But God

I cried on the way home from church yesterday. I guess it's ok because a lot of people feel emotional at Easter at church. He is risen! Except that's not why I was crying. I was crying because I feel like a dry, wrinkly sponge that has nothing left to give and just got run over by a car. Somehow there had been a tiny bit of life left, but now that moisture is squeezed out onto the pavement. The reserves are empty.

Wrung out. 

I know this is what we signed up for, BUT GOD can't you see what they're going to do?

You know Alexander and the terrible horrible no good very bad day? (The book, I didn't see the movie.) I feel like that. My ankle is twisted, my back is killing me, I'm not sleeping, the kids are a wreck, my husband is sick, my house is a construction zone, and tomorrow a stranger in a black robe gets to determine the future of my family.  It has been a terrible horrible no good very bad season.

I know you say you're here, BUT GOD it feels like we're all alone and falling apart.

And yet, God amazes me with his blessings. I try to wallow, but my friends and family won't let me! Already this morning, three people have texted me that they were praying for us. Everyone keeps bringing us good food! Come on, guys, just when I was going to let the darkness suck me in! Darn you all for pouring life into me when I feel like I'm ready to give up...

“My flesh and my heart fail; BUT GOD is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Ps. 73:26).

I am not looking forward to tomorrow. Sitting. Waiting. Saying difficult things. Hearing difficult things. (Probably being told to talk slower.) I'm going to cry either way. No, more likely, I'm going to steel myself like a robot and walk around with a smile that says 'I believe' even if I'm screaming inside. Or more likely, dead inside. Given up.

BUT GOD who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us... made us alive together with Christ (Eph 2:4-5)

I must remind myself three thousand times a day that, whatever the outcome, this was the good plan from the beginning. We were always marching towards this endgame. Nothing I did changed God's plan, and nothing anyone else did hindered Him from accomplishing His intentions.

For the battle is not yours, BUT GOD’s. (2 Chron 20:15)

I DO need to give up! I need to give up on myself. Stop thinking that I have anything inside me to give. Understand that I've never had anything worthwhile here inside myself. Just like the calling to foster parent was from Him, the sustaining power to DO IT has always been from Him.

We were harassed at every turn—conflicts on the outside, fears within. BUT GOD... comforts the downcast. (2 Cor 7:6)

Thank you, everyone, for your support. It's been an amazing 754 days. I'll let you know how day 755 goes.

By the way, a fourth and then fifth person just texted me. Literally right as I'm typing.

I hear you, Lord.  Thank you.

My Five-Day Countdown

Five days until a judge determines the future of my family.

Or will he? 

I choose to embrace the truth that in five days we will simply find out what God has had planned from the beginning. It isn’t a decision to be made; it’s a decision that has already been made. And it is GOOD, my friends. I don’t even know the outcome yet, but God’s decision is GOOD.

On Tuesday, we find out if my son is my son or not.

Sort of.

He’ll still be him. I’ll still be me. But if the judge decides to separate us and send him with his other mommy, will I still be Mama? I guess so. Maybe in a different way? Nothing will ever change that I was his Mama for two years, but it may not remain so as he grows up. I'll tell you Tuesday.

Do you grow out of being someone’s son? I don’t think I’ll grow out of being his Mama.

It’s weird to think that in two years, something so relevant about my life will be no more than a memory. Either his presence in our family will be a bittersweet, aching but fond memory, or this ever-present cloud of painful uncertainty will be a bad dream if he becomes forever ours.

Isaiah 55:8

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.

Proverbs 19:21

Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Lamentations 3:22-24

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”

the weird road home

I'm thinking about my house a lot about it as we tear it apart for some much-anticipated renovations.

When our realtor first showed us a picture of this house, I said no way. I didn't even want to visit! Fortunately, he is a wise man and encouraged us to give it a shot. We saw some work that needed to happen, yes, but we also saw that this was a place that could be home.

Our second son was supposed to be born about a month after we moved. No dice! He was born six days before we settled on the purchase, leaving my husband and family to do all of the work of moving and me to sit in the NICU staring at a plastic box.

We are blessed to maintain contact online with the former homeowners, who lovingly raised a family here. I look forward to building as many memories in this home as their family did!  We've enjoyed finding fun 'accidental memories' as we live here, such as a grade-school portrait behind a radiator, a seven of clubs under a floor board, a school writing assignment in the attic, and an old shaving kit on a long-forgotten shelf.

God orchestrated many wonderful people to arrive  in our neighborhood at a similar time, surrounding us with fellow Christians. Our house has three boys. Beside us has four boys. Two houses past that has three more boys. Behind us are three girls and a boy. And within just a moment's drive, we have our dearest friends and my sister's family. And I'm not even including a half-dozen more fabulous, engaging families we've met an neighborhood picnics and on walks. We are so blessed to have nearby stable, loving influences on our family, and friends for our kids. Plus, we've already traded countless babysitting hours. You can't beat this place! 

I sat on my neighbor's porch tonight, sipping an iced chai while our children ran around, whacking each other with light sabers. All I can think is how cool is it that God brought all these people into our lives?  And unless the boys do successfully burn one or more of the houses down, it will be like this for many years to come!

momma songs

Who needs to cry? Even if you've heard these songs before, you must listen to them right now and then share them with every foster or adoptive parent you know. Because, yes. YES. YES.

Kari Kimmel's Where You Belong

You might know this song as the theme to the TV show The Fosters.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

It's not where you come from
It's where you belong
Nothin' I would trade
I wouldn't have it any other way
You're surrounded
By love and you're wanted
So never feel alone
You are home with me
Right where you belong

Phillip Phillips' Home

You might know this song as the summer Olympics theme from London 2012.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
'Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Phil Collins' You'll Be In My Heart

You might know this song from Disney's Tarzan movie.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

Come stop your crying
It will be alright
Just take my hand
And hold it tight
For one so small,
You seem so strong
My arms will hold you,
Keep you safe and warm
I know we're different, but deep inside us
We're not that different at all

Happy Labor Day

It's not because of April Fool's Day that I say this. It's because this is the anniversary laboring to deliver my first baby.  My baby is turning seven tomorrow (LIES, IT'S ALL LIES!). He told me today that since it was almost his birthday, he should get to do whatever he wants. I said, "Yeah, right, I worked myself to death the day before your birthday," and handed him the dustpan. #notkidding

So, here's the abridged version of my labor with my now-giant son, which I wrote two days later. It's abridged because I was as wordy then as I am now, and the complete thing is nine pages long and includes words like cervix that no one wants to read. Even me.

Here, then, is Lincoln's amazing and wonderful birth story...

I had been having contractions for several days.  On Friday, we’d spent the evening at Mikie and Heidi's with Laura and Shaun and my back hurt bad enough that we went home early.  I was really hoping that was a sign that we were starting… but no. 

Monday and Tuesday saw more back pain… I’d taken to hollering “come out baby” every 15 to 20 minutes.  I was having so much trouble sleeping at night that I’d end up in bed until 10 am.  By Wednesday, my back was hurting so bad I didn’t sleep a wink.  Poor Matt – I woke him up several times that night just to be sure he knew I still wasn’t sleeping!  I was able to close my eyes for an hour or two in the morning (Matt was on the early shift at work so I stayed in bed after he left at 6 am) simply out of exhaustion.

Caryn was coming into town for Easter/spring break so she spent the day with me on Thursday.  By that point, I had a pretty good idea that we were going into labor.  Things were about the same timing-wise but the contractions seemed to be getting more intense.  Caryn helped me time my contractions all afternoon while we watched The Whole Nine Yards.  Matt got home from work around 2:30 which was about the same time that I wasn’t able to sit through the contractions anymore.

For the next few hours, Caryn and Matt tag-teamed to time my contractions and remind me to go to the bathroom.  They also experimented with the massage tools from our child birthing classes: a nerf football and three tennis balls in a sock (which Caryn thought was a dog toy). 

Matt was a little restless – I don’t think he enjoyed watching me be in pain.  He cleaned the kitchen, did the dishes, and then actually cleaned the stove!  At least we came home to a clean house…

As we did the final check (including making sure our pup Gina had some lights on and had gone potty), I asked Matt if the car seat was in the car (which it was).  Caryn gasped and said “that’s right because you’ll be going as two and coming home as three!”  Sometimes the simplest thoughts are the most profound.

After check-in at the hospital, Matt and I wandered the halls for a bit until our nurse came out to get us.  She introduced herself and said she would be my nurse until 11 pm.  I joked that I promised to finish before she left!  But things didn’t go that fast.

I watched Caryn pace beside the bed with her very telling “I’m praying” face which was actually a huge relief for me as I labored. At some point while I was relaxing after the nasty process of getting an epidural in a back full of scar tissue from spinal fusion surgery, Caryn asked the nurse how many laboring moms she was caring for.  She said normally it would be different but that tonight I was the only person laboring in the whole place! Wow! 

Caryn, Matt & I chatted and took some video until I suddenly felt like I needed to push.  They tried to keep me from using my neck muscles too much to support my head by putting lots of pillows behind me, but I was doing it anyway, like a bad sit-up. (Two days later, I really regretted that – I felt like a bus had run over my neck and shoulders!) When he finally whooshed out, I let out a yell of relief.  It was all over!  It was 3:54 am on Friday, April 2, 2010.  Good Friday!

They put him up on my belly and he promptly pooped all over.  Thanks, Linc!  They cleaned me up while Daddy Matt cut the umbilical cord.  When they placed him back on my belly, he peed!  Boy, I’m just a target…

So as time passed, we had visitors – Poppy and Mom-Mom, Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Kelcy and Uncle Mike.  Everyone got a chance to hold baby and see me & Matt. When Poppy and Mom-Mom walked in, the nurse was just finishing up Lincoln’s footprints.  She asked Matt if he had a white t-shirt on under his sweatshirt, but he did not.  Poppy announced that he did, so he took his shirt off and she used the rest of the ink to stamp Lincoln’s footprints on Poppy’s t-shirt!  What a special memento.

the broken candy box

My mother-in-law has an adorable ritual for Valentine's Day. She buys candy and gives it to my husband in an old, broken, heart-shaped Teddy Bear box. 

Not ANY old, broken, heart-shaped Teddy Bear box. The Box.  The Box that they have done this with since Matt was like, 8 years old, or something. 

What an inspiration to me as a mom of boys! I want to be the mom whose son still remembers that she was his first Valentine. What a reminder to me that my boys will someday be MEN! I want to be reminded that my man was once a little boy, too. 

I love that my mother-in-law can still look at my hubby (who an awkward stranger once described as "burly") and see her little baby boy. I know that no amount of time will change my desire to ruffle my sons' hair or to startle them to make them laugh. So I like seeing that in previous generations of our family, and I love seeing his willingness to remember who he is and where he came from.

I appreciate that my mother-in-law saved The Box. In a world of downsizing and digital pictures, how many tangible reminders of the past really still surround us? The ones we can touch and use to really connect with the sweet memory of another time?  I have storage bins of collectible memories for each of my kids, and I don't intend to replace them with a digital scrapbook. It isn't the same as opening The Box. I have a scrawled-upon "Engineer" certification from my son's first trip to the Strasburg Railroad. I have crafts and things he colored.  This stuff is important. It isn't the Declaration of Independence or the last signed letter of Abraham Lincoln, but it's our family history -- and I'm the only one keeping it.  If my grandkids want to know what their daddy was like at age 6, I don't want to login to my old Google Photos account. I want to pull out a wrinkled, faded purple sheet of construction paper and say, "Look, he made this elephant collage," and I want them to touch it and see how the lumpy glue dried outside the lines. 

And then I want to show them The Box that he used to get candy from his mama, their great grandma, in.

Because I will still have it.