The Light's Getting Brighter

You’re gonna think I’m crazy. Not crazy in a bad way but in a [insert appropriate word to describe someone who is one extreme one day and another extreme the next day] way. 

Less than 24 hours ago I blogged about my horrible day yesterday, but I had a great day today. I had one of those wow-I-surprised-myself-at-that-sagely-and-loving-response-to-my-kids kind of days. 

I’m going to have to think through what made me thrive on this day. Was it the meeting I had this morning with a bunch of kick-butt moms about how to minister to people near and far? I do love caring for people’s hearts. Hmm... gotta chew on that one a little bit. 

So, anyhow, I came up with a great solution for bedtime routines when Clint is on a trip: one of the kids gets to sleep with me for the night, and the other one gets snuggle time with me in his/her bed. For years, when Clint went on trips, Connor slept with me every night. In December, when Clint took his first trip post-Isabelle, I still let Connor sleep with me almost every night. I just didn’t desire to have Isabelle sleep with me. Clint and I actually got into a huge fight over the phone back then, because he was (kindly) encouraging me to let her sleep with me at least a couple of nights, and I felt judged. Really, I was probably feeling very very guilty. (“I know I should, but I don’t wanna, so back off,” was basically what I said to him. Eek.) It was also hard for Connor to give up those nights with his mommy, whom he was already having to share during the days. 

Anyhow, fast forward to today. Connor didn’t object to this new arrangement, and I’m so thankful! Thank You, Jesus! And when I snuggled with Isabelle in her bed tonight, I had a flurry of memories and emotions. At one point, she scratched around her scar on her chest, and I thought how strange it must have been for her to wake up one day and have a huge scar on her chest. Or how strange and sad it was for her that very first day when she was handed off to us. 

Tonight I recounted to her how she was so scared to meet us that day. She replied, “Isabelle scary. I sorry, Mommy. Isabelle scary. You [for]give me?”  

“You mean Isabelle was scared, not scary. You didn’t know who we were, so it was okay that you were scared. But we came and got you and brought you home to be a part of our family.” 

She then said a bunch of words strung together that didn’t quite make sense and at the same time made perfect sense, “Isabelle princess. Mommy Daddy rescue. Pirates. Arrrrrgggghhhh. Come home!” 

And as I lay there, looking at her big brown eyes in the dim light, I realized that my heart was feeling affection. And pride. And... love. It’s happening to me, people! That light at the end of the tunnel (you know, the end that’s the beginning of feeling like she’s one of my own) is getting brighter! 

Oh, I thought of the appropriate words I couldn’t think of earlier: yesterday versus today was night and day. (I hope I don’t flip back to the “night” tomorrow!)

If you’ve been praying for me these last few days, keep it going, ‘cause it’s really really working!

Gotcha Day, 1 year later

Isabelle’s Gotcha Day was a couple of weeks ago. When I would feel discouraged, in the back of my mind I thought that it would suddenly get better once we’d had her one full year. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a magical anniversary that made me turn a corner. 

There are still days like today, when I’m so so so incredibly angry with her. Days when I seem to be the only person she doesn’t want to be with. Days that, when I tell her that it’s time to go home from a friend’s house, I can’t have compassion for her sobs. Days when her declarations of, “I don’t want to go home!” communicates to me, “I don’t want to go home with YOU!” 

There’s my pessimist side. Forcing myself to look at the things I can be thankful for, I’d say that the moments of being furious with her are further apart. There are days when I really adore her. Days when I can rejoice in her and see that she is the perfect little addition to our family. (She has an awesome little sense of humor and rolls with the McClure clan.) Days when I can envision the two of us to be great together. Days when I see light at the end of the tunnel. 

Huh. It shouldn’t surprise me, but that did wonders to my heart to remember what I can be thankful for. 

Washing off the makeup

It certainly has been a long time since I wrote on my blog. Some adoptive parents know exactly what this means....

How does one write a blog when this adoption thing has been is really, really hard?

I remember last summer, when the honeymoon phase was a distant memory, and I scoured the Internet for signs that I was normal. That other adoptive moms struggled with similar issues. I’m sure they’re out there, but I couldn’t find any.

If you’re wanting to hear happy and heart-warming stories about how delightful life has been in this new “norm” for the McClure family, I suggest you look away. Because, as I’ve learned, sobbed, processed, and searched in my heart, I’ve been seeing some things about myself that bring me here to my first post in six months:

One, I like to speak truth. I loathe being fake. Not all of the time but most, I cannot not tell the truth, even if no one’s backing me into a corner to tell the truth. I love being real about my faults, and I love sharing what I’ve learned through my stumblings.

Two–and this is often at odds with what I wrote above–I hate feeling judged. I know for a fact that I imagine others’ judgment far more than its occurrence. Yet, even if it’s imaginary, I don’t like it and therefore try to avoid it.

So this is how I take those two things and have made life “work”: I only disclose some of the truth. I don’t mind being transparent with my faults as long as they keep me on one side of acceptance. For example, I can tell my other mom friends that I yelled at my kids today. Many moms yell at their kids. I’d venture to say that most moms yell at their kids. I wish I didn’t, but that is one of my faults. There. I am not being cavalier about it, but I have no problem confessing that to friends who can relate. (Though, admittedly, I find it harder to publish that on a blog. See? There goes my confession impulse right there.) I’ve heard before that there's a difference between being transparent and being vulnerable. Transparent is listed in the dictionary as “having thoughts, feelings, or motives that are easily perceived.” Vulnerable, on the other hands is, “susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm.” I’m good at being transparent. Understandably, I’m rarely vulnerable.

Adoption has pushed me in ways I’ve never been pushed. And knowing that God does things for a reason, I want to take the road that involves less of, “Why did you do this to me???” to more of, “Okay, Father, how do you want to redeem this heartache (of all involved) for Your glory?” This will involve vulnerability. This fear of feeling condemned for my spectacular failures has the possibility to keep my heart hidden and engulfed in shame. Or I can share it with others whose hearts, as well as my own, will be nudged into the light, where the enemy can no longer condemn and jeer.

So, now my blog will often be about this process of adoption for me–of taking a stranger into our home and growing in love for her as my own. And the process, at least right now, is filled with more tears than giggles and more crying out to God than thanking Him for this season. It will be filled with Real. And it will push me to an uncomfortable–yet strangely freeing–place of being vulnerable.

So, speaking truth beats out hiding from possible judgment. There may only be a handful of you out there who can relate to me or be helped in any way by what I write, but, actually I think this blog is mostly for me anyways.