tend

I'm not great with brevity. 

We had our 1-year- post-placement visit a few weeks ago. I love our social worker. She's calming, inquisitive but not intrusive. Always encouraging.
Harrison was a nervous wreck. Sometimes I don't think he is listening or that he doesn't understand what we are talking about when conversations about China come up. However, he always gets cuddly and quiet. He wouldn't talk to her, and curled up next to me during almost the entire visit. He typically has ZERO interest in talking about China, still refuses to speak in Mandarin, and seems to want with every fiber of his being–to move on from his former life. When I told our social worker that, she said it's actually pretty common. And, that we just need to keep that door open, because he will want to talk someday. I found that relieving. I know many families whose children keep in contact with friends and caregivers from their care centers, who take language lessons in their birth language, and so on...
Things I want for my son.
But,  I feel like it's okay to let him become part of the family wholly in his mind,
and wait for the day when he is more interested in his past and can trust that his past and present can coexist safely in our family.


I still have panic attacks regularly. 
 I started taking an aikido class with a friend.  The sensei has a background in domestic violence work, and victim advocacy. He was going through the stages of losing consciousness and how victims typically react during strangulation. Before I knew it I was fighting a full blown panic attack just sitting and watching him explain the process. Racing heart. Sick to my stomach. Needing to run, right. now.  Tears that turned into sobs before I could stop them. Left the room for a bit. Calmed down. Went back in. Super embarrassing! Ridiculous.
 But, the sensei was understanding and said I was free to leave and regroup anytime I got anxious. I don't even know why I was anxious.

So.
 My life is not going as planned. It's almost been a year, and I'm forced to at least consider this condition as my very unwelcome companion heading into the future. I desperately hope it goes away, but sometimes searching for a cure is just as draining as the disease. I will still probably talk to a therapist, it really helps with expectation management. I will still work on boundaries and guarding my heart.
But, I can't let it define who I am and control everything I do.

I'm learning a few things.

This month for the first time since China,
I've noticed that when I have an episode, I don't plunge into darkest despair during or afterwards. I don't feel as detached, or "depersonalized" (which is a really scary feeling). This month the really scary things didn't happen. I still felt incredibly sad. I still had those thoughts dancing in the back of my mind. But for some reason...they didn't take over. I know those feelings of detachment will likely come again, but I have hope of relief and...hope.

"A man cannot discover anything about his future" Ecclesiastes 7:14

Unfortunately.


I've had this thought in my head all month. I can't quite say why it's helped.
 It's the thought that God created me for obedience, and work, and fellowship...but most of all he created me to delight in me, and for me to delight in his creations. And in him, of course.
This is really hard for my works-oriented, legalistic, shame-filled heart to accept.
Let me EARN your love.
Let me PROVE my worth.
Let me do one. more. thing.

 I'm SO motivated by projects and what's next and next and next that I have to, I must move to the next tier of accomplishment.
And, that often creates this terror that I just might be on the wrong path and it's all for naught.

However, Adam and Eve tended a garden.
And, it was enough.
Jesus made cabinets and ate with sinners, and it was enough.
(And, of course died for the world to know true love, but he was complete even before that.)

 A good friend of mine was talking about how sometimes she will look at kitchens on Pinterest and say, "I hope that is in my home in heaven, Jesus."

 It struck me as the most ridiculous, silly...and then profoundly beautiful thought for a person to trust God with even their most homey earthly desires. I couldn't stop thinking about her child-like faith in God's provision of what was beautiful to her! And while I don't want to live my life for the fulfillment of apple-pie-American dreams–what if I really could trust him with tending to the desires of my heart in even the smallest ways? Did he not create the teeniest of flowers to bring joy? Did he not make my babies soft, squishy,  in love with mama, and bathed in just a little bit of heaven to make my heart strong enough for the days or maybe minutes ahead?



Last month I was going through Genesis because I was wanting to know why the hell God made marriage in the first place. It sometimes seems it was so disregarded by people in the bible, and is just as difficult a concept to grasp by modern day men and women. Something that multiple people mentioned when I would talk about Genesis, was this idea that our job in life is to tend. Not so much arrive. We pick up laundry. We nurture each other's hearts with fellowship and food. We hold our children. We mow our laws, even though the grass will grow back. We clean our animal stalls though they fill up before we can bat an eye. We fold laundry some more. Clean pee off toilets and maybe bathroom walls. We suffer. We will most definitely have pain. We fight it. But we can't avoid it.
We take away the weeds.
And...they all come back.
And, if you think about the end game: it all seems pointless.  You raise up children, and forgo sleep for decades, carefully pick out dresses, and bb guns, search for their favorite books, movies or videos games, make their favorite meals, and one day they scream that they hate you because you took away their iPod.

Or perhaps balk at their latest chore the morning after you helped them into the wee hours of the night with their homework, or after you had, "family pizza night" and had carefully planned the perfect movie that all 10 people in your family would actually like, baked homemade pizza, and cleaned stray popcorn from all corners of the living room. (This is all theoretical of course.) You spend hours cuddling with your trauma kids, you try to remember there is a foundation to lay, lost time to make up, you say you love them every. single. night., you cross oceans and spend mountains of money and wouldn't hesitate to spend mountains more,  maybe even beg, borrow to bring them home, and you worry and stress and are downright terrified of their pain at times. And, then just when you think you've healed every corner of their hearts–they tell you they wish they didn't have a mommy and daddy. Or that they wish so and so had adopted them instead. Because, after all, aren't they a commodity to be traded or laid aside at will? And, why can't they be involved in this transaction? And, you realize you are totally 100% unable to be a healer without The Healer, and it's not YOUR fault things didn't work out in their first families, and it's not THEIR fault they are still angry or sad or confused, and... your life is going to be messy forever.
FOR-EV-VER.
And, even if you had no children. Or married someone else. Or adopted 10 or adopted 1, or earned a doctorate degree, or won a Nobel Prize: we are all in the same quandary, and our lives are all messy.




And we tend. And we tend. And we tend.  And we tend. We go to work. We do our homework. We go to our meetings. We visit the sick. We have uncomfortable conversations with friends or family.

And it's all for naught.

Unless their can be some kind of joy in the being. Just being. Some kind of gratitude in our consumption of space on this planet, in this century, in this moment–today, with these other flawed people, in these short-tall-fat-skinny- imperfect, yet glorious bodies...and with all the tragedies attached to our very existence.

So basically all the clichès about enjoying the journey not the destination.

But it's struck me hard.

No one can tell you to be grateful. Or to feel wonder.
Or to, "stop worrying."
Or to live after death has stolen something precious.
Or to trust and hope after the world has revealed it's insidous mutiny. You have to wander the wilderness, wrestle with dark scary beasts with real fangs and claws, and open your crusted, bleary eyes to it yourself.

I tend my heart, because just like a garden, the weeds will come. The sin and despair will come and try to entangle around everything that is precious.

The weeds come back, but we know the end story.
It ends in victory.

And despite what I felt during these past 12 months or so...I KNOW, know, know that there is beauty and joy to be had. Relationships to delight in. Sunsets to see. Creeks to listen to. Fresh air to smell. Strangers to meet and call friends. Babies to snuggle. Coffee to cup in my hands. Truths to learn. Love to know. I am surprised by joy lately (to steal a very good phrase). I really thought I might not ever feel it again. And, here it is...peeking out.

I have so much pride in being capable.
And bursting into tears and shallow breathing with snot-bubbles in front of strangers is the surest way to feel like you are not so capable. But, that's just it. It's pride.

Suffering isn't exactly a new human condition:

I have had enough Lord, he said. Take my life, I am not better than my ancestors. 1 Kings 19:4

Now O Lord, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live. Jonah 4:3

Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb? Job 3:11

I have no peace, no quietness, I have no rest, but only turmoil. Job 3:26

I loathe my very life, therefore I will give free rein to my complaint and speak out in the bitterness of my soul. Job 10:1

Terrors overwhelm me…my life ebbs away, days of suffering grip me. Night pierces my bones, my gnawing pains never rest. Job 30:15-17

Cursed be the day I was born…why did I ever come out of the womb to see trouble and sorrow and to end my days in shame? Jer. 20:14,18

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He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hid their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.  Isaiah 53:3 

And He said to them, 'My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death; remain here and keep watch.' And He went a little beyond them, and fell to the ground and began to pray that if it were possible, the hour might pass Him by. And He was saying, "Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will." Mark 14:34-36

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18



When I start having a tsunami of soul-emptying thoughts hijack my brain, I've taken SO much comfort in telling myself to just, "...tend you garden." Who knows what will happen? Just tend to today and leave the turmoil that comes tomorrow alone.
There is honor and satisfaction to be had in menial tasks and joy in seeking beauty.




From the looney bin on the mountain.

my portion

October 16, 2016

I am writing hunched over in the shadows. 

Sleeping babes next to me.

The moon is a spotlight, dazzling, radiant, outside my window.

I notice the moon, I pay attention to it.

It's light in the darkness.

One of my three-year-olds says, "Mom! The circle moon is back!!! I see it. It sees me."

I have a new son. He is smart, tender, funny, sweet. When he cries, it fills me with fear. 

I try not to be afraid of his grief.

I pull him close and pray for gentleness when I want to run.

Sometimes I am grumpy and tense and not gentle at all.

But I try. I keep trying.

It's draining to fight your inadequacies and imperfection and gear up for battle anyway. 

To say, "I am his mother. I am all he has and it has to be good enough."

I rub his head while I talk and he acts as though he hasn't been comforted in a long, long time.

It's probably true.

Who has noticed this little boy? Who has loved him?

Sometimes he soaks it up like a kitten.

Sometimes he is shut down and resigned to his loneliness. 

He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

I know soon he will start understanding he isn't alone.

He smiles more every. single. day.

He is awakening to life.

It's beautiful to watch.

But...when he is throwing a fit, or one of the twins is crying (or both!), or when anyone is sad:  it's hard not to panic. It feels like my heart is already overflowing, and I'm not sure how much sadness it can hold.

I want to be brave enough to write or talk about our time in China. I get sick to my stomach when I think about it. I have let our last bit of packed odds and ends sit in purses and backpacks for months. I hate the smell of jasmine. 

One moment I find myself herding children and animals through fairgrounds, dusty and full. Squeezing and squeezing and squeezing down the grip of terror in my neck. The constant awareness of the clip-clopping of my heart that speeds up to a gallop and never seems to slow down. Ignoring the fire and tumult in my belly. Mechanical smiles. Holding hands. Putting kids in cars seats. Just get through. There’s no way out but through.

The next moment I am sitting on the ground in the Walmart parking lot. Sobbing and sobbing and sobbing: feeling like this can’t go on. I can’t get through.  I go to a room in a hospital with no personal belongings; I’m handed paper scrubs.  I'm very embarrassed that it has come to this. One of my younger brothers is making small talk, and sitting next to me, swinging his legs. Kind and gentle. The nurse is nice and knows me from my many trips to the E.R. with one child or the other. Then I talk to the social worker and we make a, "safety plan."

She tells me I am lucky to have so many supportive family members. I agree.

I was not making plans for something permanent. But when your mind, body, heart are all pain, and the pain doesn't go away...you think things you never thought you would think. I am so tired. It is a terrifying feeling to feel like you are cracking and may not be put back together. Tired of the mutiny of my body and mind. Tired of the sadness that follows the days of jittery, anxious, terror-filled hours. It's a sad thing to have life not turn out how you planned– to not be as strong, or good, or kind or capable as you thought.  To not have a body that's as healthy as you expected it to be. But, it's a normal thing, and that's what I am wrapping my brain around now.

My soul is exhausted for searching for hope. God has never felt so far away.

I see him all around. But I can't feel him. I'm trying to honor him. To praise him.
I know he is good.

My body hurts. My mind doesn’t feel the same as before.

"Why won't you take this?"

"When will it stop?"

"It's too much, Lord. You ask too much."

Paul said his thorn in the flesh was left lest he become prideful. That thought keeps ringing in my heart. Maybe I have been prideful. I know I have.  I am gaining empathy and understanding that I never wanted, but that I'm thankful for.  I truly didn't understand heartache and anguish before.

I go to my counselor. I go to a prescriber.  

I even talk to our adoption agency...the scariest thing of all.   It all takes time. 

There's no magic with things like this. Everything seems louder now. Music can be just noise.

Life can be just noise. There's a lot of little people touching me.  It feels like I have three toddlers who have BIG love tanks in need of filling. They need me. It overwhelms me. Because I forget that they need God and other humans, too.

That I’m not the only commodity that is able to provide. 

It seems as though my heart never stops racing. My stomach hurts ALL the time. It pisses me off every time I notice the burning above my belly button. Sometimes I throw up after all the kids are tucked in and sleeping.  I want to be around people I love and never leave. I dread waiting for night to come.  Evening and nighttime are so hard for me.  I'll do almost anything to put off that feeling of waiting. Waiting for something bad to happen. For a call from a doctor or a family member that something terrible has happened. A cough from a little one that means a week or a month in the hospital. A fever. A rash. An accident.  I am expectant of all the hard things.

I have the most responsibility I've ever had, yet I’m totally the most needy and vulnerable.

I cry.

A lot.

I cry on the way into town.

I cry on the way back home.

I cry when I listen to happy music.

I cry when I listen to sad music.

I sob in church.

I can't stop.

My kids ask me, "You okay, mom?"

I joke and say, "Oh, yes. It's just my 2 o'clock crying time."

My older brother says sobbing is just God's way of making you grieve.

But what am I grieving?  Being alive? Why NOW, and not before when the hurt was happening?

It's like all the sad and scary things in human existence hit me. Like I wasn't really paying attention before.

My older brother is an angel.

He tells me things like, "It's just your mind f***ing with you, Sarah. But, that's okay, we're all f***ed-up." 

"Breathe. Go on walks to breathe—not to run away. " 

"Touch something real. Tell yourself all the real things." 

 "You aren't alone.” 

I tell him I'm afraid of the devil. I'm afraid of everything, but most afraid of that dark thing. He says, "No sh*t Sherlock. What else is there to afraid of?"

My younger brother, who knows grief so well. He tells me not to give God ultimatums. 

Just ask him to get you through today.

And today. 

And today.

I find myself telling people I'm not okay. 

Blurting it out on the soccer field. 

Crying in front of strangers.

I see an acquaintance at Starbucks and when she asks me how I’m doing I say, “Oh. Not good. Not good. Have you ever been depressed?!” Just like that. Very awkward.

When I'm weepy, I feel like I have slain so many dragons alone. The deployment. The babies. This last trip. There’s that pride. It’s not true. But that's how it feels.  Lonely. I'm so done. I hate being alone. I never want to be alone again. (Said the woman who bore or crossed oceans for eight children. ha!)

I text people and ask for prayer. They all say, "Call anytime. We are here for you."

Some of the most precious gifts I’ve ever been given, are now texts. Texts that people sent while I was in China. Texts that they’ve sent recently. People boldly pushing past the awkwardness of texting someone they may not even know very well, to say, “We’re thinking of you," or “Praying for you today,” or "Here’s a poem that made me think of you.”

That all feels like love to me. 

I feel embarrassed and guilty.
Shame.

But I shove those feelings away because I want to get better. 

And...I can't do it by myself.

When it feels really dark and scary inside my soul, and Jason is working out of town, I've called my mom or dad. 

"I'm having a hard time. Can you come sit with me?"

Always, "I'll be right over."

Hours into the night. 

My mom read scripture and played lullaby music. 

I eventually stop shivering and relax. 

My dad came over and I watch the meteor shower through his car windows. He speaks truth and makes plans with me. I like plans. "Do all the hard things in the morning," he says.  

With this: my husband has nothing but grace, grace, grace and healing for me. He never judges me. 

He knows what it's like.

Some have said, “Don't worrying so much." Or, "You need to take control of your thoughts." Why didn't I think of that!? I honestly pray that they never have to know what this feels like. And, that it's not so much your thoughts that are rebelling with panic attacks or PTSD or things like that. Although they are, too. It’s your body. Your body is remembering the wrong things. Your body is afraid of the wrong things. Your body is telling you, "RUN!!!" Your body is telling you, "YOU WILL DIE.” And, the trigger might be a smell, a sound, a feeling, a sunset, or something that you aren't even registering. Many, many times, I don't even realize I'm thinking a scary thought, before my body starts telling me I'm thinking it. Many, many times I have anxiety attacks as I'm falling asleep; it's a cruel, cruel irony that when I am most tired and most needing sleep–my body is afraid to give it to me. I think somewhere deep down,  I think that someone will die or something terrible will happen if I fall asleep at that moment. So fight or flight kicks in at 11:30 at night...and it's just as fun as it sounds.

It would be nice if you could just say, "Hey body (and Amygdala). Remember me? I'm the prefrontal cortex. Can we have a talk?" 

My body doesn't listen for awhile at least. I feel like I am going to die, or would rather die than crawl out of my skin for one more minute. It feels like an invasion. It takes anywhere from 2 hours to 8 hours  (or days and days when I was in China!) until my body really believes I'm safe. Sometimes a hug, or a walk make everything okay.

Sometimes I just freak out no matter what. 

It just runs its course and leaves me in ruins in its wake.

So we go one more day and one more day, and wait for joy and dancing.

I look for my portion around me, and in God's words and his people.

He prepares a banquet for me. I know it is coming. Better is one day in his courts than thousands elsewhere. I'm banking on that. I'm learning to play the long game. I'm growing up I hope.

Also. I look for ways to be hands and feet, too. Sometimes I am little and selfish and I hide. Other times I realize there is no point to any of this if it doesn't bring good into the world somehow. Is it possible to bring glory to God in so weak a vessel?

There’s no way to repay all the goodness or badness in the world. 

We just have to look in our circle and find the broken hearts, find joy, search for the God of the universe and let him speak. And be brave.


Very, very brave.