Humble. Such a beautiful word...except in Wilbur's case, when it just made the farmer think Wilbur would made extra-good bacon. As the Lord teaches me more about humility, it can feel like I'm being made into bacon.
Each year, I pick a word for the year accompanied by a verse containing that word or the general idea of the word. In year's past, I've had verses in Isaiah, Lamentations, Hebrews, and James. This year, it's a Proverb. One of the most widely known Proverbs to boot. Proverbs 3:5-6, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will made your paths straight." I have loved this verse for a long time. But, I've also known this verse for a long time. In sixth grade (ish), I wrote this verse on my neon green dry-erase board, spelling "acknowledge" horrifically wrong. But, it's my verse, and every single word of it rings true to the focus of my heart.
Humble. Sitting on a small bench in the bathroom staring into a filthy toilet, my four-year-old crying in my arms as we waited to see if the stomach bug had gotten to her as well. In my mind, "Isn't this glamorous?" If school wasn't closed, I would have been teaching middle school. (I'm fairly certain that isn't glamorous either.) The Lord, as He often does, spoke to my heart. Glamour has nothing to do with it. This is that to which you have been called. Within a few minutes, her tummy pain passed, and she was asleep-in that little bathroom, on a little bench, with a little love.
Normally, when exhortation comes, my skin prickles, and I want to hide. This time, though, love overwhelmed me. It might have had something to do with the little one sleeping in my arms. It also might have been due to answered prayer. I've been asking Him to make my path straight-for Richard and I to be unified in decisions for the future. I've been praying for help to put me second, and my family first. It should be easy, but it is not, at least not for me. I need humility. I need to be humble. I need help. Now He can work, and He won't turn me into bacon.
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Monday, October 30, 2017
A Mighty Fortress
For the first time in over eleven years, I joined choir. "Woefully inadequate" is an honest description of my abilities, especially in the light of the difficult arrangements we were tasked to sing. I think I let the years of my children telling me how beautiful my voice is go to my head, but as they say, pride came before a lovely fall. Moving on, the final song we sang was "A Mighty Fortress is Our God", written by Martin Luther. As a graduate of a Lutheran university, this song had definitely lost a lot of it's "flair" for me. Plainly, I did not like the song, and added to the fact that the arrangement was meant for someone ready for the Opera, I just wanted to get through it with as little embarrassment as possible.
In addition, this weekend had extra stressors for me. I was the Matron of Honor for a wedding I had "mixed emotions" over. I asked for prayer, and a lot of it. I tend to be the "blunt force trauma" type of person. I loathe lying with such a fervent passion, I will be brutally honest to even avoid the appearance of a lie. That being said, when someone said they hoped I would be a light to those around me, I answered with, "I just don't want to be in sin." I was not looking to be a testimony, I simply did not want to be a loud-mouth sinner if given the opportunity. Although the day did not go off without a hitch, I can say that I threw myself into the role I was asked to fulfill, and kept quiet when needed.
After all of the singing and wedding-ing, Sunday afternoon allowed a much needed work out. During that brief forty-five minutes, I had a scathing letter written (in my head), with (strong) Biblical support for each of my points of contention. (FYI-the letter was for a person NOT related, or a member of my family, legal or otherwise!!) I had righteous indignation, as well as my defender personality in full swing. So, really, I was furious. And, even though my points are 100% right, it is neither my place nor wise to write the letter comprised in my head. Out loud I said to God that I did not even want His help to take care of my feelings. I was right, and I wanted to hold on to the wrath that was beginning to consume me. And, just like that, He took it. Completely. Even thinking about it as I write this, the emotion is gone. The truth is still there, but I am completely settled in the fact that God will take care of it IF and/or when He chooses.
I opened my Bible tonight to pray through Psalm 46. (It's the next chapter in my schedule.) Psalm 46:1-God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. As I sat at my table, God's Word took my breath away. The Truth of Scripture, and the promises God has made in His Word were just as evident over the past few days, as they were when they were written down. No, I am not an Israelite living in the desert, in fear for my life, but I am His child, and He is Who He says He is. Discovering this Truth on a more intimate level, even as my sin seems more ugly and more encompassing, is life changing. I am quite certain I will never again hear that song with a negative point-of-view. As Martin Luther dedicated his life to proclaim 500 years ago, my God is my mighty fortress-He is my helper in times of need.
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing. Our helper He amid the flood, of mortal ills prevailing.
In addition, this weekend had extra stressors for me. I was the Matron of Honor for a wedding I had "mixed emotions" over. I asked for prayer, and a lot of it. I tend to be the "blunt force trauma" type of person. I loathe lying with such a fervent passion, I will be brutally honest to even avoid the appearance of a lie. That being said, when someone said they hoped I would be a light to those around me, I answered with, "I just don't want to be in sin." I was not looking to be a testimony, I simply did not want to be a loud-mouth sinner if given the opportunity. Although the day did not go off without a hitch, I can say that I threw myself into the role I was asked to fulfill, and kept quiet when needed.
After all of the singing and wedding-ing, Sunday afternoon allowed a much needed work out. During that brief forty-five minutes, I had a scathing letter written (in my head), with (strong) Biblical support for each of my points of contention. (FYI-the letter was for a person NOT related, or a member of my family, legal or otherwise!!) I had righteous indignation, as well as my defender personality in full swing. So, really, I was furious. And, even though my points are 100% right, it is neither my place nor wise to write the letter comprised in my head. Out loud I said to God that I did not even want His help to take care of my feelings. I was right, and I wanted to hold on to the wrath that was beginning to consume me. And, just like that, He took it. Completely. Even thinking about it as I write this, the emotion is gone. The truth is still there, but I am completely settled in the fact that God will take care of it IF and/or when He chooses.
I opened my Bible tonight to pray through Psalm 46. (It's the next chapter in my schedule.) Psalm 46:1-God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. As I sat at my table, God's Word took my breath away. The Truth of Scripture, and the promises God has made in His Word were just as evident over the past few days, as they were when they were written down. No, I am not an Israelite living in the desert, in fear for my life, but I am His child, and He is Who He says He is. Discovering this Truth on a more intimate level, even as my sin seems more ugly and more encompassing, is life changing. I am quite certain I will never again hear that song with a negative point-of-view. As Martin Luther dedicated his life to proclaim 500 years ago, my God is my mighty fortress-He is my helper in times of need.
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing. Our helper He amid the flood, of mortal ills prevailing.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
How Can This be "Good"?
Betrayal. Lies. Deceit. Not a good start, right? Perhaps the start to a teenage drama that makes you gag, but that's about it. Unfortunately, it was what dropped right into my life. A lot of sin, covered with semantics to justify the behaviors. The particulars of this issue really don't matter. Besides, "juicy gossip" isn't really my thing. What does matter is what God did, and what He is doing.
My first reaction to bad news is usually a flare of temper. I am most definitely not boasting about that, nor am I excusing it. It is just the truth. This time, however, I was sad. My first reaction was not explosive, loud, or angry, it was simply overwhelming sadness that sin had ruled. After the news had time to sink in, I went to the bathroom and cried. I yelled at God for a minute (yep...proud moment right there...), but then, asked Him to help me not want to be angry. That is definitely a new thing I'm trying out...so far, He is quite gracious to help and answer in my time of request...which is pretty much His character.
As a few restless nights ensued, combined with a thought life that just would not shut down for a moment, I wanted to give in to the emotions. It is SO much easier to just let them win...at least in the moment. My hubster was overwhelming in his compassion. We're talking above and beyond, crying with me, and just giving me a lot of hugs-not even trying to "fix" it! So, when we were in the car together, and I looked at him and asked him a question, he knew I was not asking in anger. He understood my heart, and answered directly to it.
My question: How is this good? How is this for my good and God's glory, when it is all sin? He looked at me (carefully...he was driving!), and said some things that I hope I will never forget. He told me it was for my good to take my hurt to Jesus, and remember He loves me and cares for me. He reminded me God is glorified when I let Him handle my hurts, when I let Him hold my heart and change my emotions to His. Remembering how much He loves me is for my good...and His glory. How my great High Priest is interceding directly on my behalf to keep me from letting my own sinful temptations rule in my life.
I will never call the hurt this situation entailed, "good." But, some great has emerged. There is a little part of me that understands a little more about my good, good Father. There is also a memory of my husband's love for me. A moment that I probably won't forget...especially since I have this crazy memory that locks things in for a good, long time. After fourteen years together, I fell a little bit more in love with the man who has loved, guided, and walked alongside me through some pretty thin, without ever wavering. So, yes, this turned out to be for my good, and His glory.
My first reaction to bad news is usually a flare of temper. I am most definitely not boasting about that, nor am I excusing it. It is just the truth. This time, however, I was sad. My first reaction was not explosive, loud, or angry, it was simply overwhelming sadness that sin had ruled. After the news had time to sink in, I went to the bathroom and cried. I yelled at God for a minute (yep...proud moment right there...), but then, asked Him to help me not want to be angry. That is definitely a new thing I'm trying out...so far, He is quite gracious to help and answer in my time of request...which is pretty much His character.
As a few restless nights ensued, combined with a thought life that just would not shut down for a moment, I wanted to give in to the emotions. It is SO much easier to just let them win...at least in the moment. My hubster was overwhelming in his compassion. We're talking above and beyond, crying with me, and just giving me a lot of hugs-not even trying to "fix" it! So, when we were in the car together, and I looked at him and asked him a question, he knew I was not asking in anger. He understood my heart, and answered directly to it.
My question: How is this good? How is this for my good and God's glory, when it is all sin? He looked at me (carefully...he was driving!), and said some things that I hope I will never forget. He told me it was for my good to take my hurt to Jesus, and remember He loves me and cares for me. He reminded me God is glorified when I let Him handle my hurts, when I let Him hold my heart and change my emotions to His. Remembering how much He loves me is for my good...and His glory. How my great High Priest is interceding directly on my behalf to keep me from letting my own sinful temptations rule in my life.
I will never call the hurt this situation entailed, "good." But, some great has emerged. There is a little part of me that understands a little more about my good, good Father. There is also a memory of my husband's love for me. A moment that I probably won't forget...especially since I have this crazy memory that locks things in for a good, long time. After fourteen years together, I fell a little bit more in love with the man who has loved, guided, and walked alongside me through some pretty thin, without ever wavering. So, yes, this turned out to be for my good, and His glory.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Mother's Day
I. Don't. Like. It.
I don't. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the little cards, the half-dead marigold (teacher might as well give my child the dead one...I'll kill it within a week...no matter how hard I try.) I have every card my children have ever made me, and every one my husband has ever given me. But, let's break this down. On your child's birthday, do you let them lay around doing nothing, expecting to be served? Do you let them act like jerks all because it's "their" day? Of course not. Even in the midst of attempting to give them a good day, we battle the "entitlement monster." And really, we have birthdays way backward. THAT'S the day we should be giving mom's a day! My mom, for example, labored for over 24 hours, had nurses sitting on her, and was without all drugs to help bring me into the world. Really. That deserves some acknowledgement. All I did was show up...eventually....and I get all the gifts!
Back to the topic at hand. I cannot stand when my children think they are entitled to anything. So, as one of their primary examples, once a year, I let them know how entitled I am to lavish gifts, "time off", and anything I want. My expectations are huge. No fighting, breakfast in bed (on a Sunday?!?), sparkly things in nice boxes, the baby to change her own diaper, and a husband who just cannot seem to praise me enough, or give me enough "me" time.
Somehow, it just doesn't seem to be right...at all. In our season of service, we want the time to "pause" so that we can be glorified. We've bought into the culture that screams for "our rights" and "me time." The Lord knows we need time away. That's why He said to "be still and know I am God" and to "meditate on My words day and night." A wonderful 60 minute massage, or even a full night's sleep, is not going to give the rest we need. In just a few short years, the kids will be gone. We won't have dishes for seven, laundry for everyone (and apparently 100 other people, because seriously, where did all these clothes come from?!?), and bathrooms that are dirty before the bleach has dried. I cannot, yet, imagine what it will be like without all the little people in our home. I haven't slept through the night in over three years, and no matter how much I work, our home is never clean, and the laundry basket is never empty. This is my season. This is our season. Letting go of the expectations of glorification makes every single little thing mean so much. Getting up, knowing service will be before me until I go back to bed, becomes a reminder that this, this, is precisely what God has called me to today. If I hear "well done, thou good and faithful servant" tomorrow, something happened that I did not see coming. Lord willing, I will hear that phrase when I meet Jesus. Unless God has a much different plan than I do, I won't hear that tomorrow.
Motherhood is way more difficult than I ever expected. I'm not even talking about the physical fatigue, which makes my college all-nighters look like child's-play. The emotional and spiritual toll of being face-to-face with my own failure on a day-to-day basis is intense. Having to tell a little, disrespectful, ungrateful child that I am sorry because I sinned against them is a hit to the pride...let me tell you. And that is what all of this is about. Pride. The root of our entitlement. The reason we have hugely unmet expectations. The seed that blooms into bitterness.
If we ever hope to have our children rise up and call us blessed, and our husband to praise us at the gates, we need to let the routine of rising while it is yet night to do the work we were called to do define our every moment. (Proverbs 31)
Happy Mother's Day. Now go change a diaper.
I don't. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the little cards, the half-dead marigold (teacher might as well give my child the dead one...I'll kill it within a week...no matter how hard I try.) I have every card my children have ever made me, and every one my husband has ever given me. But, let's break this down. On your child's birthday, do you let them lay around doing nothing, expecting to be served? Do you let them act like jerks all because it's "their" day? Of course not. Even in the midst of attempting to give them a good day, we battle the "entitlement monster." And really, we have birthdays way backward. THAT'S the day we should be giving mom's a day! My mom, for example, labored for over 24 hours, had nurses sitting on her, and was without all drugs to help bring me into the world. Really. That deserves some acknowledgement. All I did was show up...eventually....and I get all the gifts!
Back to the topic at hand. I cannot stand when my children think they are entitled to anything. So, as one of their primary examples, once a year, I let them know how entitled I am to lavish gifts, "time off", and anything I want. My expectations are huge. No fighting, breakfast in bed (on a Sunday?!?), sparkly things in nice boxes, the baby to change her own diaper, and a husband who just cannot seem to praise me enough, or give me enough "me" time.
Somehow, it just doesn't seem to be right...at all. In our season of service, we want the time to "pause" so that we can be glorified. We've bought into the culture that screams for "our rights" and "me time." The Lord knows we need time away. That's why He said to "be still and know I am God" and to "meditate on My words day and night." A wonderful 60 minute massage, or even a full night's sleep, is not going to give the rest we need. In just a few short years, the kids will be gone. We won't have dishes for seven, laundry for everyone (and apparently 100 other people, because seriously, where did all these clothes come from?!?), and bathrooms that are dirty before the bleach has dried. I cannot, yet, imagine what it will be like without all the little people in our home. I haven't slept through the night in over three years, and no matter how much I work, our home is never clean, and the laundry basket is never empty. This is my season. This is our season. Letting go of the expectations of glorification makes every single little thing mean so much. Getting up, knowing service will be before me until I go back to bed, becomes a reminder that this, this, is precisely what God has called me to today. If I hear "well done, thou good and faithful servant" tomorrow, something happened that I did not see coming. Lord willing, I will hear that phrase when I meet Jesus. Unless God has a much different plan than I do, I won't hear that tomorrow.
Motherhood is way more difficult than I ever expected. I'm not even talking about the physical fatigue, which makes my college all-nighters look like child's-play. The emotional and spiritual toll of being face-to-face with my own failure on a day-to-day basis is intense. Having to tell a little, disrespectful, ungrateful child that I am sorry because I sinned against them is a hit to the pride...let me tell you. And that is what all of this is about. Pride. The root of our entitlement. The reason we have hugely unmet expectations. The seed that blooms into bitterness.
If we ever hope to have our children rise up and call us blessed, and our husband to praise us at the gates, we need to let the routine of rising while it is yet night to do the work we were called to do define our every moment. (Proverbs 31)
Happy Mother's Day. Now go change a diaper.
Thursday, December 1, 2016
On Your Birthday
Today is your birthday. You're 5th birthday, to be exact. Last year, we had a bright purple and pink cake with sprinkles all over...and Shopkins as "cake decor". We bought you a small gift-a Doc McStuffins medical bag, and you played with it almost everyday. You will never know I remember. You'll never know how much I still care. I wanted to send you a birthday card, but my request was denied. So, I'll pray for you, instead. It isn't like you won't be cared for. You'll receive plenty of presents. There will be cake and maybe even balloons. The new people in your life, and the old, will care for you. The lack of gifts from us will not make a difference.
But, you made a difference. To us. To me. Your presence in our lives stamped my heart, and changed me forever. It isn't that I don't have more work than I can handle. It isn't even that I would like more children-five is more than plenty. It isn't that I think you should still live with us-you need your biological family more than they might ever know. When you were here, you were so conflicted. You asked me if you could take our last name, but then cried when a visit was missed. So, I know you are where you need to be...where you should be.
Before you were here, I never realized how true the statement, "It's better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all" was. I loved you. You weren't the easiest child for me to bond with. You held me at arms length, and pushed every button you could find to make me prove I would love you no matter what. You let me know I was not your momma...a lot. You let me know how much you had at your other home. You made sure I knew I didn't do things your way. You changed me. You taught me love was a choice, and a verb. You taught me that choosing to love can mean signing up to be hurt...over and over again.
People told me how strong I was. Little did they know, the only thing this crazy situation proved 100% was how absolutely weak, ineffective, and incapable I am without the Lord. You say you could never love knowing you would lose. I was taught that loving, knowing a devastating loss was coming, was the lesson Jesus died to teach me...teach all of us. Yes, it hurt. It still hurts. In getting out the winter supplies, I found the jackets they used. The boots. The mittens. One of their stuffed animals. My heart hurts. I'm missing her birthday today. Facebook popped up a picture of the cake. There are reminders everywhere they were here. It hurts, and I am weak. I am sad. My heart is forever changed because a dark-haired, dark-eyed, half-pint of a little girl came through my door. She left the same way she came in...in a quick flurry. But, given the chance, I will do it all again for whoever the Lord allows. So, happy birthday, my Borrowed #2. I love you. You were a precious gift, and I will forever be grateful.
But, you made a difference. To us. To me. Your presence in our lives stamped my heart, and changed me forever. It isn't that I don't have more work than I can handle. It isn't even that I would like more children-five is more than plenty. It isn't that I think you should still live with us-you need your biological family more than they might ever know. When you were here, you were so conflicted. You asked me if you could take our last name, but then cried when a visit was missed. So, I know you are where you need to be...where you should be.
Before you were here, I never realized how true the statement, "It's better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all" was. I loved you. You weren't the easiest child for me to bond with. You held me at arms length, and pushed every button you could find to make me prove I would love you no matter what. You let me know I was not your momma...a lot. You let me know how much you had at your other home. You made sure I knew I didn't do things your way. You changed me. You taught me love was a choice, and a verb. You taught me that choosing to love can mean signing up to be hurt...over and over again.
People told me how strong I was. Little did they know, the only thing this crazy situation proved 100% was how absolutely weak, ineffective, and incapable I am without the Lord. You say you could never love knowing you would lose. I was taught that loving, knowing a devastating loss was coming, was the lesson Jesus died to teach me...teach all of us. Yes, it hurt. It still hurts. In getting out the winter supplies, I found the jackets they used. The boots. The mittens. One of their stuffed animals. My heart hurts. I'm missing her birthday today. Facebook popped up a picture of the cake. There are reminders everywhere they were here. It hurts, and I am weak. I am sad. My heart is forever changed because a dark-haired, dark-eyed, half-pint of a little girl came through my door. She left the same way she came in...in a quick flurry. But, given the chance, I will do it all again for whoever the Lord allows. So, happy birthday, my Borrowed #2. I love you. You were a precious gift, and I will forever be grateful.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Quiet
It has been said that to create, keep, and grow your reading audience, one should never let too much time pass between posts. People will lose interest, their affections will wane, and the rise to being more well known will stop. Although I completely understand the truth in that exhortation to write, I cannot write that way. There are SO many words out there. With the boom of blogs, facebook, twitter, snapchat, and other media sources, there is a plethora of words. Those words are rarely used to edify others, though. They back-bite, they judge, they scorn, they ridicule, they tear down. The words that used to be eloquent have become ugly, and we are all the worse for it.
Obviously, as a "blogger" I am not opposed to social media outlets. But, as the Lord has been teaching me in an intense manner, sometimes the best way to grow is to be quiet.
The past few months have been painful. They have devastated my hopes and dreams and left me with scars. The loss of our +2 was intense, but we moved quickly into the next phase of what we thought God had for us. We actively pursued foster care. I had personal phone calls with the intake coordinator at the agency we were going to work with. Then, during our only date in months, we had my dear sister watch our kids so Richard and I could go to a three hour orientation meeting. After, we spent (literally!) four hours filling out the mountains of paperwork. We also had the "opportunity" to humble ourselves in asking several people to be character witnesses for us (a part of the approval process). As soon as that packet was finished, Joy Baby and I walked to the post office to get it directly into the mail. Two days later, we received the phone call that there had been a misunderstanding between the agency and us. Due to the size of our home, and the age of our oldest, we would not be approved to foster. It was another loss, and a painful one at that. We were stopped from helping little kids?!? The "why's" to that were unanswered. We then realized the only way we would ever be approved to do foster care would be to get a bigger home. With our condo constantly losing value, that would include me going back to work to help with finances. Low and behold, a few days later, the school sent home a letter begging for substitute teachers. Richard's start time for work had been pushed to a late start during the day, so I was available! I spent (more) hours getting the application, paperwork, and interviews taken care of. I was hired, and ready to go. Two weeks later, Richard's start time changed, and I could no longer work.
As a type A++ personality, seeing what needs to be done, and not being able/allowed to get the job done is maddening. The pain of loss was real, the confusion was growing, and my hope was "tired." My hope was never lost, but the pain of hope after hope being taken away can really wear a girl down! That brings me back to where I started. Quiet. Be still. Those are most definitely NOT my strong suits! Apparently, though, those are "strong suits" the Lord wants me to work on, because He will not let me get away from them. Being frazzled and hyper does nothing but take away from the place where God has planted me. If I am going to truly grow, so that, Lord willing, I will ever be able to help anyone, I have to sit down, shut up, and listen to the One Who knows and loves me best. In all reality, the story is not about me...it MUST be about Him and His glory. Out of the beauty of His living and active Word (Hebrews 4:12...my favorite!), grows the depth of character that can have its hopes dashed, and continue steadfastly on the path set out. And, perhaps, out of those lessons can come something new and unforeseen that is more useful than ever hoped for.
Out of the Quiet place, a book has begun. Lord willing, Autism: Our Journey to Grace will be published June, 2017.
Obviously, as a "blogger" I am not opposed to social media outlets. But, as the Lord has been teaching me in an intense manner, sometimes the best way to grow is to be quiet.
Psalm 46:10 says to, "Be still (quiet), and know that I am God." emphasis mine.
As a type A++ personality, seeing what needs to be done, and not being able/allowed to get the job done is maddening. The pain of loss was real, the confusion was growing, and my hope was "tired." My hope was never lost, but the pain of hope after hope being taken away can really wear a girl down! That brings me back to where I started. Quiet. Be still. Those are most definitely NOT my strong suits! Apparently, though, those are "strong suits" the Lord wants me to work on, because He will not let me get away from them. Being frazzled and hyper does nothing but take away from the place where God has planted me. If I am going to truly grow, so that, Lord willing, I will ever be able to help anyone, I have to sit down, shut up, and listen to the One Who knows and loves me best. In all reality, the story is not about me...it MUST be about Him and His glory. Out of the beauty of His living and active Word (Hebrews 4:12...my favorite!), grows the depth of character that can have its hopes dashed, and continue steadfastly on the path set out. And, perhaps, out of those lessons can come something new and unforeseen that is more useful than ever hoped for.
Out of the Quiet place, a book has begun. Lord willing, Autism: Our Journey to Grace will be published June, 2017.
Friday, September 2, 2016
Loss
It has been said that grief is not a line, but a circle. It is never "over," even though the pain may lesson over time...unless there is a trigger that knocks you to the ground, takes your breath away, and wracks you with sobs.
A year ago, (according to my facebook, "on this day"), I posted that our family would be +1. Within a few weeks, it actually became +2. I didn't even ask for the second, their mom just told me she would stay because it was best for the girls to be together. For twelve months, I did laundry for 9-an unbelievable amount of work! I did dishes for 9-we don't have a dishwasher. (Richard does do those a lot, though, so perhaps I kinda have a dishwasher.) I did meals for 9. When they first moved in, the younger ate more that I did. A 25 pound little girl was so malnourished, she ate more than a 5'11" woman who works out everyday.
Over the next few months, we rearranged our entire home. We gave up the master bedroom to move the kids into it, since it is quite a bit larger than the other room. Oh, yes. We live in a 2-bedroom condo...we aren't exactly the "Fritz" here. We bought furniture, clothes, toys, school supplies, every single thing they needed. We trained and trained our 5 to love them-they were "different" and it was a struggle. We had to change our vehicles, and ended up driving two vans every single time we were all together. I joked we were the Grand Caravan caravan each Sunday morning. They became our family, and we started to think long term.
My heart was always "long term." I loved them before I even met them, and begged God to make it happen. For the first time in my adult life, I talked to people who terrified me. Social Services ended up being called by an outside person, and I had to talk to them. In the end, they literally told me it was me that kept them safe. I started making other phone calls, and found out our +2 were living in our home illegally. Since we are not, nor could we be, an approved foster care home or family of the girls, it was illegal for the girls to live with us. So, we started looking into guardianship. We all talked, and it was agreed upon. We decided to move forward, fully believing it would all work out. We found a lawyer, and got the paperwork we needed to start. All we needed was a signature...
There are a few more details, but needless to say, the bottom fell out of our plan. I was a signature away from being #2 momma, and it all stopped. One thing Richard and I were deeply convicted of was that we would not "fight." We fully believed the Lord had called us to this process in peace. We knew we could do a "contested guardianship," but for the sake of the girls, and based on our convictions, we refused to go that route. One of the things I am struggling with, is that I told her how much I love her girls, and how afraid I was that she would take them away. As her circumstances increased, she decided to use my fear against me. When I would not cave to her threats or ultimatums, the decision was up to her. After sixteen months of having the girls as often as needed, almost without warning, they were gone.
Little did I realize, but I had begun to wrap my identity around having them in our home. It was always work, and honestly I was more of a referee most days than anything, but I saw myself with them around. And, as the calendar would have it, school was just around the corner. Within the period of three weeks, we went from 7 kids in our home 24 hours/day, to 1. The loss of our +2 was fairly devastating to me. (And I am fully aware that "devastation" is a pretty major thing...) I could not walk past the kiddos room without checking if they were there. I would think I heard their voices as our kids played together. I thought I heard the ringtone of their mom a few times. When your identity slowly wades away from where it should be into something or someone, the loss of that item will probably knock you out. It did for me. As a side note, I did not stop reading my Bible. I did not stop praying. I did not stop my routine of fasting. I had "simply" added to who I am in Christ, and the removal sent me into a tailspin of near depression. As my four olders headed back to school, my sadness was deep and overwhelming. My poor husband... I was "losing" my entire identity.
With every passing hour, day, and week, God's Truth that has been poured into me did not return void. Godly preaching, an incredibly loving and godly husband, and the daily clinging to His Word did was it is all supposed to do. It revealed my sin and grew me (at least a little bit, I hope!). Did it take the pain away? Not so much. Because loss is just that, loss. It changed the pain, though. There was a quiet revelation of what God needs me to do now...and by "now", I mean today. I have no idea what tomorrow may bring, just like I had no idea a simple phone call would lead to 2 little girls entering our home (the same day!) for 16 months, and forever changing my heart.
A year ago, (according to my facebook, "on this day"), I posted that our family would be +1. Within a few weeks, it actually became +2. I didn't even ask for the second, their mom just told me she would stay because it was best for the girls to be together. For twelve months, I did laundry for 9-an unbelievable amount of work! I did dishes for 9-we don't have a dishwasher. (Richard does do those a lot, though, so perhaps I kinda have a dishwasher.) I did meals for 9. When they first moved in, the younger ate more that I did. A 25 pound little girl was so malnourished, she ate more than a 5'11" woman who works out everyday.
Over the next few months, we rearranged our entire home. We gave up the master bedroom to move the kids into it, since it is quite a bit larger than the other room. Oh, yes. We live in a 2-bedroom condo...we aren't exactly the "Fritz" here. We bought furniture, clothes, toys, school supplies, every single thing they needed. We trained and trained our 5 to love them-they were "different" and it was a struggle. We had to change our vehicles, and ended up driving two vans every single time we were all together. I joked we were the Grand Caravan caravan each Sunday morning. They became our family, and we started to think long term.
My heart was always "long term." I loved them before I even met them, and begged God to make it happen. For the first time in my adult life, I talked to people who terrified me. Social Services ended up being called by an outside person, and I had to talk to them. In the end, they literally told me it was me that kept them safe. I started making other phone calls, and found out our +2 were living in our home illegally. Since we are not, nor could we be, an approved foster care home or family of the girls, it was illegal for the girls to live with us. So, we started looking into guardianship. We all talked, and it was agreed upon. We decided to move forward, fully believing it would all work out. We found a lawyer, and got the paperwork we needed to start. All we needed was a signature...
There are a few more details, but needless to say, the bottom fell out of our plan. I was a signature away from being #2 momma, and it all stopped. One thing Richard and I were deeply convicted of was that we would not "fight." We fully believed the Lord had called us to this process in peace. We knew we could do a "contested guardianship," but for the sake of the girls, and based on our convictions, we refused to go that route. One of the things I am struggling with, is that I told her how much I love her girls, and how afraid I was that she would take them away. As her circumstances increased, she decided to use my fear against me. When I would not cave to her threats or ultimatums, the decision was up to her. After sixteen months of having the girls as often as needed, almost without warning, they were gone.
Little did I realize, but I had begun to wrap my identity around having them in our home. It was always work, and honestly I was more of a referee most days than anything, but I saw myself with them around. And, as the calendar would have it, school was just around the corner. Within the period of three weeks, we went from 7 kids in our home 24 hours/day, to 1. The loss of our +2 was fairly devastating to me. (And I am fully aware that "devastation" is a pretty major thing...) I could not walk past the kiddos room without checking if they were there. I would think I heard their voices as our kids played together. I thought I heard the ringtone of their mom a few times. When your identity slowly wades away from where it should be into something or someone, the loss of that item will probably knock you out. It did for me. As a side note, I did not stop reading my Bible. I did not stop praying. I did not stop my routine of fasting. I had "simply" added to who I am in Christ, and the removal sent me into a tailspin of near depression. As my four olders headed back to school, my sadness was deep and overwhelming. My poor husband... I was "losing" my entire identity.
With every passing hour, day, and week, God's Truth that has been poured into me did not return void. Godly preaching, an incredibly loving and godly husband, and the daily clinging to His Word did was it is all supposed to do. It revealed my sin and grew me (at least a little bit, I hope!). Did it take the pain away? Not so much. Because loss is just that, loss. It changed the pain, though. There was a quiet revelation of what God needs me to do now...and by "now", I mean today. I have no idea what tomorrow may bring, just like I had no idea a simple phone call would lead to 2 little girls entering our home (the same day!) for 16 months, and forever changing my heart.
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