I find their parents to be people and don't usually worry about what color they are painted by God beyond that.
I'm pretty sure that genetically our first parents were a nice latte or caramel color with all the genetics we see in the world. Or maybe they were the original biracial couple! And Christ was probably not blond with freckles.
But what do I think of racism? That question stopped me cold. The sad thing is that I do not. Because it is not a challenge for me. I live in a progressive, metropolitan city (#1 in nerdiness & #1 in redneckness...go figure!). It is a city of many colors, cultures, and lifestyles. In my immediate community, church, and association, we are of like minds about color being just a part of someone not a separator, similar socio-economics, politics, education, etc. In short, our lives fit together. They mesh. We agree.
So racism isn't on my radar. Until it is.
I have friends now, 2013, who have described to me events, days, words. They were ugly, painful, embarrassing. And all of them were connected to the color of their skin or their ethnic background. Why do we seek to hurt that which does not look like us?
I live in a bubble. Most of us do. We live in a bubble of our comfort zone. My comfort zone doesn't all look like me. But they THINK like me. They talk like me. I suppose instead of racist, maybe I'm guilty of a sort of classist discrimination. Only associating with those I feel are like me in these ways. I wonder have I hurt someone with words or a look? A look that said, "You don't belong here."
Now we have a boiling nation, angry and on opposite sides of a fence we've painted black and white. One side is screaming, "HE'S A MURDERER!" while the other side yells back, "JUSTICE WAS SERVED!"
And I can feel nothing but sorrow. Sorrow for Trayvon's mother who lost her son. Whether he was troubled or not, she has lost the precious child of her heart. I do not know what went on that night. I did not follow the trial and was frankly sickened by the media frenzy. But I want to hold his mother and weep with her for her loss.
I feel saddened of stories that I am hearing about young black men who are suspected, followed, looked at with suspicion due to their age and skin color. I have not lived this. I cannot imagine. I am looking at my children and I wonder how young men deal with such pressure.
I am saddened by the anger and violence that people speak of in impoverished inner city neighborhoods that is ending the lives of so many teens, many of them African American or Latino. These are precious children of God and I know he is weeping for them.
I hear of what someone wrote on the car of my African American friend and I wonder in that moment, how she explained those horrible, cutting words to her beautiful young teen-aged daughter.
Is it any wonder that people who are treated as such would feel anger? That there would be a riot? Just because we do not experience a situation does not mean it does not exist. And just because one such person is cruel, does not mean all such people are.
So what is the answer? Where do we go from here? How do we back away from the boiling point and move toward healing? I cannot make others like me due to or inspite of my skin color, economic level, education, etc. I cannot change who I am or what I look like to fit into others molds. So, how do we honor our differences, appreciate our uniqueness, and come to common ground?
I'm not sure we all can. Because we all have history. We have been hurt. Or we have been trained. Or we have been taught. It all builds up.
One child is taught that only those from our country, our color, our "side of the tracks" are OK. The rest are to be tolerated but not appreciated. They witness name calling by adults. Maybe even violence. They grow up with these beliefs. They become a name calling, racist teenager. There's no real anger behind it. Just ignorance. Ignorance usually ends up looking like stupidity, does it not?
Another child is called a racial slur. They are hurt. The child is told to "go be with your own kind". Anger builds. The child becomes an angry teenager who wants others to feel what he has felt. There is mistrust. How can you trust those who have hurt you?
So now it is time to find answers. I do not have them. I am not an expert. I do know that I am leaning heavily on God in this. I am seeking his guidance.
My gut feeling is that God is telling me that I must stand up against the ignorance of those who may look like me, but do not speak for me. I do not see racism but I feel I must seek it out and call out those who would consider themselves "good people" for their cutting words. I cannot change them but if enough of us stop them in their tracks, let's them know we won't allow them to insult another human being that God considers precious, perhaps they will keep their poison to themselves. But then again, maybe God will use our words to change their hearts.
I must go where I am not comfortable. Perhaps to an inner city, poor neighborhood, and serve those who are not usually served. Maybe I should start a conversation with friends of different races and ask if they've ever experienced racism. And then listen. And cry with them if they cry. Pray for their healing. And maybe, just maybe, God will heal some anger in that process.
We talk about random acts of kindness. Buying a cup of coffee, mowing a lawn. What about random words of wisdom? They say actions speak louder than words but what sticks with you longer? I'm sure someone has bought me coffee before but ya know what I remember? I remember thoughtless words spoken to me in a moment I was in great pain. I remember praise from a 6th grade teacher that I would be a great teacher myself one day. Words. They last forever in our memories.
Maybe, just maybe, if each of us turns off the toxic news and instead turns to talk to a real person, and use our words with love, we can make a difference. I pray that we can.
As a child in a small town in the south in the mid to late 70's, I didn't realize how unique this friendship between my uncle and John Henry was. How it pushed the boundaries of what was typical. How it stretched some of my family. And how they loved him. I saw John Henry. Others saw a black man. Still others saw a friend. Wonder what God saw?
Sadly John Henry's life ended far too early but I wonder about him in our lives and how today it would not matter that our skin colors didn't match. Or does it?
I think partly because of John Henry and partly because of my mother's students and friends being a variety of races, as a young child, I was completely unconscious of racism. Skin color was sort of like hair color in my world at that young age. My best friend in kindergarten was Monica. She stood up for me when I was teased for my short "boyish" haircut. To me she was brave and strong. She never had less than 6 beautiful braids with colorful barrettes on each one. I was so jealous! Now looking back I wonder if there were times when I should have stood up for her. Times when maybe she was treated wrongly because of her skin color.
As I hit my pre-teen and teen years I began to see an under current of discomfort between people of different cultures, ethnic groups, or races. I have seen and heard stories of past and present offenses against people based on differences that just make me ill. Some of them are so current and so crude it would shock you if you didn't witness it first hand. It makes my heart ache that we treat others so badly based on a difference like skin color. Something God created. That the Almighty views as beautiful!
Recently I discovered that Cheerios used a biracial couple in a commercial, along with a biracial child. My normal reaction would have been, "cute kid!" expect that my attention was taken by the violently negative responses some have made to this commercial. Before I go any further, I want to say that I think General Mills is AWESOME because their response was to simply disable the ability to comment on the commercial and delete the negative comments. They stood behind the commercial.
I was embarrassed, saddened,...and convicted.
It made me look inside and wonder what I think of others. What do I think of other races? What do I think of biracial marriage? Children? All those answers were pretty positive. I think children who are mixed race are gorgeous! I find their parents to be people and don't usually worry about what color they are painted by God beyond that.
I'm pretty sure that genetically our first parents were a nice latte or caramel color with all the genetics we see in the world. Or maybe they were the original biracial couple! And Christ was probably not blond with freckles.
But what do I think of racism? That question stopped me cold. The sad thing is that I do not. Because it is not a challenge for me. I live in a progressive, metropolitan city (#1 in nerdiness & #1 in redneckness...go figure!). It is a city of many colors, cultures, and lifestyles. In my immediate community, church, and association, we are of like minds about color being just a part of someone not a separator, similar socio-economics, politics, education, etc. In short, our lives fit together. They mesh. We agree.
So racism isn't on my radar. Until it is.
I have friends now, 2013, who have described to me events, days, words. They were ugly, painful, embarrassing. And all of them were connected to the color of their skin or their ethnic background. Why do we seek to hurt that which does not look like us?
I live in a bubble. Most of us do. We live in a bubble of our comfort zone. My comfort zone doesn't all look like me. But they THINK like me. They talk like me. I suppose instead of racist, maybe I'm guilty of a sort of classist discrimination. Only associating with those I feel are like me in these ways. I wonder have I hurt someone with words or a look? A look that said, "You don't belong here."
Now we have a boiling nation, angry and on opposite sides of a fence we've painted black and white. One side is screaming, "HE'S A MURDERER!" while the other side yells back, "JUSTICE WAS SERVED!"
And I can feel nothing but sorrow. Sorrow for Trayvon's mother who lost her son. Whether he was troubled or not, she has lost the precious child of her heart. I do not know what went on that night. I did not follow the trial and was frankly sickened by the media frenzy. But I want to hold his mother and weep with her for her loss.
I feel saddened of stories that I am hearing about young black men who are suspected, followed, looked at with suspicion due to their age and skin color. I have not lived this. I cannot imagine. I am looking at my children and I wonder how young men deal with such pressure.
I am saddened by the anger and violence that people speak of in impoverished inner city neighborhoods that is ending the lives of so many teens, many of them African American or Latino. These are precious children of God and I know he is weeping for them.
I hear of what someone wrote on the car of my African American friend and I wonder in that moment, how she explained those horrible, cutting words to her beautiful young teen-aged daughter.
Is it any wonder that people who are treated as such would feel anger? That there would be a riot? Just because we do not experience a situation does not mean it does not exist. And just because one such person is cruel, does not mean all such people are.
So what is the answer? Where do we go from here? How do we back away from the boiling point and move toward healing? I cannot make others like me due to or inspite of my skin color, economic level, education, etc. I cannot change who I am or what I look like to fit into others molds. So, how do we honor our differences, appreciate our uniqueness, and come to common ground?
I'm not sure we all can. Because we all have history. We have been hurt. Or we have been trained. Or we have been taught. It all builds up.
One child is taught that only those from our country, our color, our "side of the tracks" are OK. The rest are to be tolerated but not appreciated. They witness name calling by adults. Maybe even violence. They grow up with these beliefs. They become a name calling, racist teenager. There's no real anger behind it. Just ignorance. Ignorance usually ends up looking like stupidity, does it not?
Another child is called a racial slur. They are hurt. The child is told to "go be with your own kind". Anger builds. The child becomes an angry teenager who wants others to feel what he has felt. There is mistrust. How can you trust those who have hurt you?
So now it is time to find answers. I do not have them. I am not an expert. I do know that I am leaning heavily on God in this. I am seeking his guidance.
My gut feeling is that God is telling me that I must stand up against the ignorance of those who may look like me, but do not speak for me. I do not see racism but I feel I must seek it out and call out those who would consider themselves "good people" for their cutting words. I cannot change them but if enough of us stop them in their tracks, let's them know we won't allow them to insult another human being that God considers precious, perhaps they will keep their poison to themselves. But then again, maybe God will use our words to change their hearts.
I must go where I am not comfortable. Perhaps to an inner city, poor neighborhood, and serve those who are not usually served. Maybe I should start a conversation with friends of different races and ask if they've ever experienced racism. And then listen. And cry with them if they cry. Pray for their healing. And maybe, just maybe, God will heal some anger in that process.
We talk about random acts of kindness. Buying a cup of coffee, mowing a lawn. What about random words of wisdom? They say actions speak louder than words but what sticks with you longer? I'm sure someone has bought me coffee before but ya know what I remember? I remember thoughtless words spoken to me in a moment I was in great pain. I remember praise from a 6th grade teacher that I would be a great teacher myself one day. Words. They last forever in our memories.
Maybe, just maybe, if each of us turns off the toxic news and instead turns to talk to a real person, and use our words with love, we can make a difference. I pray that we can.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Dreams of a Little Girl
She tottered back and forth as she walked, wobbly on her high heels. The two girls giggled as the walked toward the coffee cart at church...to get lemonade. They looked all of 11 years old and so proud to be wearing "high heels".
Do you remember your first pair of high heels? I remember my grandmother's closet FULL of shoe boxes! It is one of her loves, shoes. She would let me play dress up, wear her jewelry and play in her make up. I felt like a princess, beautiful, magical, special, cared for.
My first real high heels were for my aunt's wedding. I was the flower girl. I had a pearl necklace, a sweet yellow dress, and high heels that I proudly wobbled in for maybe an hour before a blister and the allure of still being a little girl had me kick them off to dance around at the reception.
There was another girl. She looked 16. Maybe older. Until you got closer. She was about 11. She wore too much make up and walked with self-assurance in those heels. She doesn't have the giggly, secure appearance of a little girl with dreams. She has too much reality. Reality that has hard biting edges.
There might be drugs.
There is probably hunger.
There is most likely sexual and physical abuse.
There is most certainly pain.
When she walks down the halls, it is of a school if she's lucky. But not likely.
Otherwise, it's the hallway of an apartment where a man has dropped her off. He stands guard until she's finished. Or rather until they are finished with her. Then he collects money and takes her to the next "appointment".
Or transport that girl to another place and she has never seen a school. Maybe never had a bath. Yet men walk down the line, choose her and take her down the alley to a room. Pay the fee and they can use her how they wish until their time is up.
It takes my breath away to think of a child being used this way. Yet is happens over, and over, and over.
Do we even see these girls? Do they live where we live? Or are they carefully hidden from sight? Prostitute. Such a hard word. Intimidating. It has always implied a certain choice to me. Until I began to see each girl. And realized their reality.
One in four girls is sexually abused. Most "prostitutes", if not all, were sexually abused runaways. They tried to leave the abuse. They tried for a better place. A safer place. And they were met with someone who instead broke their will with violence, isolation, substance abuse (possibly forced). Then they are tattooed with their pimp's name and forced to do his bidding by starvation, physical violence...
Atlanta is one of the top cities in the US for child trafficking.
The average age of a child when they are first used for prostitution is between 11 and 14.
Some as young as 9.
This feels so personal to me. You see, I have 5 girls in my house. They are precious to me. But not just that, but their earliest beginnings could have led down this same path. Several of our children were around the types of people that could have put them on that same journey.
Have you ever seen the hard edge of a 4 year old who doesn't trust anyone? Have you ever heard a word you wouldn't say out of the mouth of one who is just a babe? Seen or heard them do and say things that let you know that they've seen the latest horror flick or Miley Cyrus dance move?
God has deviated my children's lives into ours. I have watched a child go from cynical to so sweet and kind, you would not believe it was the same child. I am praying to see it again and again and again now. I am hoping that this deviation has changed the course of their lives forever but I weep to know they could have ever been on this path.
What takes my breath away is the others. The children we do not know about. The children who don't have someone saying, "We will step up. Why not us?" They are out there. They are just babies. They could have been my babies.
And it is time for The Church to step in. It is time for the people of God to act.
It brings to my mind the movie "Courageous". The end scene is a call to action. "Where are you men (and women) of God? Where are you mighty men (and women) of valor?"
I would ask you the same question. Where are you?
We are able to do what we are doing because a community of courageous men and women are stepping up to help us. They are being the hands of Christ to our children just as much as we are. Because without our family and friends who are serving us we would utterly fail in this mission God has given us. He has put us in relationship with those who will hold us up with we falter on this journey, which right now is daily, hourly, minute by minute. But we are held up by so many, we cannot help but succeed.
God may not be calling you to bring in children to your home but are you listening to what He is calling you to? Because He is not prompting you to comfort. We cannot call ourselves Christians and sit complacent in our homes doing nothing. If we do, we owe those children we are failing a huge apology.
For more information on statistics around sex trafficking and how you could get involved to help here is a great website (it's where I got most of my facts):
https://wellspringliving.org/learn-about-the-issues/war-on-sex-trafficking
Do you remember your first pair of high heels? I remember my grandmother's closet FULL of shoe boxes! It is one of her loves, shoes. She would let me play dress up, wear her jewelry and play in her make up. I felt like a princess, beautiful, magical, special, cared for.
My first real high heels were for my aunt's wedding. I was the flower girl. I had a pearl necklace, a sweet yellow dress, and high heels that I proudly wobbled in for maybe an hour before a blister and the allure of still being a little girl had me kick them off to dance around at the reception.
There was another girl. She looked 16. Maybe older. Until you got closer. She was about 11. She wore too much make up and walked with self-assurance in those heels. She doesn't have the giggly, secure appearance of a little girl with dreams. She has too much reality. Reality that has hard biting edges.
There might be drugs.
There is probably hunger.
There is most likely sexual and physical abuse.
There is most certainly pain.
When she walks down the halls, it is of a school if she's lucky. But not likely.
Otherwise, it's the hallway of an apartment where a man has dropped her off. He stands guard until she's finished. Or rather until they are finished with her. Then he collects money and takes her to the next "appointment".
Or transport that girl to another place and she has never seen a school. Maybe never had a bath. Yet men walk down the line, choose her and take her down the alley to a room. Pay the fee and they can use her how they wish until their time is up.
It takes my breath away to think of a child being used this way. Yet is happens over, and over, and over.
Do we even see these girls? Do they live where we live? Or are they carefully hidden from sight? Prostitute. Such a hard word. Intimidating. It has always implied a certain choice to me. Until I began to see each girl. And realized their reality.
One in four girls is sexually abused. Most "prostitutes", if not all, were sexually abused runaways. They tried to leave the abuse. They tried for a better place. A safer place. And they were met with someone who instead broke their will with violence, isolation, substance abuse (possibly forced). Then they are tattooed with their pimp's name and forced to do his bidding by starvation, physical violence...
Atlanta is one of the top cities in the US for child trafficking.
The average age of a child when they are first used for prostitution is between 11 and 14.
Some as young as 9.
This feels so personal to me. You see, I have 5 girls in my house. They are precious to me. But not just that, but their earliest beginnings could have led down this same path. Several of our children were around the types of people that could have put them on that same journey.
Have you ever seen the hard edge of a 4 year old who doesn't trust anyone? Have you ever heard a word you wouldn't say out of the mouth of one who is just a babe? Seen or heard them do and say things that let you know that they've seen the latest horror flick or Miley Cyrus dance move?
God has deviated my children's lives into ours. I have watched a child go from cynical to so sweet and kind, you would not believe it was the same child. I am praying to see it again and again and again now. I am hoping that this deviation has changed the course of their lives forever but I weep to know they could have ever been on this path.
What takes my breath away is the others. The children we do not know about. The children who don't have someone saying, "We will step up. Why not us?" They are out there. They are just babies. They could have been my babies.
And it is time for The Church to step in. It is time for the people of God to act.
It brings to my mind the movie "Courageous". The end scene is a call to action. "Where are you men (and women) of God? Where are you mighty men (and women) of valor?"
I would ask you the same question. Where are you?
We are able to do what we are doing because a community of courageous men and women are stepping up to help us. They are being the hands of Christ to our children just as much as we are. Because without our family and friends who are serving us we would utterly fail in this mission God has given us. He has put us in relationship with those who will hold us up with we falter on this journey, which right now is daily, hourly, minute by minute. But we are held up by so many, we cannot help but succeed.
God may not be calling you to bring in children to your home but are you listening to what He is calling you to? Because He is not prompting you to comfort. We cannot call ourselves Christians and sit complacent in our homes doing nothing. If we do, we owe those children we are failing a huge apology.
For more information on statistics around sex trafficking and how you could get involved to help here is a great website (it's where I got most of my facts):
https://wellspringliving.org/learn-about-the-issues/war-on-sex-trafficking
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
The Brady Bunch
I have the Brady Bunch theme song in my head. Except in my version it goes something like this,
"Here's a story, of a man named Tony, who was married to a wife named Katie and bringing up a huge passel of kids and didn't have a maid named Alice..."
Doesn't really rhyme at all but nonetheless, there it is. Rhymeless. Uneven rhythm. It's a train-wreck of a song. Guess I have no future in the theme song business. And somehow I doubt The Brady Bunch would have been as popular if it were really about the realities of our house anyway. Our house is chaos, flawed people, and fears. But our house is also resting in the peace of God, being healed by the Holy Spirit kind of a place. No Snooki or Khardasian dazzle here.
Aside from the obvious bad lyrics, my song kinda seems to mirror life. Not my life, but LIFE. Things can feel out of sync, rolling along smoothly one minute, road bumps the next, smack into a wall the next!
We pray for things and often when we get them, they don't quite look like the picture we had in our heads. A friend said to me today, "I've been praying for a miracle but I didn't think it would be like this. I keep asking God, is this my miracle?"
I wanted a child but could not get pregnant. Then God first brought us the miracle of 6 week old Alyssa as a daughter for a season but a child of my heart for a lifetime. This definitely was NOT part of my plan: to fall in love with a precious child then watch her go and go somewhere unsafe, scary, life threatening. She turned 15 just the other day, yet in my heart she's still 6 months old, smelling of baby lotion.
In the midst of my heart ache, He placed the miracle of Gabby, one of the absolute loves of my life! This vibrant, lively woman-child amazes me with her perception, maturity, and beauty. One day she was 1. I blinked and she's on the brink of adulthood.
For many years after that I yearned for not just a child but a BIG FAMILY. But the messiness of life kept us putting off adoption again. Suddenly God brought the miraculous possibility of Will, Lydia, and Madi into our lives. It all came from a chance conversation. I thought Tony would say no but instead he said, "I think God has brought these kids for us for this time." And after a year of forms, medical checks, background checks, waiting and waiting...they joined our family in April of 2010. This October marks 3 years since a judge made it official.
God has used the 3 little miracles to peel back the layers of our own hearts, to reveal our own selfish desires. As amazing as some people mistakenly think I am, I am one of the most selfish people I know. Because I live in my own heart and mind, I hear my thoughts, desires. And they are for my own comfort.
God has also used them to show us the depths of His love for us when Lydia says, "Mommy, I love you SOOO much! You are my best mommy!" When, after I lose my temper, Will still desires my love, affection, and rushes to forgive me. How Madi always stands in defiance in time out for a few minutes then slowly wilts and I hear a quiet, "I'm sorry mommy. Can I have a hug?"
Despite my being a hugely flawed parent, my children still desire my approval, my love, my attention. WOW! Glad they don't give up on me! Glad God doesn't either!
There have been hard days that brought many tears and begging prayers. There have also been amazing moments that brought tears to my eyes and prayers of thanksgiving to my lips. But it's been 3 1/2 years of growing as a family.
So that brings me to our new miracle. We've often felt that God was calling us to adopt again. Not an imminent pressing but just a tug for "one day". As time has passed this year, the tug became more pressing and those conversations started. You know the ones. Tentative. What ifs. Could we? Maybe we could. Will needs a brother. What about medically fragile babies?
Let me clarify something before I continue with my story. This is our story. I believe God has commanded ALL of us to care for the widows and orphans. But that looks different in EVERY family. In ours, it looks like adoption. In another it might look like serving at a homeless shelter or doing foster care. Still others may take dinner to a foster family or do yard work for a widow. It looks like what God places on your family to do to serve.
What our family is doing doesn't make us any better than anyone else. It also doesn't elevate us closer to heaven! We are so far from angels or saints, if you saw me before my first cup of coffee you'd KNOW! This is the burden that God has placed on our hearts and in our lives. Not burden as in something I hate to do, but a burden that I cannot stand that innocent children suffer and there is no one that scoops them up to love them. In my mind I hear, "if not us, then who?"
That doesn't make it our goal to rescue every child in the world but it is our goal to spread the word of the need; to ignite a spark in others to act. What can you do for those who suffer? How can you help a lonely child, a homeless child, a fatherless child? If not you, then who?
God has also given me the children in my home and heart to love, cherish, nourish, and pray over. And He gives me desire. Desire to love them well. Desire to overcome my selfishness to give to them what I can and trust Him for the rest. Only you know what burden He has given you.
On with the story...
As we considered adopting again, thoughts and challenges swirled. How would we....endless list. A phone call in July to update our homestudy yielded the response, "well, you really want one too young. Let us talk about it." No more words. Time passed.
A week ago I received an email from our agency. "Would I be willing to reach out to this family? They were first time parents and were adopting 3 children. They've had them a week." So I did. They were struggling badly. We connected in the struggle. I had lived their reality. The beginning is so overwhelming.
4 days later I received a call I thought had to be a mistake. The family had decided they couldn't adopt the kids. They just were drowning in needs they had not expected, a situation that wasn't what they'd envisioned. Hard stuff.
On the phone I heard, "Would you guys be willing to take these kids? They aren't completely free to adopt but they will be in a few months. Would you consider making them part of your family?"
My gut said YES! These babies are my babies. They have suffered enough and will suffer more when this disrupts. My mouth wisely said, "Let me check with my husband because he said we don't have room for more than 2."
So in true chicken fashion...I texted him. ;)
"They called. The adoption agency just called."
"And..."
"They want us to take 3 kids, ages 5,6,7."
No reply. He walked in the door soon after, and with all calmness said, "That's nuts! 3 kids! NO!" I simply nodded. OK. 5 minutes later, "I mean we wouldn't even all fit in the car!"
I prayed for wisdom and to be OK if this wasn't His plan for us.
A few minutes later Tony said, "If we did that, where would we put everybody?" After a few more of those comments he said, "I think we should just pray about it!"
The next morning he began saying things like, "Well, I guess we could just take 2 cars until we get a bigger van. How would we do bedrooms? Do you think we could do this?" The funny thing is, as he became more comfortable with the idea, I became more nervous. I began to see all the challenges. The doubts. But I also became more certain in my heart that God was calling us to take one day at a time in faith to do this.
On Sunday morning, as I sat in church listening to Laura Story's new song, I felt the tears flow. I felt both of us just relaxing, knowing we were going to now be the parents of 7 children; But also knowing that God was calling us to this so He would walk by our side. Day by day, step by step.
We don't know much about them yet. Questions swirl in my head as I think of them.
How long will it be before we can meet?
Are they afraid of the dark?
Do they know they are unwanted?
Do they know they are wanted?
Do they know hunger or physical abuse?
Have they seen crime or domestic violence?
Do they feel loved?
Do they know they ARE loved?
Has anyone ever read a book with them in their lap?
Kissed them good night and tickled them under the chin?
Counted the freckles on their nose and told them that they were sweet because of all those brown sugar spots?
Do they know they are wanted, desired, precious?
There will still be hard days that make me want to cry. There will be beautiful moments that will bring me to tears.
But my children have more reason to cry than I could ever dream of. Two weeks ago, they came to a strange place without a single toy, stuffed animal, or change of clothes to call their own. "Here is your new mommy and daddy." And in a few days they will leave that place.
I ache for them not feeling they belong anywhere, to anyone.
The hard part is that these children are still going through the courts. They are not legally free. There is no guarantee they will be ours for life, but there is a strong likelihood. But we still have to face the fact that they could just be ours for this season. It will be 6 months, most likely, before we know for certain. If they are ours just for a season, they will remain in our hearts forever.
**Due to this, we won't be posting pics of them on FB or any other social media. That has to wait until they are legally ours. We will not post their names on my blog or FB but promise, once they are a Gonzalez, they will be everywhere! And you will hear every funny thing they ever say! :)
So that's where things stand. They will be coming to live with us as soon as paperwork, background checks, etc can be updated. Probably in the next week or two. We are, of course, in a bit of whirlwind to get our house re-organized so if you're bored anytime in the next little while, let us know. I'm sure we can put you to work. ;)
"Here's a story, of a man named Tony, who was married to a wife named Katie and bringing up a huge passel of kids and didn't have a maid named Alice..."
Doesn't really rhyme at all but nonetheless, there it is. Rhymeless. Uneven rhythm. It's a train-wreck of a song. Guess I have no future in the theme song business. And somehow I doubt The Brady Bunch would have been as popular if it were really about the realities of our house anyway. Our house is chaos, flawed people, and fears. But our house is also resting in the peace of God, being healed by the Holy Spirit kind of a place. No Snooki or Khardasian dazzle here.
Aside from the obvious bad lyrics, my song kinda seems to mirror life. Not my life, but LIFE. Things can feel out of sync, rolling along smoothly one minute, road bumps the next, smack into a wall the next!
We pray for things and often when we get them, they don't quite look like the picture we had in our heads. A friend said to me today, "I've been praying for a miracle but I didn't think it would be like this. I keep asking God, is this my miracle?"
I wanted a child but could not get pregnant. Then God first brought us the miracle of 6 week old Alyssa as a daughter for a season but a child of my heart for a lifetime. This definitely was NOT part of my plan: to fall in love with a precious child then watch her go and go somewhere unsafe, scary, life threatening. She turned 15 just the other day, yet in my heart she's still 6 months old, smelling of baby lotion.
In the midst of my heart ache, He placed the miracle of Gabby, one of the absolute loves of my life! This vibrant, lively woman-child amazes me with her perception, maturity, and beauty. One day she was 1. I blinked and she's on the brink of adulthood.
For many years after that I yearned for not just a child but a BIG FAMILY. But the messiness of life kept us putting off adoption again. Suddenly God brought the miraculous possibility of Will, Lydia, and Madi into our lives. It all came from a chance conversation. I thought Tony would say no but instead he said, "I think God has brought these kids for us for this time." And after a year of forms, medical checks, background checks, waiting and waiting...they joined our family in April of 2010. This October marks 3 years since a judge made it official.
God has used the 3 little miracles to peel back the layers of our own hearts, to reveal our own selfish desires. As amazing as some people mistakenly think I am, I am one of the most selfish people I know. Because I live in my own heart and mind, I hear my thoughts, desires. And they are for my own comfort.
God has also used them to show us the depths of His love for us when Lydia says, "Mommy, I love you SOOO much! You are my best mommy!" When, after I lose my temper, Will still desires my love, affection, and rushes to forgive me. How Madi always stands in defiance in time out for a few minutes then slowly wilts and I hear a quiet, "I'm sorry mommy. Can I have a hug?"
Despite my being a hugely flawed parent, my children still desire my approval, my love, my attention. WOW! Glad they don't give up on me! Glad God doesn't either!
There have been hard days that brought many tears and begging prayers. There have also been amazing moments that brought tears to my eyes and prayers of thanksgiving to my lips. But it's been 3 1/2 years of growing as a family.
So that brings me to our new miracle. We've often felt that God was calling us to adopt again. Not an imminent pressing but just a tug for "one day". As time has passed this year, the tug became more pressing and those conversations started. You know the ones. Tentative. What ifs. Could we? Maybe we could. Will needs a brother. What about medically fragile babies?
Let me clarify something before I continue with my story. This is our story. I believe God has commanded ALL of us to care for the widows and orphans. But that looks different in EVERY family. In ours, it looks like adoption. In another it might look like serving at a homeless shelter or doing foster care. Still others may take dinner to a foster family or do yard work for a widow. It looks like what God places on your family to do to serve.
What our family is doing doesn't make us any better than anyone else. It also doesn't elevate us closer to heaven! We are so far from angels or saints, if you saw me before my first cup of coffee you'd KNOW! This is the burden that God has placed on our hearts and in our lives. Not burden as in something I hate to do, but a burden that I cannot stand that innocent children suffer and there is no one that scoops them up to love them. In my mind I hear, "if not us, then who?"
That doesn't make it our goal to rescue every child in the world but it is our goal to spread the word of the need; to ignite a spark in others to act. What can you do for those who suffer? How can you help a lonely child, a homeless child, a fatherless child? If not you, then who?
God has also given me the children in my home and heart to love, cherish, nourish, and pray over. And He gives me desire. Desire to love them well. Desire to overcome my selfishness to give to them what I can and trust Him for the rest. Only you know what burden He has given you.
On with the story...
As we considered adopting again, thoughts and challenges swirled. How would we....endless list. A phone call in July to update our homestudy yielded the response, "well, you really want one too young. Let us talk about it." No more words. Time passed.
A week ago I received an email from our agency. "Would I be willing to reach out to this family? They were first time parents and were adopting 3 children. They've had them a week." So I did. They were struggling badly. We connected in the struggle. I had lived their reality. The beginning is so overwhelming.
4 days later I received a call I thought had to be a mistake. The family had decided they couldn't adopt the kids. They just were drowning in needs they had not expected, a situation that wasn't what they'd envisioned. Hard stuff.
On the phone I heard, "Would you guys be willing to take these kids? They aren't completely free to adopt but they will be in a few months. Would you consider making them part of your family?"
My gut said YES! These babies are my babies. They have suffered enough and will suffer more when this disrupts. My mouth wisely said, "Let me check with my husband because he said we don't have room for more than 2."
So in true chicken fashion...I texted him. ;)
"They called. The adoption agency just called."
"And..."
"They want us to take 3 kids, ages 5,6,7."
No reply. He walked in the door soon after, and with all calmness said, "That's nuts! 3 kids! NO!" I simply nodded. OK. 5 minutes later, "I mean we wouldn't even all fit in the car!"
I prayed for wisdom and to be OK if this wasn't His plan for us.
A few minutes later Tony said, "If we did that, where would we put everybody?" After a few more of those comments he said, "I think we should just pray about it!"
The next morning he began saying things like, "Well, I guess we could just take 2 cars until we get a bigger van. How would we do bedrooms? Do you think we could do this?" The funny thing is, as he became more comfortable with the idea, I became more nervous. I began to see all the challenges. The doubts. But I also became more certain in my heart that God was calling us to take one day at a time in faith to do this.
On Sunday morning, as I sat in church listening to Laura Story's new song, I felt the tears flow. I felt both of us just relaxing, knowing we were going to now be the parents of 7 children; But also knowing that God was calling us to this so He would walk by our side. Day by day, step by step.
We don't know much about them yet. Questions swirl in my head as I think of them.
How long will it be before we can meet?
Are they afraid of the dark?
Do they know they are unwanted?
Do they know they are wanted?
Do they know hunger or physical abuse?
Have they seen crime or domestic violence?
Do they feel loved?
Do they know they ARE loved?
Has anyone ever read a book with them in their lap?
Kissed them good night and tickled them under the chin?
Counted the freckles on their nose and told them that they were sweet because of all those brown sugar spots?
Do they know they are wanted, desired, precious?
There will still be hard days that make me want to cry. There will be beautiful moments that will bring me to tears.
But my children have more reason to cry than I could ever dream of. Two weeks ago, they came to a strange place without a single toy, stuffed animal, or change of clothes to call their own. "Here is your new mommy and daddy." And in a few days they will leave that place.
I ache for them not feeling they belong anywhere, to anyone.
The hard part is that these children are still going through the courts. They are not legally free. There is no guarantee they will be ours for life, but there is a strong likelihood. But we still have to face the fact that they could just be ours for this season. It will be 6 months, most likely, before we know for certain. If they are ours just for a season, they will remain in our hearts forever.
**Due to this, we won't be posting pics of them on FB or any other social media. That has to wait until they are legally ours. We will not post their names on my blog or FB but promise, once they are a Gonzalez, they will be everywhere! And you will hear every funny thing they ever say! :)
So that's where things stand. They will be coming to live with us as soon as paperwork, background checks, etc can be updated. Probably in the next week or two. We are, of course, in a bit of whirlwind to get our house re-organized so if you're bored anytime in the next little while, let us know. I'm sure we can put you to work. ;)
Monday, January 7, 2013
Peace
Sometimes I am just raw. Have you ever gotten to a place where you just didn't know how much more you could take? The part of you that withstands the storm has been worn down to the raw emotion of it all. You feel like one big wound; Another blast and you will begin to openly bleed.
That has been me this Christmas season. It has not been about my Savior or even Santa, but about survival. Obviously I've gotten off track. Derailed is more like it!
I know many of you are dealing with heavy burdens that make you feel this way. Financial pressures. Loss of a loved one. Today, I'm speaking directly to the mom's of children who have challenges. Overwhelming illness, autism, learning challenges, emotional trauma It's heavy to bear and frankly, for me? I have to admit to feeling powerless some days. You're probably sensing that I might have forgotten to get down on my knees as much as I needed to lately.
You'd be right. And I'm sure I'm not alone.
How many times do we see our challenges with our children in light of our control? Our power? Our authority? Our ability to change, heal, help? And we forget that we can't do all of that. Not with out Him who made us. This is my struggle. To constantly ask God for help. Then turn my back and say, "I got this.
I began writing this several weeks back in an absolute feeling of despair. Here is what I wrote:
Have you ever seen a child who's body looks 6 or 8 but whose comprehension of the world around them is about 3? And who's emotional quotient is more like 2? Have you ever watched your child get angry? All day? About EVERYTHING you say or do? And nothing you say or do will calm them. I live with 3 children who are all emotionally around 2 years old despite their chronological age.
And when their angry their words sting. They lash out at themselves and all around them. Threats of hurting themselves. Hitting themselves when they mess up. No correction, however small, goes calmly by.
I am worn thin.
If you have don't have children or if your child has never experienced any trauma in life, I'm sure you're thinking, "That sounds rough!" and while I'm glad for your empathy, it's the understanding eyes of another mother who is raising a child from a tough place where I find solace and understanding. It's so hard to explain this to someone who's never lived it. Like trying to tell someone who has never been in love what it's like.
I am swimming in helplessness.
That was me a couple weeks ago. And honestly, it was me a few minutes ago.
If you aren't familiar with the dance most foster and adoptive kids go through around holidays, it's quite a lively one. You see, for most of us, the holidays are chaotic and joyful. We remember Christmas's full of gifts, caroling, uncle so and so who drank to much egg nog, seeing cousins, drives to visit relatives, snow, church services with candles and beauty and pageants
So here are these kids, in a NEW family (even if they've been there for years) with these great memories of Christmas. But the kids don't quite have the memories this new family has. They may have the memory of being stuck in the trunk of the car while daddy and pregnant mommy got high up front. They may remember arrests due to domestic violence or shoplifting around the holidays.
And while every expects them to be joyful, because after all, isn't that what Christmas is all about, they don't feel terribly joyful. A part of them will always be in mourning for the loss of their birth family. How do you find joy in mourning when you don't understand why you lost in the first place? Anxiety abounds in this child who knows they are "supposed" to feel happy.
They don't feel very deserving of gifts because they don't see themselves as special, deserving, beautiful. They see themselves as ugly. Destructive. Bad. Why would Jesus give someone like them the gift of salvation much less that jolly man in the red suit or their new grandma give them gifts?
That thought just sucks the breath out of me like I was punched in the gut. They don't see themselves as worthy enough for gifts so how can they accept the gift of salvation?
So while you see a super hyper kid all excited for Christmas, we see anxiety, stomach aches, anger, lashing out, and tantrums that would make any toddler proud. And while I know the root, I forget the cause and survival kicks in.
I am worn out. And I do not like who I have become. Everyday I am braced for the storm. I am waiting for the winds to hit and I cannot wait until bedtime when I can send the children upstairs and have a bit of calm before tomorrow's storm. I am ready for battle.
But I have forgotten to battle for their hearts in the battle for my sanity. I have put on armor to protect my heart rather than putting on the armor of God in my hurry to protect myself from the latest onslaught.
I have met my husband at the door with lists of the days failures for the past weeks. I have met him crying in frustration. I have laid it all on his shoulders to solve. What a heavy burden for him to bear. To his credit, he has done admirably, stepping in as much as possible, ordering sets of DVDs by the worlds most recognized adoption guru, loving on me to help me cope.
I have lived this way since before Thanksgiving. It's been a long, exhausting fight. I know there are others out there who are living this way every holiday. Or maybe every day of every year. One friend said, for her? It's summer. 3 solid months of, "will this ever end?". I feel her pain. Literally.
Then we went to church last week end. Relaxed for the first time in weeks because grandparents came and gave us a night off, away, no kids for 24 glorious hours. ;)
I listened but more importantly I heard.
We were not at our church but visited Renovation Church in Atlanta, near where we spent the night. And the sermon was about Peace. More specifically God's Peace. "Well bring it on!" I thought. "I could use some of that!!"
One of the pastors, Leonce Crump, made the statement, "This world is a living tornado and the only thing pinning me to the ground is the peace of God." That described how I've felt about life except I've been trying be the thing that pinned myself to the ground and depending on my husband to grab me when the ropes came loose.
Now, I love the verse "This is the day that the lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." I always use it to teach my children that it doesn't matter if their day is good, they should rejoice that God gave them the day. Somehow I forgot to listen to my own lesson! But I digress.
The teaching this morning centered on Philippians 4:4-7, "REJOICE in the Lord ALWAYS; again I will say, REJOICE. Let your reasonableness (gentleness) be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; DO NOT be anxious about ANYTHING, but in EVERYTHING by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your request be made known to God. And the PEACE OF GOD, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."
Obviously the Bible isn't full of words in all caps and underlines, but those are the words that just jumped out and smacked me in the face. It's as if God KNEW I'd be at church there today. ;) He has that way doesn't He.
I have definitely not been rejoicing always. Nor have I been particularly gentle. As a matter of fact, I've been pretty hard and negative these past weeks. It's a natural human reaction, I know. But in forgetting to lay these burdens at the cross, I'd missed out on this free gift God has been offering all of us.
His peace.
One of the pastors described it as a piece of God's character; A measure of Him. Man could I use that. I can picture Jesus pouring a measure of peace over me and it just dripping down like golden honey. Can you?
Jesus told his disciples, "Peace I leave with you; MY peace I give to you. Not as the world gives, do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." John 14:27
Even if you don't have children like ours, you have your own burdens to bear. A friend suffering from cancer, a prodigal son or brother, a death you are mourning. What would having the same peace as Christ do for each of us?
In just hearing the message I find myself relaxing. It has given me breathing room and enabled me to push back the curtains of pain so that God's peace can begin to soothe my wounds. I know that I will still deal with the same behaviors tomorrow that I saw today. But I will lay that child at the feet of Jesus and be grateful that I am not in control. I cannot solve all their problems with a wave of my magic DVDs (although I love them!). I can take that peace God is offering and use it to pin me to the ground despite the whirling of my children's emotions.
I pray that you will ask God to do the same for you in whatever storm you are weathering.
That has been me this Christmas season. It has not been about my Savior or even Santa, but about survival. Obviously I've gotten off track. Derailed is more like it!
I know many of you are dealing with heavy burdens that make you feel this way. Financial pressures. Loss of a loved one. Today, I'm speaking directly to the mom's of children who have challenges. Overwhelming illness, autism, learning challenges, emotional trauma It's heavy to bear and frankly, for me? I have to admit to feeling powerless some days. You're probably sensing that I might have forgotten to get down on my knees as much as I needed to lately.
You'd be right. And I'm sure I'm not alone.
How many times do we see our challenges with our children in light of our control? Our power? Our authority? Our ability to change, heal, help? And we forget that we can't do all of that. Not with out Him who made us. This is my struggle. To constantly ask God for help. Then turn my back and say, "I got this.
I began writing this several weeks back in an absolute feeling of despair. Here is what I wrote:
Have you ever seen a child who's body looks 6 or 8 but whose comprehension of the world around them is about 3? And who's emotional quotient is more like 2? Have you ever watched your child get angry? All day? About EVERYTHING you say or do? And nothing you say or do will calm them. I live with 3 children who are all emotionally around 2 years old despite their chronological age.
And when their angry their words sting. They lash out at themselves and all around them. Threats of hurting themselves. Hitting themselves when they mess up. No correction, however small, goes calmly by.
I am worn thin.
If you have don't have children or if your child has never experienced any trauma in life, I'm sure you're thinking, "That sounds rough!" and while I'm glad for your empathy, it's the understanding eyes of another mother who is raising a child from a tough place where I find solace and understanding. It's so hard to explain this to someone who's never lived it. Like trying to tell someone who has never been in love what it's like.
I am swimming in helplessness.
That was me a couple weeks ago. And honestly, it was me a few minutes ago.
If you aren't familiar with the dance most foster and adoptive kids go through around holidays, it's quite a lively one. You see, for most of us, the holidays are chaotic and joyful. We remember Christmas's full of gifts, caroling, uncle so and so who drank to much egg nog, seeing cousins, drives to visit relatives, snow, church services with candles and beauty and pageants
So here are these kids, in a NEW family (even if they've been there for years) with these great memories of Christmas. But the kids don't quite have the memories this new family has. They may have the memory of being stuck in the trunk of the car while daddy and pregnant mommy got high up front. They may remember arrests due to domestic violence or shoplifting around the holidays.
And while every expects them to be joyful, because after all, isn't that what Christmas is all about, they don't feel terribly joyful. A part of them will always be in mourning for the loss of their birth family. How do you find joy in mourning when you don't understand why you lost in the first place? Anxiety abounds in this child who knows they are "supposed" to feel happy.
They don't feel very deserving of gifts because they don't see themselves as special, deserving, beautiful. They see themselves as ugly. Destructive. Bad. Why would Jesus give someone like them the gift of salvation much less that jolly man in the red suit or their new grandma give them gifts?
That thought just sucks the breath out of me like I was punched in the gut. They don't see themselves as worthy enough for gifts so how can they accept the gift of salvation?
So while you see a super hyper kid all excited for Christmas, we see anxiety, stomach aches, anger, lashing out, and tantrums that would make any toddler proud. And while I know the root, I forget the cause and survival kicks in.
I am worn out. And I do not like who I have become. Everyday I am braced for the storm. I am waiting for the winds to hit and I cannot wait until bedtime when I can send the children upstairs and have a bit of calm before tomorrow's storm. I am ready for battle.
But I have forgotten to battle for their hearts in the battle for my sanity. I have put on armor to protect my heart rather than putting on the armor of God in my hurry to protect myself from the latest onslaught.
I have met my husband at the door with lists of the days failures for the past weeks. I have met him crying in frustration. I have laid it all on his shoulders to solve. What a heavy burden for him to bear. To his credit, he has done admirably, stepping in as much as possible, ordering sets of DVDs by the worlds most recognized adoption guru, loving on me to help me cope.
I have lived this way since before Thanksgiving. It's been a long, exhausting fight. I know there are others out there who are living this way every holiday. Or maybe every day of every year. One friend said, for her? It's summer. 3 solid months of, "will this ever end?". I feel her pain. Literally.
Then we went to church last week end. Relaxed for the first time in weeks because grandparents came and gave us a night off, away, no kids for 24 glorious hours. ;)
I listened but more importantly I heard.
We were not at our church but visited Renovation Church in Atlanta, near where we spent the night. And the sermon was about Peace. More specifically God's Peace. "Well bring it on!" I thought. "I could use some of that!!"
One of the pastors, Leonce Crump, made the statement, "This world is a living tornado and the only thing pinning me to the ground is the peace of God." That described how I've felt about life except I've been trying be the thing that pinned myself to the ground and depending on my husband to grab me when the ropes came loose.
Now, I love the verse "This is the day that the lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." I always use it to teach my children that it doesn't matter if their day is good, they should rejoice that God gave them the day. Somehow I forgot to listen to my own lesson! But I digress.
The teaching this morning centered on Philippians 4:4-7, "REJOICE in the Lord ALWAYS; again I will say, REJOICE. Let your reasonableness (gentleness) be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; DO NOT be anxious about ANYTHING, but in EVERYTHING by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your request be made known to God. And the PEACE OF GOD, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."
Obviously the Bible isn't full of words in all caps and underlines, but those are the words that just jumped out and smacked me in the face. It's as if God KNEW I'd be at church there today. ;) He has that way doesn't He.
I have definitely not been rejoicing always. Nor have I been particularly gentle. As a matter of fact, I've been pretty hard and negative these past weeks. It's a natural human reaction, I know. But in forgetting to lay these burdens at the cross, I'd missed out on this free gift God has been offering all of us.
His peace.
One of the pastors described it as a piece of God's character; A measure of Him. Man could I use that. I can picture Jesus pouring a measure of peace over me and it just dripping down like golden honey. Can you?
Jesus told his disciples, "Peace I leave with you; MY peace I give to you. Not as the world gives, do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." John 14:27
Even if you don't have children like ours, you have your own burdens to bear. A friend suffering from cancer, a prodigal son or brother, a death you are mourning. What would having the same peace as Christ do for each of us?
In just hearing the message I find myself relaxing. It has given me breathing room and enabled me to push back the curtains of pain so that God's peace can begin to soothe my wounds. I know that I will still deal with the same behaviors tomorrow that I saw today. But I will lay that child at the feet of Jesus and be grateful that I am not in control. I cannot solve all their problems with a wave of my magic DVDs (although I love them!). I can take that peace God is offering and use it to pin me to the ground despite the whirling of my children's emotions.
I pray that you will ask God to do the same for you in whatever storm you are weathering.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)