True Support

I was 17 years old when I got engaged.

(And yes, I often wonder why my parents gave their blessing. Other than to make me Steve’s responsibility. ...I may have been a difficult teen.)

It’s been almost 24 years since our engagement- and my memories of the people who “didn’t approve” are vivid.

“You know the chances of this lasting are slim, right?”

“But... you’re so young.”

So many comments made to my face. And that doesn’t include the looks and side comments that I overheard.

....

I get it. Getting married incredibly young raises some red flags. And people who loved me wanted to protect me. But it felt like a lack of support. And a lack of belief that I could make good decisions.

The same scenario has happened over the last 5 months.

The resistance to our decision to add to our family has been harder than the (almost) daily tantrums.

The people who avoid us has hurt more than the, “I don’t want to be with you!” screams.

The loud (or behind our back) disagreements with how we feel we need to approach all of this has been harder than any interaction with the birth family.

....

How can you support someone through fostering?

Listen to them.

Be a safe place to fall when it gets hard.

Celebrate the small victories with them.

Trust that they’re doing what’s best.

Ask about their week.

Follow their lead on how they choose to interact with birth family.

Mourn with them. Weep with them. Laugh with them.

It’s needed. So needed.

Shifting Tides

Adoption originates from brokenness.

Seriously. Think about it.

In order for a child to join our family through adoption, there HAD to be brokenness in some aspect.

I can’t ignore the broken.

We are almost to 5 months of this particular journey. It’s been a bumpy ride. (And that’s an understatement.) There is beauty mixed in, but it has been so messy. And painful.

In the last 48 hours, two parents (of the same child) individually gave confirmation that they feel that adoption is the next best step.

Oh, my heart.

A mother sat in a room with me twice this week and repeated that she wants her child to be a forever part of our family.

I don’t know what the process will look like over the next few months, but the tide has shifted and we’re headed in a new direction.

Navigating both the beauty and the brokenness. One deep breath at a time.

Seen

I’m at the beach for a church conference this weekend- just me and the younger two. (And some seriously nasty weather.)

I’m in this place right now that feels overwhelmingly lonely.

I KNOW I’m not alone.

I know that I’m surrounded by people who would give me anything and everything they could to help us stay above water.

I know that our family is deeply loved.

But our hardest moments are behind closed doors. The trauma rears it’s incredibly ugly head during moments that one would expect to be simple, family experiences.

...

A beautiful thing happened tonight.

There was communion during the meeting time tonight. I sat in back because the tears flow way too easily at the moment and I despise being the center of attention. (Yet I want to scream, “Do you know how hard this is?!?!”)

As I sat- trying to decide if I had the energy to walk across the room to take part in communion, a gentleman approached, knelt down in front of me, placed communion in my hand, and prayed over me.

This man doesn’t know me.

He definitely doesn’t know my story.

But he saw me tonight.

And it was a blessing to be quietly seen.

We’ll go on another day- hoping that tomorrow will be one of those good days that bring sweet relief.

Day 144: Pass the tissues please.

I cried today.

Well, a few times.

That happens a lot lately. And I really REALLY hate to cry when other humans are within viewing range. I’m not a fan of being the center of attention- and having a meltdown in public seems to cause that to happen.

In case you catch me in the act, let’s jusr pretend I’ve recently returned from chopping up some seriously potent onions.

No need to ask what’s wrong. I may have tears in my eyes from any of the following reasons:

-I have a 4 year old in my home with a broken heart. (Sad tears)

-I actually have 4 children. (Happy tears.)

-Sweet Baby Moses, I have 4 children. (Terrified tears.)

-I’m recovering from another tantrum (not my own. Yet.)

-The world is so broken.

-I’m amazed at the compassionate hearts these kids have after experiencing a pretty horrible start.

-I’m feeling like the world’s worst mom.

-The thought of making dinner pushed me over the edge.

-I’m in awe by the support team we have through DHS and counselors.

-The youngest either told me I was the best mom ever or “so mean.”

...

We’re going to make it. There is beauty and good in the midst.

But it’s hard. The hardest season in the last 41 years.

And I’d do it over again in a heartbeat.

Day 127

Today marks 127 days of foster care.

I want to give this magical update of what comes next, but I’m not sure what that is. We never planned to do foster care- and this would be the main reason. I’m not super gifted on “waiting.” I dislike not knowing what comes next.

Here’s what I do know:

*As of this week, I’ve become “Mommy” 100% of the time. There is currently zero desire to use the term “daddy.” It’s something we aren’t pushing, but it’s a bond we’re actively working on. For whatever reason, having another dad is much scarier than having another mom.

*Some of the most worrisome behaviors have significantly decreased. We feel blessed to be surrounded by professional support that truly cares about this girlie.

*She LOVES school and is amazed by letters. Watching her learn makes my heart happy.

*We have constant discussions about Christmas and her birthday (which is still months away.) She’s so excited about having a birthday cake for the first time.

*There hasn’t been any contact with birth parents since early July. That raises questions at times... and those questions are really hard to answer.

I can’t fathom her leaving. It will tear my heart out. But I’m working on taking each day as it comes and not allowing my brain to get too caught up in what could be.

And yet my heart aches for the brokenness of the birth family. This isn’t how it was meant to be.

On a Scale of 1 to 4

A friend asked me if others know what life is like for us right now. While I don't want to share the story that belongs to her, I realized that maybe I need to be more honest with where we're at.

So here it goes.

Today we went for an assessment for A. One of the questions made me really stop and think about where we are currently.

"On a scale of 1 to 4 - 1 being you feel completely supported as a family and 4 being you're ready to call DHS and ask them to come pick up A, where are you?"

I won't tell you our answer, but I'll tell you it wasn't a 1.

Life is hard in our home right now. Harder than I could ever share with the world ...probably harder than anyone could understand unless they've been in this situation.

We still have hope. We see glimpses of beautiful things to come. We are committed and we are determined.
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But we're also very tired.

She Matters, Too

She is worthy.

She is wanted.

She is loved.

She is beautiful.

I can't say that I ever imagined a day when I would be picking up my child(ren)'s birth mom and taking her to an important meeting with the people who are ensuring the safety of her youngest child.

I never imagined holding her hand as she shared openly about her current addictions and her confusion and her lifestyle.

I never imagined feeling the amount of grace and mercy and love for her that I do.

Because, while her children obviously matter to me a ton...

She matters, too.

Today was the starting point of figuring out what comes next. There are hard decisions to be made and a great deal of work that needs to be done, but we took a first step today. Hopefully a step that leads to permanency for her children and health for her.

Hopefully.

I've been asked 3 times now if we could just adopt her, too.

And 3 times I've answered that plea the same way:

You are family. And we love you.