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. 

Adoption Journals

Adoption milestones are popping up every time I turn around. 

We just celebrated Reagan's 2nd birthday a few weeks ago. 

Around her first birthday, I spent more than one night boo-hooing the hours away. 

 Feeling absolutely sick to my stomach.

 There were times I felt if we couldn't, "make it there" by her 1st birthday--

nothing would turn out right. 

I was sure that our bonding would be forever screwed.

 That in those few weeks...she would be lost. 

Stupid--but true.

This invisible clock starts ticking away moments. 

I felt so helpless.

You get lost in the vagueness of it all.

So many unknowns.

February, March and April were miserable months for me in 2010.  

Mis-er-a-ble.

Looking back, I feel like I was pretty detached as far as our bonding went. 

There never seemed to be enough time to prepare for this new life.

When we started this process, Jason was taking a world record amount of credits at Eastern Oregon University.  Then, he graduated, joined the Army, left...and it was my job to sell our house, move the kids, and work on adoption stuff. I emailed him her referral picture while he was at O.C.S.

I loved her.

But, it seemed like...say, you've been separated from you husband (or whoever you love) for a long period of time...and right as he walks through the door, your kid poops their pants, dinner burns, fire alarms go off, and you stub your toe just as you meet him.

"I love you! I'm glad you're home! But...there's all this stuff going on. "

Life.

We had so much on our minds.

Where would we be stationed? What job field would he get? Would our house sell?

 I hear other adoptive mothers talk about how much it mimicked pregnancy for them. 

The preparations. 

The longing. 

My experience seemed so chaotic.

 More like a bad romance. 

A drive. 

A determination. 

No matter what--this child needed a home. We, "oooh-oooh-oooh-ed" and raised our hands to claim a child (in a non-materialistic sense of the word) whatever child we got, and that was her. We needed to do what it took to get her home.

Ah. 

Home. 

What does that even mean?

 I kept thinking, "Just get her home...then you can bond."

It reminded me of pregnancy I guess. 

That last month, when you would push down an old woman in the street,  if that meant you could have your freakin' baby already.

Yeah, that's what it felt like.

I forgot to pray over her many nights before she came home. 

That made me feel terribly guilty. 

When I would pray, it would sound like this, "GOD!!! I don't know what I'm doing. I've always desired this. From my core. Why is it so hard?! So complicated. Please love her for me. Please hold her for me. Please. Please. Please make this happen--despite the chaos in our lives."

My kids would remind me, they would pray for her, talk about her...love her. 

That humbled me.

I'm still humbled and amazed that from point a. to point b., she made it into our arms. Into our home. Into our lives.

 Grafted into my heart. Breaking it and healing it all at once.

~

Since it's Spring Break around here, and we are still working on organizing this house *cough.* Since my sister's about to have a baby, my mom will be coming to visit, and hopefully sometime soon...my husband will be coming home for R and R. I thought I would post some of our travel buddy's journals. I'm not sure that's on the horizon for me. I wish I had kept a journal. But I didn't. 

These guys all have different perspectives of the same trip, same care center, same agency.

So without further ado, in alphabetical order:

God Will Add

Amazing, kind, beautiful family. 

In the process of adopting again, less than a year after their first adoption. 

Go see why...

Journey 4 Hope

Slightly (REALLY) jealous that these guys are heading back to Ethiopia soon. 

Really wish I could go with them. 

While we were in Ethiopia, I loved sitting near her. She was constantly asking our driver questions. So, vicariously through her, I learned much more about Ethiopia than I would have otherwise.

Drop by to read their story...

Semi-Feral Mama

I would start at the very beginning. Then keep reading.

 I love her writing. 

I love the details of every day life in Ethiopia. 

She writes about things I had forgotten. 

She's funny. 

Go! 

Now!

Zehlahlum Family

Finally, Jamey. 

The woman who writes about things that have rolled around in my head, but I haven't always given voice to. She's been therapeutic for me in my own adoption journey. 

Transparent.

Very focused on the what happened between child and parent.

Ha.

 I tried to pronounce, "Zehlahlum," for the first time just now. 

Say that three times fast.

What a difference 278 days make

 A few days ago, Lincoln had stayed up late to do his homework. While I kept him company, I started going through home videos. I came across this first one of Reagan. She had been home for six days. I can't get over how hurt and withdrawn she seemed. I had forgotten what her cry had sounded like. That apathetic, "Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh."

 When we first met our daughter, we had no context of who she was. What she looked like when she was truly happy. What she looked like when she was truly sad.

Now I know.

At the time, I was thankful that six days later (after arriving in the U.S.), she seemed happier. She wasn't sick, she didn't have a fever, or that oozing sore on her mouth. She opened up more and more every day. The other kids loved her. I was just glad to be home.

But now I watch this video and it sucks the air out of my lungs. It hurts my heart. I knew that she'd be grieving. I just didn't know what that would look like.  

This is what it looked like. 

 

I know it might not seem like much. 

But it's the difference between confusion, pain, hopelessness and heartache. 

And, confidence, determination, intimacy and happiness.

It's the difference between a smile brought on by fleeting entertainment. And one brought on by trust and joy.

She was hurting.

I remember now, how she would withdraw and stare off into nothing. How she would turn away. I remember that deep, pitted, scared feeling...that maybe something was really, really wrong. That maybe it was something I couldn't help her with.

___________________________________________

And then here's today. A friend of mine had posted the Katy Perry cover of, "Fireworks," on her facebook page. Grant asked me to, "beedio" him dancing to the, "moon, moon, moon song." Sorry it's so long. Grant doesn't even dance very much. What I couldn't stop smiling at is Reagan. 

    

Sometimes we need a reminder of how far we've come.

I know that with all my children...we are in a lifelong journey together. 

I know it's not over.

But to quote Confucius, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

If I haven't lost you already with my insane amount of cheesiness, don't worry. I'm done. :)

I'm just happy.

Phone calls...

I hate waiting for phone calls.

This is part of, "the military life" that blows.

It's (obviously) totally not his fault. 

Sometimes he gets called out on missions. Sometimes it's his favorite thing, meetings. Sometimes he's too busy to even shower. Sometimes the phone lines aren't going through. Sometimes it's just hard to work out the timing...because Afghanistan is like opposite world.

It still sucks. 

Even though the (teeny-weeny) logic side of my brain says everything is fine.

I always worry.

I worry that something bad happened to keep him from calling.

I suppose it must be a little what parents go through when their kids don't call after curfew.

Only...he's an adult. And, I should know better.

So, I keep coming back to these verses that have gotten me through the past few months. They have literally revolutionized my life. In every nook and cranny.

While sitting in the preschool room at homeschool co-op, I met a lady who has become a sweet friend. She's a military brat, traveled the world and then some, married to an army dude, and has been through three deployments. She called to check on us the day after Jason deployed. She didn't know he had just left. God orchestrated that part, and that's just how she is.  Always in the right place at the right time. During our conversation, she lathered ointment on my wounds. She didn't tell me trite little cliches like, "Just give it time." Or "He'll be back before you know it." She gave me *gasp* verses. From the bible.

Jeremiah 17:9

"The heart is more deceitful than all else, and is desperately sick; Who can understand it?

In a society whose constant mantra is, "Follow your heart." This seems totally unnatural. However, if our hearts really are deceitful and sick; it doesn't make sense to follow them. As a Christ follower, I'm called to rely on His word...and to follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit. That's not always the same things as my heart.

Examples of this?

• The week before I married the person who I now so wholly miss; I was sure that my heart was telling me to run.  It wasn't just nerves. It was the guilt of an unplanned pregnancy. The embarrassment. The heartache over letting others down. Resentment at my soon to be husband and myself.  The anger that my mistake would be public. It all added up to being repulsed...about everything in our relationship. So, on one hand my heart was telling me, "You don't know him. This is scary. This is a sign! This feels bad. RUN!!!"  And, on the other hand...deep down inside me, I knew that I needed to marry him. I knew that it was right. I knew that I loved him; even though it had changed from a silly school-girl feeling...to something much, much more serious. Like the kind of love that walks next to someone through difficult times. It might not be sexy (at the the time). But, it's real. I remembered that the first time I met him, I had thought in my 18-year-old brain, "I'm going to marry him." What my heart, nerves, and body felt, and what my spirit knew...were two completely different things. If I had, "followed my heart." I believe I would have made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I feel like God has blessed me over and over and over again for trusting Him with that decision. I married my best friend. He is loyal, loving, and challenging to me. He is perfect for me. I love him.

• Soon after I talked on the phone to this friend...God started breaking my heart in another area of my life. With Ray. Some days, my heart tells me, "She will never love you. You will never love her enough . Some broken things can never be repaired." My heart screams in fear. My heart shuts down. My heart lies. God's word boldly proclaims that we have all been adopted. That without love we are CLANGING SYMBOLS.  That true religion is more than attending church. It's more than loving your kin. It's more than volunteering at a soup kitchen. That it's taking care of the orphans and widows. Now, this may present itself differently to every child of God. I know that all aren't called to adopt. But I was. And...I would be foolish to assume that raising this child will be accomplished in my own desperately sick strength. I have been given SO much peace through this verse in the area of raising our daughter. It's given me the clarity of mind to go back to the foundation. To remember that God called me to this before I lost all my teeth. Before I found my husband. Before we had any children. And, now realizing that it wasn't because I was special. It wasn't because I had a greater capability to love than anyone else. But...that He was just preparing me to be used by Him.

• The last way this verse has calmed my fears is...with my husband. Even though his job is really very, "safe." Even though God has been preparing our hearts for this stage in our lives...for years. Even though he is good at what he does, excels in these types of situations...even though.  My heart STILL tells me some days, "He will be broken when he comes home." Or, "He's not coming back." I think it'd be pretty safe to say I'm not the only military wife who has had those thoughts. It just comes with the territory. I think as time goes on, you get better at not wasting energy on mindless worry. At least, that's the way it seems when I psycho-analyze these (insane) women who have been at this for years and years. They still manage to get dressed in the morning. They even have smiles on their faces. I know they have been through the fire. And...somehow they just get more and more filled with grace. They seem to have a peace that is totally OUT of this world.  For me; those thoughts DO pop into my head. And, when my heart is scared. When it's saying hopeless things, and is filling up with hurtful feelings. THAT'S when I tell myself. "Self. Your heart is DECEITFUL... more than anything else. IT'S sick. You can take those thoughts and SHOVE 'em!"

Then I can move onto renewing my mind. (wha...?) To taking every thought captive. 

2 Corinthians 10:5

"We are destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ."

To be continued...

White Flag pt. 3

(This is when Sarah moves to second person, and she's not quite sure why...)

So. You starts to feel like life might be normal. You dust off your pants. You talk to your husband about the next year. You stay up late night after night...packing with him. You both feel like you have stones in your stomachs. The dread of the initial separation wears. you. ragged. You put up a fence with the help of neighbors. You stay up all night with your children lying all around you. You try not to shut down during your last hours together. But...if you don't shut down, every feeling you've avoided during the past few months leading up to the deployment. Every one will hit you at once. Like an anvil. Every ounce of fear and sadness will just be squished out of you anyway. So...you let go and get squished by that twelve-thousand-pound deployment anvil. You finally say goodbye. On the way home, you listen to your sons cry in a way you've never heard them cry before. You lie flat as a pancake for 24 hours; because that's what anvils do. For the next couple weeks get used to sleeping alone. You still look around for him every night...wanting to fill him in on everything your children did that day. But, hey-O! Life starts lookin' up...

you think you can do this.

You make lesson plans for your kids. You wipe noses. Change peed sheets. Lecture. Hug. Catch toads. Go to church. Skip church because of sickos. Are late to church because of one freakin' left shoe! Wrestle with rowdy kids. Rock tired ones. Brush teeth. Stare into the fridge. Hang out with friends that make you positive there ARE angels here on earth. Answer questions that hurt your brain. Talk on the phone with family.  Get cranky every night...even though you say you won't. Relish the silence after they're asleep. Stay up too late.  Wait for his calls. Wash dirty clothes...but never seem to make the time to fold and put away clean ones. The kids ask to watch the videos of dad. Over and over and over again. It melts your heart that your daughter knows who her daddy is. But when she signs, "dad" and points to the computer every day. That makes you sad. You and her are slowly are building a bond...but you're building it. And, sometimes you don't have the right tools. Sometimes she doesn't. It's awkward. It's slow. However, even if the feeling doesn't remind you of puppy dogs and ice cream; you are convinced more and more that this is love.  That it's right. That your life is good. You, "...set your eyes on the prize." Which would be providing this child a loving, stable, joyful home. A connection to someone who loves her without conditions. You stop looking back so constantly. The beauty is actually in all the ugly, frustrated, sad, lonely...feelings. The beauty is in doing things so hard. Even though you forget to see them as much; there are plenty of awesome, loving, tender, peaceful, and joyful moments. You notice that the older boys need their dad. They need their hero. You notice that your daughters need their dad, too. They need to light up his eyes. You notice that your three year old is absolutely crazy...and you're not sure what to do about that. ha.

You feel like you are spread so thin that smiles are stiff and slow. The house is always a mess. Always. Your ability to rage and lose your temper has grown in leaps and bounds. Love starts to feel like a commodity that DOES have a limited supply.

The moments that you let go. Laugh. Or, when you ask for forgiveness. Their small, sticky hands around your neck, or their little-man -awkward hugs around your waist... those moments let you know you're still good.

___________________________________________________


(In case you are wondering what it looks like to go through adoption, or deployments and stuff. These illustrations made sense.)

(Except this one...I just thought it was funny.)

White Flag pt. 4

White Flag pt. 2

It began when we brought Ray home.

Parts of my heart...parts that I didn't really know were there. They surfaced. Wicked, bane, selfish, silly, mean, cruel, childish parts of my heart were chiseled and peeled back as we started to become family. They are still being peeled back. As scared as I was about learning to love her. As sad as I was about her pain. More than anything; I was absolutely horrified by my own feelings. I knew I should be a better person. I knew more was expected of me. It just hurt so much worse than I thought it would to love someone...differently. To take my heart and tell it that everything it felt. Everything it had done in the past. That all was great--but totally useless. To be rejected. To not be idolized by sleepy newborn eyes. To feel stupid. To feel like I had just jumped off a cliff and was free-falling. It sounds so ridiculous. But it's true. It's like the epitome of humiliation and failure, to plan, spend, love and risk so much on someone...and then see how clueless you were. I realized I had never really been asked to love so unselfishly. Ever.

I was not good at learning.
But, inch by inch we moved...closer. I had to learn loving someone side by side. Not by engulfing them in a bear hug of mommyisms. No gentle kicks inside the womb. No soft, contented sighs while breastfeeding. Sometimes we had to make our history; others, we just had to let it happen. Let go. I had to learn to love in small, small ways. Sharing graham crackers. Bending down to talk to her. Hand feeding her candy. Learning to love everything about her face, her body, her personality. Wondering who she looked like, and not feeling sad that it wasn't me. Seeing her heritage as one so much more wonderful than I had ever grasped before. Not just her mother and father in Ethiopia. Not just how she was loved by me, my husband, my other children, my family, my friends. But the heritage of being a child of God. It blew my mind. Teaching her the fine art of being thrown in the air and caught by someone you love without peeing your pants. Getting tickled without having the Moro reflex. Important things like that. Dancing and "singing." Rocking with bottles...and knowing that the second the bottle was empty, she would jet. Some days felt normal. Some days we cuddled and laughed. I was proud of her. I loved her. She was precious. She was adorably silly and cute. I knew that her life was ordained by God. Despite my heart. I forced myself to go back to my childhood. To journal entries about adoption. To the way it had changed my own legacy, because of my father's adoption. I forced myself to remember that we are ALL adopted. But it still hurts. I expected her pain. I did not expect mine. I thought I would only feel loss for her. I didn't think I would feel loss for myself. I didn't think it would look so ugly and selfish. Some days I would walk away from her crying, with complete apathy. I would watch numbly as her brothers and sisters swallowed her whole with giggles, hugs and kisses...and I felt lost. Some days I looked at the clock, waiting for my job to end. And, then would feel the vice of terror around my heart as I realized my. job. would. NEVER. end. She was never, "going home." This was her home. I was her home. Well...Jesus was her home. But that's what I didn't get at first.

Jason helped me through the worst times. 

He told me to shut the hell up when I told him he would never understand what I felt. He would add ridiculous sentiments of logic and levelheadedness that could not exist in my sorry sea of emotions. And when I sobbed for hours he would wrap his arms around me until my self-loathing and useless worry faded for little while.

God helped, too. 

Mostly by shocking me with the thought...that it didn't matter. I didn't have to do this just right. I guess He knew all along how crazy it would feel. He sent people into my life to remind me of His promises.  He knew my heart. He knew all that ugliness was there anyway. Stupid. He loved me then. He loved me now. He loved Ray better than I did. He loved me better than I could. I think I've just touched the surface of His love. And...just like little Ray would  turn her back to ME in the beginning. Sometimes I'm afraid that's what I do to this crazy love God offers...

We survived.
(Not the same as, "arrived." But we are going to be okay. I know that.)

I don't have terrifying panic attacks about Ray anymore. I'm not so mean. (Yes. I was mean.)  I don't always feel rejected when she rejects me. I get that she's really not rejecting me. She's just rejecting new. New feelings, new touch, new coping. Mind Bomb: I'm also starting to understand that. it's. not. ABOUT. ME. She's not even always, "rejecting" anything. She just doesn't freakin' understand what the heck she is supposed to do! She JUST started wrapping her arms around my neck when I hold her. I used to think she didn't do that because she didn't like being so close (which was partially true) but I realized recently...she didn't KNOW she was supposed to do that. She didn't know she could.  She was watching Grant hang on my neck and climb up me one day...and it just clicked. "Ah, how nice. Your arms can go around their necks. How handy!" I don't project my anger at her so much  (as if she had ANY choice in all this). I'm letting go of her fulfilling my expectations. (You think you won't have any expectations for your child; but you do. You have a WHOLE list of things you expect this child to do for you in your new life together. Admit it now and mooooo-ve on.) I'm getting better at letting her just be herself. I see how God loves me and keeps pursuing my cold, hard heart. I think that the pain I've gone through during the past year must be nothin' compared to what I've put God through...

White Flag pt. 3

On her level

This has been cracking me up ...

I've tried to be better at making eye-contact with my kids when I talk to them. 

 Lately when I stoop down to talk to Ray, she stoops down, too.

 So, then I have to get down even lower to be eye to eye.

She doesn't seem to understand why I'm bending down in the first place...

 It's all very confusing for her.

I guess it shows I wasn't doing a very good job of it before.

(Or that she really enjoys messing with me.)

At this rate, we'll have to have all our conversations lying down.

We've been waiting for you...

Abaynesh,

We are not complete without you.

We love you now.

 Even with the love we have for you today. And, the love that will grow in tomorrow...our love pales to the powerful love and grace our Heavenly Father has for you! You are a miracle, and so beautifully designed by Him. He has placed you in our lives--and for that we are so humbled and thankful.

 We are broken-hearted with you, that you cannot be with your first momma and daddy.

 We think of you continually. Even though we are sad to be apart from you, we have prayed that God would fill you with peace. And, lots of smiles! We pray that you would know joy.

You are more precious than gold. We will come for you soon! We love you baby girl~

 Your Family

(March 2010)

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Reagan found her stocking the other day, while we were unpacking Christmas decorations. It made me realize how long we have been waiting for her. I bought that stocking around Christmastime last year. We started with our adoption agency in October of 2008.

She opened the tub, and went straight for HER stocking. Something about seeing her hold it filled me with thankfulness and awe.

 I'm so glad she is spending this Christmas with our family, and not in a care center...

Shadows, shots and the best hugs on earth

Yesterday was just one of those days.

It started out with me feeling pretty pathetic, and ended with me feeling incredibly lucky.

I've had a cold for a couple weeks. Right after Thanksgiving, I thought I had kicked that sucker out the door! But, alas...soon I was coughing a ridiculous amount. Like, 30 minutes straight. I get light-headed pretty easily. I have really low blood pressure and think that must have something to do with it.(?)  Maybe my body is just too lazy to get the blood where it needs to be fast enough. Anyway, the coughing fits were freaking me out some, because I kept blacking out a little. Can you black out a little? 

During one of said coughing fits, a friend called and DEMANDED to take my children while I went to the doctor. Okay, she really didn't have to twist my arm at all. I really love my kids...but an hour or two away from them is heaven.

She picked them up and totally made Grant's day by letting him ride in her, "BYUE VAN wit a TV in it!" and then letting him eat apples to his gluttonous heart's content. By the way; what an amazing group of women God has placed in my life! All of them. Amaze me. The ones I've met through adoption. The ones I've met through the Army. The friends I left back home. The ones God gave me as family. I can't really wrap my brain around this as a world-wide phenomenon. I have to believe that I really know 50 or so of the MOST amazing women on the planet. 

Off the rabbit trail: Couldn't get an appointment. Walked into the ER, waited only a little while. Got right in to a doctor. I apologized profusely for using the ER for a cold, but said my husband's deployed and I had a sitter, blah, blah, blah, and by the way, this cough sucks! The doctor didn't lecture me. Told me I had bronchitis. Sent a nurse in for a shot in the rear (lower hip?), showed me how to use an inhaler, and voila! No screaming children. No irritated doctors. No stress finding a babysitter. It all landed on my lap. Miracles happen every day.

When I went to pick up the kids, I made a beeline for Reagan. I hadn't left her at their home before and was kind of worried about her being anxious. When she heard my voice, she ran to me and gave me THE BEST HUG EVER! We're talking, arms fully encircled around my neck, legs wrapped around my waist. She just doesn't do that. I have to show her where to put her appendages usually. She also kept looking up with the happiest grin and saying, "Hi," and then putting her head back on my shoulder. (super happy sigh) It was amazing. AMAZING. I know it doesn't sound like much...but when you've had months of sad cuddles, hesitant hugs, and owie cuddles only given because of obvious pain...this was truly awesome. Later that night  we had bottle time. I hadn't gotten the bottle off the stand yet,  and she was in my arms waiting. You know what? She waited. And snuggled. And smiled. With no bottle in sight. This is also a first.  She still was history as soon as the bottle was gone, and I know that we still have a lot of trust to build. Still. STILL! I am so thankful for those little gifts. Reciprocal love is pretty awesome.  If it's not there--there is no excuse for me to give up. It's just nice to see. To know that her little heart is melting, too.

Finally. While we were watching Ratatouille last night. I thought I saw a shadow in the hallway. Then I saw the shadow hop. Then I saw hopping. I remained calm.

"Jack, did I just see your toad hop down the hallway?"

"No, she can't get out."

hop. hop. hop. (menacing toad grin)  hop.

"JACK! I DID just see your toad hop down the hallway! GET HER NOW!"

(Jumping off the couch) "Okay! Where is she? Which one is it?"

"She's behind the couch, and it's your new toad."

(After a little frog rodeo) "Whoa, mom it IS the new toad. How did you know?"

(All mysteriously) " I told you when you got her, I had a feeling about that one."

"Wow mom. You really DO know everything."

(I didn't tell him that I had seen that stupid toad try to escape MANY times. I like him thinking I know everything.)

 

The things I do for love.