Grief Is SO Random

It's been almost 9 years since my father-in-love passed away. Since the drive to the hospital knowing his time was up I have had a supernatural peace about it. God is in control. He has a plan. We will see him again in Glory. So on and so forth.

Today it hit me like a ton of bricks and I feel so cheated. So wounded. For the first time ever ANGRY at God for taking him away. I wanted him with me today. I wanted him to see my girls dance in their ballet recital. I want him to go with me to tball and softball games this week. I want to rest my head on his shoulder as I sit beside him and I want to feel his soft hands pat my arm. He would be there. Every time. No matter what. But he can't be. 

Just so you know God. Not healing him on this earth when you could have really blows. I sure could use him down here with me today. 

And pretty much every other day too. 

My Burnt Offerings

Somewhere tonight a piece of my heart is tucked into a bed that I don't even know where is.

How can it be that a piece of my heart is so far removed from me that I don't know its location? 

Seems like that should be impossible. 

Yet here we are. 

I don't even know where you are,

But I can hear the rhythmic thump thump thump it takes to get you to sleep. 

I don't know where you are,

But I can hear the snores that rival any grown man's. 

I 

don't 

know 

where 

you 

are

and 

we 

are 

all 

so 

broken.

Do they know when you ask for hot you want oatmeal? 

Do they know when you ask for Kitty that you are asking for an eleven-year-old big sister and not the thing that goes meow?

Do they know when you ask for Cookie you want your 8-year-old big sister and not a snack?

Do they know that KK is your 13-year-old big sister that you clung to over a year ago accepting her love looooong before you ever accepted my maternal love?

I don't know where you are.

My heart is broken. 

You were supposed to have been in a home that would love you unconditionally no matter what. 

But our world is scarred. 

Broken. 

Downright ugly. 

Life has been unfairly messy for some of the babies. Especially you baby. That yuck comes out as defiance and ugly and it's hard to love, attach and bond when you're living with the overwhelming fear that trauma brings with it. 

And boy do I know firsthand how that looks for you. One of my earliest memories of you is circling a parking lot on a hot day with you strapped in a stroller snarling like a feral cat because you were so stinking upset and scared and didn't know why this strange lady had taken you away from everyone you ever knew. The fourth strange lady in less than a year. We couldn't disrupt classes that day so we circled the parking lot. Again, and again and again. Me singing with my wretched off-key voice just trying to comfort you. You hissing, spitting, and biting the air. Because you had to hurt whatever you could get your teeth on. Even if it was just air. Because hurt was all you knew.

Trauma has broken you.

And so the home that wouldn't give up did. 

And you have been failed again.

I wish you knew how much you are loved and wanted. 

But all that you know is that we are another family that left you. Another family that failed. And we really and truly did fail. 

They called us into the office and told us they were taking you from us and we begged and argued and cried to no avail. They had their own perspectives and ours didn't matter. They saw that our lives were too stressed out, that we were yelling too much. That our marriage was in danger. That other kids in the home were miserable. They couldn't figure out how to provide you with the therapy you so desperately needed. They were afraid you would hurt us somehow. Our rebuttals fell on deaf ears. They said if they were wrong that we could come back and punch them in the face. As if that was a logical, acceptable way to extend to us the slimmest possibility that they really didn't know what was best. Then we came home and we lost you. For thirty whole minutes I was running up and down streets, barefoot, frantically searching for the baby who escaped in under four minutes. Four minutes was all it took to completely amputate me and leave me with no leg to stand on. No way to fight to keep you.

In those four minutes, our fates were sealed and you would be eventually taken from us. It took four tragic unreversible minutes for our names to be written on forms that we had only seen in case files that belonged to other people's children. 

We knew you were a runner. 

You had done it before. 

We should have known better. 

We should have never let our guard down. 

Not even for a second. 

You were worth whatever it cost us.

So now you are out there somewhere sweet baby. 

Completely lost from me once more. 

I would run a marathon barefoot through the desert if it would bring you back home to me. 

I don't know if you will ever come home to us. 

I can't come running this time. 

It is up to the powers to be to decide where you call home. 

I can't come looking. 

I'm just another Mom who failed you. We are many. You don't deserve this.

In this darkness there is light. 

You are safe. 

There is a glimmer of hope for us all. 

I can cling to the hope of Christ. 

That even when I fail. 

He does not. 

I can't guarantee you will come back to me.

There is no guarantee you will ever know how desperately wanted you are.

So I lay it all on the altar of my heart.

I choose to share it all openly because that is the only way I know how to pay for my offering. To make my failures public. Instead of hiding them deep within.

My sacrifice is burnt offerings of my sin, my grief, my shortcomings, and failures. My doubts. My hopes. My dreams. My fears. Poured out on the altar for all to see. 

I have wrestled with this long and hard but I am ready to make Abraham's prayer my own. As he lifted the knife to sacrifice his only son. I lift up and acknowledge that we may not be what is best for you dear, sweet baby. And you deserve the very best that God has for you. Even if that isn't me. 

Here I am God. I trust You to provide.

I give it all to God.

I trust Him with you.

With me.

With all of our story. 

Why Time In the Word Is So Important

A few weeks ago I found out I had to say goodbye to the first child I thought it was realistically safe to expect to adopt. Sure the word adoption had been thrown out and around before, but this was more concrete. I thought I was going to get a front row seat to watch God transform this baby I didn't make, but whole heartedly loved as if I did, from broken, abused and unwanted to loved, treasured, and desperately hoped for. Fully expecting that one day he would be healed from the trauma he never deserved. Fortunately this sweet child is still going to get those things, it's just not going to be here with me like I had hoped for.

When all this went down I spiraled hard and fast. My feet were knocked out from under me and my breath was completely knocked out of me. I didn't know if I could get up again. If I would ever breathe again. Or even want to. Why go through the pain of taking in and loving a child who is utterly devastated and broken if they're just going to take that child away and not let me see it through to the other side?

I started to dream of running away. My husband has been on unemployment for far too long and the only offers he gets for work he declines because they would take us away from where we are now. If we leave here we would have to step away from fostering for at least a season. The temptation to quit foster care, to walk away from the trauma and the heartache of it all, has never been so strong in my life. We could take a job somewhere, anywhere, and our tiny core family of five could live the simple life. Traveling and chasing after jobs. Touring the country and soaking up life together. Away from all the bondage of foster care.

On top of the overwhelming desire to run away from foster care was the soul crushing searing pain of loss and grief and ultimately fear that gripped my heart and mind. Feelings of failure and mistakes. The what-ifs. Frantically trying to make the wrongs right and fix it somehow. Utterly helpless in fixing anything.

I was being tossed around in the waves of life. Hurricane level swells were leaving me broken and battered, deprived of the air I desperately needed to live. I wasn't alone in my grief. I had a life raft in the storm to cling to. My journal was filled with the whispers that God had been speaking to my heart. His words that spoke intimately to me in the quiet of my mornings. I knew I was drowning so I thumbed through my journal and reviewed the exact verses that God led me to find each day and what He whispered to me in a real and personal way ministered to me. These stories, these snippets that God spoke to me through. They were what kept me afloat. Kept my head above water.

For the past thirteen weeks this is some what God has been speaking to me.

In Genesis when Adam and Eve stood unashamedly naked before God, He whispered to me that I was His and He wanted me to stand exposed unashamedly just the way I am and allow others to see what He can do.

When Cain was angry and dejected because God did not accept the offering of some of his crops I was reminded that I needed to give God the first and the best of all that I had to offer.

When Noah was told to build a boat and fill it with all the living creatures I was mesmerized by the fact that Noah didn't go on a safari looking for all the animals he needed for his floating zoo. He just built the boat. God took care of the details and Noah didn't waste one iota of time worrying about things he had no control over.

When Noah sat in the boat for months patiently waiting for the earth to dry God reminded me there are seasons of waiting, times of growing and trusting.

When Job cried out to God in despair because he had lost everything including his children I was reminded that my life needed to be spent focusing on what truly matters. Not worldly things that are ultimately a waste.

When God spoke to Job from the whirlwind I realized I have tunnel vision and I am too consumed with myself.

When Job acknowledged God's complete authority I had to acknowledge it as well. God is able to be in complete control of all things and no one can stop God.

When the people tried to build the tower of Babel I realized my focus needed to be making God look good not me.

When God was assuring Abram that he would be protected and rewarded and didn't need to be afraid He was assuring me that He had my back in all things.

When God promised Abram a son and Sarai couldn't fathom how that could be she made a huge mess and God reminded me to wait on Him in all things and to never ever take things into my own hands.

When Lot was dragged to safety by angels I was reminded to lay down my idols of comfort and never grow weary of praying for the ones I love.

When Abraham made assumptions and acted out of fear I was reminded to trust God to move in all situations that have potential problems.

When God tested Abraham I was reminded to sacrifice myself for others.

When Rachel watered camels I was reminded to go above and beyond when serving others.

When Esau sold his birthright for soup I was reminded to never sacrifice something with eternal value for comfort today.

When Jacob slept and saw the spiritual realm around him I was reminded that God is here with me.

When Leah learned to praise God, even from a life as the unwanted and unloved wife, God reminded me to praise Him in all the things.

When God provided for Jacob he whispered He would provide for me as well.

When Esau forgave Jacob I was reminded to respond to hurts with love and forgiveness.

When God gave Joseph loyal love He whispered to me that I could trust His loyal love for me.

When Joseph gave God the credit I was reminded to do the same.

When there was famine and Jacob told his sons to get a move on and go buy some grain God whispered to me to stop standing frozen in fear.

When Judah took complete responsibility sacrificing himself for his little brother I was reminded to live out a life of self-sacrifice.

In the middle of the famine God spoke to me that just like the Egyptians completely sold all they had to Pharaoh all that I have and am is God's.

Jacob and Rachel and Leah taught me that broken places lead to God and the midwives in Egypt taught me to obey God not man.

Moses taught me to take it all to God. He alone knows all, understands all, and remembers all. I need to be patient and trust God with the big picture, to pay attention when God speaks, to find stability in Christ, to pray and seek God's presence when unable to see the way before me, to keep calm and let God handle it, and to cry out to God for help. That mercy is greater than wrath, and I should rely on the light of God's word. God sanctifies. God skilled me for a purpose. That a lack of Godly counsel and leadership leads to bad choices, if I want a sunnier disposition I need more time with God and above all else I need to pray constantly.

In Leviticus I learned to freely worship and rest in the Lord and what He has done, that it is all God. I am not able.

In Numbers God reminded me to not whine or complain, to trust him completely. To not tuck tail and run. To trust God in the scary places. That the dry and wretched places have a purpose.

In Deuteronomy God reminded me that he would see me through the great and terrible wilderness patches in my life. He would fight for me. He would sustain me. That it was my choice to choose life and blessings by choosing to hold close to Him. That He alone is my good life, my abundant life, and fulfillment.

In Joshua God reminded me that he doesn't call me to the simple easy life. He calls me to be steadfast and determined to the life that He has called me to. A life dead to self and completely surrendered to His kingdom. That the secret to prosperous successful life was in the Word. To not stress the long term and just trust God to get me through the day.

In Judges I had to acknowledge that my heart longs to worship idols. That my troubles were reminders to stop lusting after worthless idols and turn back to fully devoted to following the Lord. No matter what. No matter where. That doubts lead to making decisions based on human reckoning and no good comes of that. To not live selfishly or self indulgently because its not about me or what I want or what I think looks best. It's about giving all that I am to God. That ultimately God has a plan and a purpose and my shortcomings won't overthrow it.

In Ruth God whispered to be a Boaz. To provide protection, abundant provision and love to the people he has placed around me. To be a woman of excellence. Known to be loyal, kind, hardworking, and above all else open to instruction.

Thirteen weeks in the Old Testament full of lessons I needed to survive this unexpected storm that has swept me away. Much of what I needed to survive God gave to me before I ever even knew I would so desperately cling to it drowning in a deep dark place.

I'm fairly confident I'm not the only one who has been swept away by the storms of life. I promise if you're alive life will try to sweep you away as well. You need a life raft. And God wants to meet you in His word and help you build one. If you would like to know how to start. Check this out. As for me, I can't wait to dive in and see what God has for me today.

*As always when blogging about foster care details are obscured and fudged to protect the identities of the children. 

Beauty in the Broken Bits

When we last went to the beach my babies kept bringing me nets full of broken shell pieces. At first I was slowly, every so sneakily, discarding them. Then I stopped and looked at them.

The colors.

The lines.

The patterns.

Absolutely breathtaking despite all that is missing.

My tender broken areas center around the world of foster care and mothering in general right now. The millions of ways I fail every day. The kids I have failed. The kids the system failed. Red tape that hinders and holds us back. The overwhelming surge of need I can do precious little to help with. The brokenness of it all seems so utterly beyond hope.

The thing is you don't have to be involved in foster care to be broken.

To live is to live broken.

It is all so ridiculously hard and the waves keep knocking you down and pulling you under and before you know it you've completely shattered into a bazillion pieces and you know you'll never be whole again.

I have spent the last couple of weeks deep in Genesis mired down in the story of the life of Jacob (Israel) & his son Joseph. I have become captivated with the life of Leah. Leah was wed to Jacob when all he really wanted was her little sister. Her one week anniversary gift was quite literally a sister wife. She was left unwanted and unloved. Much later in their story. After Leah herself was long buried. Jacob was giving his son Joseph instructions on where he would be buried. Despite a life loving and doting on her little sister and eventually many long years mourning for her his final resting place was to be beside his unwanted, unloved wife. Thanks to the perspective we have so many years removed from their lives, we also know that despite her low status in the eyes of her husband, she gave birth to the son who was to carry on the royal line that would one day lead to Christ.

To be honest I wasn't really sure what God wanted to show me personally through the life of Leah but I was captivated by her. Imagining the pain she must have felt every single day of her life after her husband woke up in their marriage bed and realized she was not who he wanted. Poor Leah. What pain and anguish she must have lived with.

Imagining her broken heart I found a message of hope, perhaps even encouragement, to those who live broken. Through Leah's life of sorrow and immense pain the path to Christ was given.

Maybe our broken hurtful places are there for a purpose. That purpose is to point us to Christ. We can't possibly get to Him without the broken. That is the truly beautiful part. He endures the pain of allowing us to be broken, allows us the pain of being broken, because living through brokenness is the only way to Christ.

So many cry out in pain.

Unfair!

Why me? 

Living mired down in pain and sorrow.

The truth is, the pain, the broken bits, are the stones that pave the way to Christ. To being whole and radiantly complete.

We can't get there without first being broken. If we weren't broken. We wouldn't need Him. 

What in life is breaking you to pieces right now? Will you pray and ask God to help you see the beauty and redemption in your brokenness? What are your beautiful bits?

Mine are the successes and triumphs of the ones I once failed. The warm squishy lump in my lap ever so slowly learning to trust in my Momma's love despite all the reasons she is justified in never trusting  again. The child who presses her body into mine; so desperate for love and attention it seems as if she is literally trying to fuse our two bodies into one. It is the child who is succeeding where there was once failure and no will to even try any longer. It is the laughter and the shrieks of joy despite the pain that has been endured. It is above all else my broken places, where God's love shines through, in spite of me. It is all around me. In the very fabric of our noisy, messy, broken lives.

Will you follow the broken path to find your own way to Christ?

He alone can make you whole.

Yes,

you are broken.

But you are so very beautiful... 

and you fit into His masterpiece.

Just let Him in.

After They Are Gone

It's been eight months since you bounced out of my van and into another. A child lost that I never had the right to.

This thing I do.

Pouring my life into a child.
Loving them as if I had birthed them.
Giving them back when I'm told to.

It is indescribably excruciating.

I got to see you today. You wrapped your arms around me and I breathed you in. You twirled and sang silly songs and chattered away and then you said one little word that smacked me in the face and took my breath away.

"Evenly."

A silly little word my daughter from birth has said since she was tee tee tiny and learning to talk. It was confirmation to me that although our time together is over and the family we made together is no more, you carry pieces of us with you. Our time happened. Our time together mattered. Even as you outgrow this silly little word you will still carry small pieces of us with you wherever you go because we helped shape you.

I knew we would carry you with us for the rest of our days because you broke us in the most beautiful of ways forever changing us.

Now I know you will carry us with you as well.

Evenly now.