as you are

[[ credit: Sarah Barrow ]]

Morning by Morning new mercies I see.

I have been so deeply convicted lately about my heart toward my children sometimes. Hold on if you're gonna go with me in this, because it's gonna get gritty and real. If you're a rainbows and unicorns kind of person, this isn't for you. You got this. Go watch Netflix.

I have a tendency, as I think many of us do, to put yesterday's junk on today's plate. We all do it, right? When the battery in your car died this morning, you close your eyes tightly and hope it starts up this time as you turn that key. When your child throws a fit about beans on their plate, you take a deep breath and gird your loins for battle, knowing the wrath you will face when you set that plate before your sweet little cupcake and his gaze meets the pile of legumes you've so insultingly offered him.

We all do it.

"She's my relative who always _________."
"That's the cashier who never __________."
"He's my neighbor who _______________."
"She's my kid that ___________________."

You fill in the blanks. It isn't necessarily a bad or wrong thing, expectations are real, but it CAN be.

I put my kids' yesterdays on their tomorrows. I do it big-time.

In the foster/adopt world we like to talk about "trauma." It's a real thing for these kids… and for us. These kids have memories and expectations, realities of the past that have taught them how to see the future, how to see big people, how to see men, how to see pets, how to feel about food or busy places, touches or smells, dark rooms and certain sounds. Their past experiences deeply affect every part of who they are in their little bodies and souls… but it doesn't have to forever. Part of our job as foster parents is to help re-write their expectations with them. With each thing we do in a good and right way, we are overwriting the trauma memories. It doesn't have to affect them forever.

It doesn't have to for us either, Parents. 

For me, it plays out in different ways. But I'm noticing it most with Clover. She had a rough start in life. Really, really, rough. The first photo I ever took of her, and one I took a month later looked like two completely different people. Almost no real resemblance. She changed so much, but was still in a rough place. Her start in life wasn't fair. I tell my kids all the time that "fair isn't a thing," but that justice is. Her circumstances reeked of injustice. At first my heart felt all of the feelings that it should- tenderness, sorrow, compassion, empathy. But guys... with every scream it got harder.

For about 3m my world was full of just screams. Hours. Hours and hours of screaming for seemingly no reason. If one more well-meaning person in a soft and inquisitive tone asked me if I thought if she "could maybe have reflux?" I was gonna cut someone. [Sidenote- she didn't, and doesn't.]

We weren't sleeping much, we didn't have the sweet snuggles with every feeding, but a wrestling match that took 45 minutes just to get 2 ounces down. We had 4 others at the time who were little and loud and silly and naughty and needy and we were wiped. We had appointments and paperwork and visits and special formulas and therapies and more we were learning to navigate. We were in a hard place.

That hard place though, was also the beginning place. This is how we met. We met Clover in the midst of all of it. We met while she was miserable. We met while she was doing what babies do when they're miserable— scream. We were miserable too. Our beginning was- in full honesty- miserable. For all of us.

Now, things are different! PRAISE THE LORD. Very different. For 3m straight she screamed. Then… she didn't. We saw more and more moments where she was present. She was borderline happy. Almost actually content.

WE had trauma memories. Us, the adults. We did. We put her yesterdays on how we felt today. We were seeing her as she had been, not as she was today. When we looked at her, when we walked toward her crib to get her, when people asked what she was like, we drew on 3+ months of misery, not on how she was in that moment. She's almost 6m old now, and I am seeing the cute little baby that everyone else sees. But it's still a choice. We have to consciously choose to not feel yesterday's feelings today. We have to outgrow our own trauma memories and pour mercy and grace over the experiences attached to these little people in our lives.

Since I've noticed it so strongly in my current situation and my history with Clover, I've started to notice it in littler ways with all of my children.

When I choose to start fresh, to offer the newness of today to my kids, to let go of my expectations and enjoy them as they are, here, today, in each moment— how much more blessed my time with them really is!

How unfair life would feel (and sometimes does) if we weren't seen as we are, as we've grown and changed, but only as we were. I wouldn't have a single friend, y'all! They'd not want a darn thing to do with me because my list of mistakes and bad qualities stretches on and on.

It's not that I intentionally woke up and DECIDED to think "Ugh, today will be full of all of the crying and this bottle will be impossible to get down, and that other kiddo is going to break that rule again, and the really hard work I've done with this kid won't stick because nothing ever sticks, and where's my coffee…."

Nobody plans it, it just happens. Some folks are blessed with all of the happy, blissful, optimistic, rainbows and unicorns thoughts. Maybe that's you! If it is, stop and pray right now and thank the Lord because if there's one thing having 6 kids (really my first 2 drove this home for me) has taught me it's that we are hardwired to be who we are, and our nature is our nature from day one. We can do work, and we can have ups and downs. We can even have biological superpowers that block out the negative truths and make us see our past experiences in a dreamy haze [hello hormones!], or even our current experiences [cue the people who think their baby is the cutest and he totally looks like Gollum- you've met them]. Hormonal fogs aside, growth, change, whatever- for the most part- we are who we are. My inquisitive child has been inquisitive from day one. My content child has been content from day one. My dramatic child… my sensitive child… my gentle child… my stubborn child… my smart child… my kindhearted child…. my funny child… my athletic child…

You get the idea. We are who we are. Go ask your Granny, your Auntie, your Mama, your Mammy, (thanks, Macklemore) and they'll likely tell you they see qualities in you today that were still there just the same when you were bitty. If you're naturally positive and easy-going maybe this isn't an issue for you because of your God-given nature. Thank the Lord, man. Thank Him. 

For the rest of us, we gotta choose it, and it's hard. It's hard work. But- it's like flexing a muscle. The more you do it, the easier it gets, and the more rewarding the experience becomes. Don't let your memories rule your heart or mind. CHOOSE today. Morning by morning, new mercies we see, and therefore- new mercies we can offer. We are given, so that we can extend. It's hard, still some days harder than others, but with each day that I choose to see my kids as they are, not as they were, I am more blessed by them, more in love with them, more proud and affectionate, more of all the good things.

And, if it's work for us, for our big, grown-up hearts, how much harder must it be for these little tiny people who learned their "yesterdays" so early? We are all battling together.

"No one is strutting through foster care; we're all limping in some way - certainly the kids, their families, case workers, the "system" and even (sometimes especially) us. At some point we come to the realization that it's not so much "us" helping "them" - it's just "us," together - all uniquely broken, wired for struggle and worthy of grace." 

- Jason Johnson

we're getting a 7yr old

We're getting a 7yr old boy. We already have a 7yr old boy. That's "twin" 7yr old boys. Six kids. We never thought we'd foster boys after Corinne came to us, and we never thought we'd foster kids over 3yrs old. WE never thought so, but I have a feeling it was decided for us long ago.

My heart has been restless for weeks now because of the foster care crisis happening in our area. Lots of kids, but not lots of homes. There are so many factors at play between policy changes, big staff rollovers, tragedies in the news, investigations into departments… it's just a perfect storm and the only people caught in it without shelter are the children.

Children. They've done nothing wrong.

I know and love lots of these little ones. They're my friends' kids. They've come into our lives, into our church, into our community, into our classrooms, and we love them. Horrible things have happened to them. I know kids who…

• have cigarette burns on their bodies
• were beaten with extension cords
• were forced to eat dog poop
• weren't fed 
• had adults touch them in unspeakable ways
• still smelled after multiple baths because they'd not been bathed in so long
• needed dental surgeries because their teeth fell out from neglect and malnutrition
• came into care with open, bleeding, untreated wounds
• were in elementary school but were left responsible for their siblings' wellbeing and safety
• were born addicted to drugs and abandoned in the hospital
• were completely abandoned at public transportation stops

Not just that I've heard about them. I know them. They've sat in my lap, played with my kids, eaten dinner with us, shared our things, and they call me Ms. Kate. I can match precious souls to the stories I just listed. 

Make you sick? Mad? Sad? 

Make you want to help? I hope it does. Please, say it does. Please. You can help. 

We're saying yes to Clover Baby's half brother. He's 7, sweet, and probably very sad and scared. He's being separated from his 3yr old brother because there are no homes that can take them both. None. Not one. They've been looking all week. For legal reasons (among others) we can't take the 3yr old. Foster homes can only have a total of 6 children in the home. We only have one spot left and there are rules about ages so that small children get the care they need, so we aren't able to say yes to the 3yr old. 

This boy has been torn from his family and put with strangers, in a strange city, at a strange school, and will also be torn apart from his brother who he has been with always. He's old enough to understand some things, to have questions, fears, and big feelings. 

And I'm terrified. What if I mess up? What if I don't have the right words or the right answers? What if he doesn't like us? What if he doesn't get along with our kids? I could, quite frankly, fill a whole day with my "what ifs" and never use the same one twice. 

When we were asked if we'd take him, I immediately had 392 thoughts about why it's not going to work… but not one of those thoughts could I bear to utter to his little face, or, bigger still, to the face of my Lord when I stand before Him and give account of my life. 

"Well, it would be even harder to get in and out of our vehicle and he'd fill the last seat in it." 

WEAK. 

"It would mean all 3 boys would have to share a room." 

PITIFUL.  

"He might know things and say things we don't want our kids exposed to." 

COWARDLY.  

I couldn't even utter my own objections because they felt so flimsy on my lips. I picked up my phone, called James, and told him we'd been asked. All I did was lay the situation in front of him to see how he responded. He sat silently for a moment and then said, "I mean… we don't have a GOOD reason to say no. Not one that actually matters enough or that we can't work around." Unity is a beautiful, wonderful gift. 

We called our agency, got the approval, said yes, and the worker was elated. He has to be separated from his brother, but at least he could grow with his brand new baby sister. It's the smallest of consolations in the most broken of situations. 

We sat down with our children and explained, prepared for "I don't want to share," and "but it's MY bed" and "for how long?" but instead we got excitement, empathy, meekness and willingness to be flexible. Now, they're kids- how long that will last— who knows, but, their immediately open hearts encouraged me. 

Here's where I'm resting—

How do we know the will of God? First, we refer to scripture. And He's made it VERY clear through much of the bible that caring for orphans is a command, that caring for orphans and vulnerable children is at the very heart of who He is. That we should love people, even if it's hard or uncomfortable. (Psalm 68.5-6, Deut 10.18, Psalm 10.14, James 1.27, Deut 14.29, Matt 25.40, Mark 12.31)

So, we're looking at something that was put before us, and is at the heart of God. When you are asked to do something that is good and right, and you don't have a real, sturdy reason to say no, I feel like that means you say yes. You say yes to the good and right things, and if it's not what the Lord has for you, in His goodness, He will protect you from it. Not everything that's good and right is good and right for everyone at the same moment, and the Lord knows what is best for us at each moment. Saying yes to good and right things isn't sin, but it might not be what He has for you, specifically. If you say no though, you might be being disobedient.

I'd rather be mistaken than disobedient, and I've learned that when I pursue good things but it isn't the path God has for me, He redirects me and guides me out of my good intentions into what He knows is better. I trust that He would do that here if it wasn't right for all of us. We said yes, and tomorrow afternoon a sweet, scared, 7yr old boy will be at my door. And, truthfully, I'm terrified.

Please pray for us all, mostly for him and his bother who will be going to another home.

And, please forgive me when I'm never on time again. 

they remember

Today, my heart fluttered in my chest, and I think everyone in my home felt for just a moment some faint pang of panic over memories we share. 

This morning I texted the worker who is filling in for the investigator assigned to Clover Baby. See, last Friday they called and asked if they could send someone to get her for her first visit with bio parents, but she already had an appointment with her attorney at that time so they said they'd reschedule. This morning, about 9:00am, I texted the worker and asked her to let me know when visits would be scheduled so I could make her an appointment for her 2wk well-check that wouldn't interfere with the visits. She responded and it went like this:

CPS: Can we come this morning to get her?
Me: What time?
CPS: The visit is at 11. The worker is on the way. Is that ok?
Me: So she'll be here around 10? I just need to know when to have her ready.
CPS: That's correct. And it will be a man. His name is ______. 

Cool. I had less than an hour to get her ready, pack her a bag, make sure there were instructions written out about her feeding schedule and some other specific special care she'd need, ALL WHILE getting C ready to meet her speech therapist who would be at my house within the next 15 minutes.

I laughed it off because in my experience this isn't really that unusual. I was just grateful they were sending a transporter and not asking me to load up my whole crew and rush her to Dallas. What if I hadn't texted to ask in the first place? Haha. "Oh, heeeeey strange man here to get my baby with no notice, c'mon in!" Sometimes you just have to laugh.

BUT- the point. The point here is what I totally failed to do. CPS surprised me, failed to give me notice, and in my haste to get her ready I failed to give notice to the two other people in my house at the time who have experienced the loss of a foster child too. I didn't prepare them. And friends, when that very kind man grabbed our little Clover Baby in her seat and headed out the door my children were suddenly at my feet, at the window, running back and forth asking me hurried and worried questions—

"Where is our baby going?"
"Why did he take her?"
"Who is that man?"
"Will she be back?"
"Is she going to live with someone else?"
"Can we say goodbye?"
"What are they doing with her?!"

When Jellybean left it was SUDDEN. It was a text— "bring her and all of her belongings to the visit as new placement has been secured for her." It was heartbreaking and unexpected and not even how a typical discharge goes. It was traumatic for us all.

On a deeper level than any other foster child, we had instant relationship with Jellybean. We knew she would come into care. C's bio family still had other children in CPS custody, and we knew the situation wasn't improved. She was our child's sister. She was from the same place, the same family, born in the same hospital, assigned the same workers, the same same samesamesame. That's how it felt, so to some degree our hearts half expected the same outcome. We had prayed for her and prepared for her and planned for her. We'd left our "foster spot" empty for her knowing she was due in January. We felt all kinds of feelings for her and prayed hours of prayers for her before she was ever even born. We felt all of those feelings for the three weeks she was with us. We smiled at the thought that just maybe C would get to be with her actual biological sister for the rest of her life. What a gift that would have been to her, to them both!

When I got the text telling me to have her things gathered and to turn her over to go to another foster family I fell apart. So sudden. For no reason. No reason that made sense. No reason that many involved approved of, but rather vocally opposed. It didn't matter. She left.

We always knew our kids could experience that, and we'd told them, even specifically about Jellybean, that she may not stay forever. That we just offer kids a home who need a safe place and a mom and a dad for a while. We reminded them when it was relevant, and sometimes in the quiet of the afternoon when nothing much was happening I would call those little ducklings over to me and gently remind their tiny hearts that the little sister they loved might go be someone else's sister someday, and we were just loving her for each day that God allowed her to be ours.

They would nod their round little heads, those chubby cheeks pulling into a half smile, and let me know that they remembered. Sometimes they'd stop right there and fold their little dimpled hands together and pray a prayer asking God to let her stay. I wouldn't stop them. I prayed the same prayer, and clearly it worked with Corinne. We had hope, but we tried to stay grounded in reality.

Then she was gone.

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It felt like a death. I've done the death thing. I've done the mourning and the loss and the grief and it's taken many shapes throughout my mere 29 years. I know that my practice with grief, my previous journeys through those valleys of loss and sadness helped me navigate this one. I felt depressed. Not clinical depression, but a reasonable depression that would follow the loss of a child. I was angry and sad and even scared for what it could mean for us in the future that she was gone. We mourned her, but we also grieved the loss of part of Corinne's story. This child who is ours, but wasn't always, who is like us, but isn't, who calls me Mama, but will learn she has another Mama somewhere… she lost so much that day and didn't even know it. There were layers to this grief just like there always are with any loss. I'd been through it, James had been through it, and we'd weathered the years after each heavy hit just trusting in Jesus that someday all of the sad things would come untrue and we'd delight fully in what we can only glimpse in part now.

But our kids hadn't journeyed. This was their first loss. Their first deep sadness. Their first journey to cling to all of the good things when everything seems sad and scary. We talked a LOT. We had midnight tears in beds. We had little ones say things like, "can you put that carseat away somewhere because it makes me think of [Jellybean] when I see it and it makes me sad." We encouraged all of the feelings to flow and the truths to be shared and the hurts to be spoken out loud. These tiny hearts learned the heaviness of grief very early, and only because we invited the danger into our home. We said yes to the risk. We knew, and we knew they would likely be hurt by it. Many a night has this Mama stared at the ceiling speaking truth to my heart over the desire to wrap them up and shield them from the hurt, to guard ourselves against the risk, and to close our doors to the dangers of love.

But, I genuinely believe my kids will be better for it.

"Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." -Romans 5.3-5

When Clover Baby went out our door this morning I hadn't stopped to explain to my kids that this was a normal visit, that she would get to be held and loved for a couple hours by her other mom and dad. She's got a mommy whose tummy she was born out of, and she wants to see her and smell her and kiss her and love her just like we get to, so she'll go there and then this nice man will drive her back home to us… was what I should have said. Instead I said, "y'all go play upstairs because I've got a lot to do this morning." Then the doorbell rang, and they came down just in time to see another baby sister loaded up, with a bag of stuff, being handed to another stranger, and of course their tiny hearts were filled with all of the fears and questions that ride on the heels of fresh grief.

I called those little ducklings to me, squatted down and looked in their big round eyes, and I said, "WOAH! I should have told you guys earlier but I forgot. Can you forgive me? This baby WILL come back. This baby is going just for a ride to see her other mom and dad, and then she's coming right back today. I PROMISE."

You know the craziest, scariest, most comforting, and unbelievable thing about it all? 

They trusted me. Completely. Instantly, and without hesitation. Their countenances calmed, their eyes got a little less wide, and those little ducklings waddled back off to play without another word about it.



Oh.
Oh, that I could trust the Father so easily when He speaks to me.