January 14, 2011

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.
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(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

January 13, 2011

White Flag

Uncle already.


Life has been rough.

Not because of the deployment...

Not because of homeschooling...

Not because the kids whom I love, adore and think are all amazing, funny, sweet, and freakin' awesome kids, are driving me absolutely, mind-numbingly insane...

Not because I'm hungry for grown-up conversation...

Not because I'm again realizing that the only things I finish in life revolve around my husband and children (who needs a degree?)...


Not because I haven't worked-out in months...

Nope.

All these things suck.

But what's been getting me is knowing that God expects even more from me.