The Pretty Bow

I know yesterday's post was a bit of a downer, but over the last year I have been trying to make the concept of "real time" friendships part of the way I live.

One of my wise friends introduced me to the concept and it has stuck in my mind.

The idea is that to feed your friendships and to grow deep roots and sweet fruit in community, I have to let go of my need to present myself as "in control."

I have a tendency to like to tell my sad stories once they have a happy ending. I am learning forbearance and the art of under-reacting to difficulties, knowing that in most cases something that strikes me as traumatic will most likely seem less significant a few days or weeks after the event.

But just because something will eventually get better, doesn't always mean that I need to white-knuckle my way through a hard time alone.

Hence the "real time" conversations. It is the practice of saying, "This is where I am right now. I recognize that it will be different in the future, but at this very moment, I am struggling."

Real time feels so dangerous to me. I wonder what people will think, if they hear the "I can't do it" on the front end of an experience, and never hear the "I did it" or more likely, "God did it!" of the resolution. I am often aware of the challenge of presenting hard times without being a whiner and of knowing what times are appropriate to share a genuine struggle.

I am by no means a master of this kind of relationship, but I would like to be one day. So for now, I will simply try and try again!

All of that to say that yesterday was the beginning of a journey ...

Actually,

it is probably somewhere in the middle

since I feel like

I have been traveling toward an

awesome and unknown destination

for some time.

I figure I am about half-way up a glorious,

though steep,

mountain pass.

Every few switchbacks I get to pause

and see the ever-changing view

and admire the vastness of the world,

but then I must continue on,

moving up at whatever

slow and steady pace I can manage.

And God, in his infinite grace, poured fresh and refreshing air into my lungs this afternoon.

I am still tired, overwhelmed and confused, but to my practical self, already I am seeing a transformation in the two that joined our family on Monday.

I understand more of what is being said to me, and I feel bold in bringing them into the way I parent.

There is always an awkwardness that accompanies the transition from a safe and warm welcome, to integrating a child into the flow of our house.

Today I crossed that line and started to establish routines and boundaries rather than just cuddle and mitigate the stress I image the children are experiencing.

That means that we did time-outs, I said "no" when appropriate, and I got to splurge on a pair of pink suede shoes that made baby girl's eyes shine.

Two children

came into my home with nothing.

However long they stay,

they will at leas

t leave with a weeks worth of clothing

and the small toys

I was able to purchase for them.

I have picked a few places to focus my efforts and through repetition (oh it is mind numbing!), consistency and God's infinite grace, already changes are happening.

To see them in writing makes them seem small, but anyone who is parenting - or has recently parented - toddlers and preschoolers understands the victories of hearing "please" and "sorry" unprompted and of putting children to bed and having them stay there without a fit, are huge.

At one point today all four of my under-5 club were asleep or quiet at the same time. Yes I am that awesome.

Later in the day we all sat for 15 minutes and did a craft project, followed by another 20 minutes of playing with Play Doh.

After a hard rain it was cool enough to play outside so I brought out the speakers and put on dancing music. We colored with sidewalk chalk and jumped around, enjoying ourselves greatly.

And if I were not already the most remarkable (of course I am being facetious here) mother today, I set the table with a simple dinner that all 11 people in my home enjoyed. Sweet victory!

But wait, there is more...

To ice the cake, I single-handedly diapered, changed, brushed teeth and tucked into bed the four-under-five in less than half an hour (Actually, I didn't do all the tucking by myself, for which I am thankful! Way to go Andy!).

Rah Rah Sis Boom Bah! GOOOOOOOO Emily!

The humbling and heart-heavy realities of what I have been entrusted with are still present. I am still unsettled and still so tired that I have lost all sense of propriety and am planning on eating a spoonful of chocolate frosting after I publish this post. But despite the frightening unknown and the sobering known, I have moved forward. That is something to celebrate.

I am so very grateful that God's ability isn't dependent on my courage. His goodness isn't altered by my depravity. His love isn't thwarted by my hard heart. His ways are beyond my ways - unmarred by blemishes.

Oh God, thank you for being the same yesterday, today and forever!

And thank you friends for standing with me! Your prayers made a difference in the day!

Broken they may be, but worthless they are not.

This afternoon I was raiding the garage fridge for all the makings of a preschool lunch. I was over ambitious in what I tried to carry into the house and ended up dropping a large jar of Adam's peanut butter on the concrete.

It broke, of course, and my heart lurched as a large shard of glass slid across the length of the floor, leaving a trail of shimmering and hazardous slivers in its wake.

There are very few messes I find more frustrating to clean than broken glass.

But as I swept up the tiny fragments, I made an effort to draw some parallel between the broken glass and the strange beauty created by the smaller bits, catching the light and making my dustpan look as if it were dressed for a party.

Perhaps, on a different day, that imagery would have rung true. Today, however, what was in the forefront of my mind was the fear that I associate with broken glass. Dread may be a better word than fear. Or foreboding.

While sweeping up so many miniscule pieces there is the very real and likely possibility that something will get missed. Some near-invisible fleck of shattered jar will find just the perfect little dip in the flooring and hid away until I have forgotten entirely about the event. Wait until I no longer keep a pair of slippers outside the garage door. Wait until one day I walk out with my feet bared and that so-small glimmer will become a sharp pain.

Yesterday Andy and I welcomed two new children into our home.

The last portrait I gave you included four beautiful, brown children.

I hate trying to be

politically correct

when identifying races.

The appropriate title

seems to change frequently

and my information doesn't update

often enough.

So I say "brown" simply because

that is what the pretty girl of the family

told me she prefers.

They moved back home with their mom, which is a story for another day. The parting was bittersweet, but left our home feeling like a home.

When they moved out, we were left with four foster children, all of whom have been part of our family from the beginning.

After almost six months, we know each other fairly well. We feel comfortable with one another and each of us has trained the others how to get the best from us.

For two glorious weeks I felt like I was living with my family. My home was predictable, full of peace and happy camaraderie and full of children who have started to let their guards down.

Oh it was bliss!

Bliss may be a bit of an exaggeration.

But it was at least pleasant.

As we knew would happen eventually, we saw four new children this weekend. One came for a day, one came for a weekend and ended up moving in and two showed up at our door late yesterday evening.

When the person delivering the children called, she told us to have a bath running and wash them first thing. They had "bedbugs."

So when two tiny children arrived, one two years older than Jack and another just a few months younger, I had a warm bath going and lots of toys out to play with.

I helped a young boy undress. His clothes were caked with dirt. Instead of underwear he was wearing filthy swimming trunks under his jeans. Beneath his clothing was the wonderfully smooth skin of young-childhood, marred by dozens of small red spots.

The tiny girl has eyes that will not focus and cause her to always look as if she is afraid. Her skin too was dotted with bug bites as well as two large raw and red welts between her legs. My hope is that they are the result of ill-fitting diapers and not something more sinister. Her hair is sickly and she is so thin that her ribs can be counted.

When the woman dropping them off asked me to throw away their clothing I was a little shocked. It was fortunate that they were so close to Jack's age because everything they came with, left with our garbage pick up this morning.

The bath disturbed my heart, to see such small children walk in, so obviously ignored for a long period of time... but the sorrow went deeper as I tried to get to know them.

Neither of the children can talk. I don't mean they aren't physically able, I just mean, nobody has ever taught them how. They seem to be able to converse with each other, in a language that I first thought was foreign, but they are extremely limited in the words they can speak to others.

A boy that is five and a girl that will be three this month. They can't tell me anything.

Luckily they are very good mimes and both seem more than able to follow directions. I do understand when the boy calls his small sister "baby girl" and I have started to identify words that we used often today: share, purple (baby girl's favorite color), trucks, helicopter, BIG helicopter, no and hey!, which is what they call Andy and me.

We tried to tell them our names,

but they persist in shouting "hey!"

when they want our attention.

They aren't the slightest bit interested

in "Emily" or "Andy"

so when they remember not to shout,

they call us mom and dad.

Oh friends, can I tell you. This is really hard.

These children have been horribly neglected. They need so much. And I don't want them.

Please don't misunderstand me. I want to love them, and take care of their needs at this very moment. But their needs are beyond my ability. To say "yes" to giving all that they require means so many nos to the other relationships and dynamics that are established in our home.

I don't want to say no to the four children who are making their home with me. I don't want to say no to Jack and Joey. I don't want to say no to my own selfishness. I don't want different when what I was building was so comfortable.

These children are shimmers of something broken. A broken history, broken family, broken hearts... I am not capable of cleaning this mess.

I want to see beauty in the dustpan, but my heart is fearful. Whatever sweeping I can do, won't be enough. Pain is still there. For each small fragment I can piece back together, another chip of glass waits to draw blood.

I don't know what will become of the two new waifs that are now sleeping in my home. But I do know that ultimately, my job is not to repair the broken.

With the grace and strength of the Holy Spirit I may be able to sooth. To calm. To teach. To love.

But putting the pieces back together will always be beyond me.

As I wrestled today with welcoming these two glass-glimmers, I thought of a story in John:

"As Jesus went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?'

'Neither this man nor his parents sinned,' said Jesus, 'but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.'"

I so badly want to blame someone for the hurt inflicted on the children that find their way to my home... but "this," whatever "this" may be, happened so that the work of God may be displayed.

Friends, I have two darling children in my care this evening that need more than I have. Please pray with me that God's abundance would cover over all of my lack and run deep and rich into their lives.

Family Portrait

I really wish I could post pictures of my most recent family.

As of this moment I have 10 children.

Four of them have skin that is smooth and creamy and slightly richer than a delicious chocolate brown. They have slim bodies and exotic features and they are extremely affectionate. Most mornings when they wake up I have a cluster of at least two giving me hugs or holding my waist while I cook.

I have three children who have been with me the entire time Andy and I have been on this adventure. Two are sweet and charming. A brother and a sister, they laugh and giggle and while they enjoy their time here, they talk frequently of when they will get to go home.

The sister, my littlest girl, has long, long brown hair that I braid most evenings. Tonight we were driving home from an outing and she feel asleep in the car, with her face squished against Joey's carseat. I carried her into her bed and didn't even bother making her brush her teeth. When I set her down she furrowed her brow for a moment and I felt my heart slow - feeling her worry and confusion. I prayed peace over her and stroked her hair and the creases that don't belong on a five-year-old relaxed as she snuggled into bed.

Her brother eagerly follows Andy's every movement. Coming to our house a little soft - he has suddenly taken to dropping down in the middle of the floor and doing push ups. Today Andy did an intense workout at the gym and his little buddy did a scaled version of it too. With a smile on his face!

Our oldest boy has also been with us since the beginning. In the first month of his being here Andy and I didn't know how to love him. He was caught twice with drugs, lead revolts against our authority, and tormented Jack.

But now...

But now...

Now, he is dropping "jokes" about us adopting him. He offers to take care of Jack and Joey. He lets me hug him. He told me the other day, he is starting to think about God again.

We still wrestle with him every day. He makes some good choices, and some poor ones, but he actually cares about what we think about his actions. He is trying and he is growing.

He is a boy who will probably be with us as long as we do this job. He will never be with his family again.

After many, many years of complete estrangement from his mother, he recently asked his case worker if he could try and see her on occasion.

It took almost four weeks to make a meeting happen. One day it showed up on my calendar and I was so delighted to tell him it had finally been scheduled. He nervously got dressed and when he was picked up for the appointment he was much more silent than usual.

He came home an hour and a half before I expected him.

His mom never showed up.

He has another visit scheduled tomorrow and I'm not sure what I will do if she misses it again.

Our eighth bed is filled by the only teen girl in the house. She has been with us about two weeks. I completely underestimated the drama a post-pubescent woman-child could create.

That is all I have to say about that.

Actually, not quite all. She spent FOUR HOURS on her hair one day. When she came out she told the teen boy in the house, "I think my hair is too fluffy."

When he refused to be baited into that fishing game, she asked directly, "Do you think it looks good?"

His answer?

"Not really."

That was a bad day.

And then, of course, Jack and Joey have the run of the house.

I am extremely grateful that to this point I have felt safe having my children around each addition we have had in our home.

Jack has heard a few too many ghost stories and now knows that Sponge Bob exists (but is quick to tell me "we don't watch Sponge Bob"). But he also has friends of all nationalities, ages, genders and backgrounds. I always have someone to buckle him in his carseat and usually he is entertained while I make dinner.

Having Jack around always gives me a reason to reject music, tv or video games that are inappropriate. Even if the kids in my home don't understand why I would care about what they watch or listen to, they understand when I say that Jack can't.

I have to teach most of the kids how to play with Joey. One boy put Joey on the kitchen counter and turned around for a second - long enough for Joey to throw himself headfirst onto our tile. Joey was fine. I spent longer reassuring the one who thought he had hurt my baby, than I did calming Joey down. Joey is a gift to each of us living here. He smiles at nothing, he cries with people who cry and he makes everybody laugh.

I can't control my boys' worlds like I thought I would be at this point in their lives, but their worlds are now deeper and wider and richer than I could have ever imagined was possible.

And Andy.

My Hero.

This job would not work without both of us. Andy is steady, and fun, and a MAN.

When I look at my husband I am simultaneously amazed by his strength and filled with wonder at the ways he has softened through this experience.

I'm not sure how to describe it, except to say that I am so very glad that I am married to him and feel infinitely lucky to be the one he gives his love and protection and support to.

It is a good life I am living today.

This Does Not Bode Well

This morning I planned to take Jack and Joey to the zoo to meet one of our little people for a field trip.

We showed up to communicate in the small ways that we think she is important, but it turns out that she just wanted to say hi for a minute and stick with her class.

So I wandered the zoo with my two boys and loved hearing their little voices and big ideas. I gave Jack a few dollar bills to buy a balloon and when I told him he could run over and pick one out he moved faster than I have ever seen.

He was thrilled by it for all of three minutes and then asked me to carry it (after Joey proved incapable of holding it correctly).

But... this story is mostly about what happened on the way to the zoo.

Of course I had to stop for coffee. My supply at home is all for hot beverages and I have yet to learn how to make a delicious iced latte for myself. So I ordered my drink and a tidbit for Jack and waited in line for my turn to welcome a scrumptious and necessary caffeinated treat.

Usually when I drive I relish the way the car gets so warm and toasty. I let it heat up and then I alternately am pleased at the cool sensation of turning on my air conditioning and feeling all the little hairs on my arm be blown about and my cheeks cooled.

As I ordered my coffee I had been letting the car get to the warm point in anticipation of my iced drink. So when I pulled up to the window you can imagine my surprise when very cold air began blowing into my vehicle.

Um.

In Arizona, apparently, there are air conditioners that blow into your car as you wait at the drive thru.

This is not a good sign.

I have been enjoying the perfect 85 degrees every day.

People keep telling me, "just wait" and I have been laughing and agreeing that pretty soon I'll be one overheated and grumpy girl.

But it wasn't until I realized that it will become hot enough to necessitate AC for the brief moment you roll down your window to receive your iced coffee that I really started to worry.

I'm really in trouble here.

I was not built for the heat.

I am about as fair as they come. The only person I know who is more pale than I am is Jack (who, as it turns out, HATES having sunscreen applied to his face. Oh joy!). I enjoy wearing clothes that cover my body and I not sure how I am going to manage to accumulate a wardrobe of clothes that are modest enough for my tastes (I'm totally not over the top when it comes to modesty, but so many of the clothes that come out in the summer can be appalling!) yet will keep me from dropping dead the minute I walk out the door, or, as it seems, roll down my window at Starbucks.

Oh friends, the heat is coming!

Just be prepared that starting in two weeks, when you check this blog it will mostly say, "IT IS SO HOT!" for about four months.

I'll try and get creative with the wording so you don't get bored, but the idea will be there.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Fiesta!

Well.

I have entered the world of crazy.

But I think we all knew that would happen.

Earlier this week my rose colored glasses were broken.

Luckily for me, the world still holds beauty without them.

...

This weekend I took our little girl to a birthday party.

Which turned out to actually be a giant family reunion of a huge Mexican clan.

I sat the whole time, thankful for Joey and his cute face as a buffer and slightly alarmed to be the only white person in a room full of extremely friendly, but difficult to understand, grandmas and aunts and overly-friendly uncles.

I did get a spontaneous hug from what might have been the oldest looking woman I have ever encountered. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest that I had never met her before. I was standing, so I should be hugged.

The awkwardness I endured for two and a half hours was all worth it to hear that I was part of our five-year old's very first time ever going to a friend's house. As we drove to the party her legs bounced and her ponytail whipped as she tried to look out of all of the van windows at the same time.

She very shyly admitted that she had never been to a friend's house before.

When we arrived she hid behind my legs, even when her friend ran to greet her. Throughout the party she would come find me and ask if she could participate in different activities. By the end of our time her cheeks were pink and her eyes were sparkling.

I was exhausted from smiling and making halting conversation, but she was full and that made me glad.

I am thankful to have had that moment of satisfaction, because the weekend went down-hill from there.

Without all the shocking details (truly, shocking, I mean ... like worthy of an episode of some crime drama), I will sum up the last three days by saying that we have had two boys suspended from school, found drugs in our back yard, called the police three times in as many days, had two children removed from our home by the police and heard more profanity than I have ever heard strung together in my life.

The first night of chaos, I felt battered. I was confused and obsessed with all the things I did wrong that only made things worse. The second day of chaos I thought, I've seen it all before (how quickly I am learning) and the third day, today, I just feel sad.

It is sad to see so much brokenness.

I have begun to learn to pray in new, desperate ways and to invite God into my home at every moment.

I am grateful tonight for my mom and dad. I am thankful for support from friends old and new, and I am amazed that God's word is so alive and so powerful for today.

I was going to end by commending all of the moms and dads I know and emphasizing what an important job it is to parent, even imperfectly - but I realized that inside of me a soapbox is growing in huge-monstrous proportions and standing on a soapbox after three days of no sleep and heightened emotional levels is not wise.

So instead, I will end by saying that Jack and Joey are doing well. Joey is the star of the house and everybody wants to be the one to sit next to him in the van and help carry him into church.

Jack is finding his place in the house slowly but surely. Most nights I wake up and find he has snuck into my bed at some point in the night. When I discover him I relish the warmth of his wiggly little self next to me and kiss his buzz-cut-head. Then I usually carry him back to bed so I can sleep.

A few times I have actually just gone to sleep in his bed to save the effort of moving him from his comfortable and safe place.

We all are making our adjustments, but we are intact. We have met new friends, Andy and I have laughed and smiled and worked together and I haven't even made him listen to me cry (yet). We are tired and my brain is so full that new bits of information are temporarily being turned away - a problem - yes, but nothing a handy pen and paper can't take care of! Through it all, we are meeting God and meeting each other.

The last days have not been easy, but they have a purpose, and I am content in that.

And how could I not be finding the beauty in my days with these blokes about?

Jack, if when you are older you wonder why there are three pictures of Joey and only one of you - it is because you are miserable to take a picture of. You are too fast and usually are stuffing food in your face. And when you aren't eating, it is probably because you are coloring.

On your face.

In ink that is very hard to wash off.

But I adore you still my funny, sweet, clever and artsy boy!

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

On Monday night I sat around a long, beautiful table with my new kids.

After a chaotic afternoon, we all found ourselves sitting down to pot roast, mashed potatoes, and asparagus wrapped with bacon - my favorite thing to serve kids.

I am now the proud foster mom to three teenage boys, two elementary school boys and the sweetest little slip of a girl you could find (Ellery no longer falls in the "little slip of a girl" category as she is now nearly seven and reads at a middle school level).

All of the children in our home have been in group home settings before. One of the boys has had 22 different placements and asked me in an equally indifferent and hopeful tone of voice if this would be a permanent placement.

I couldn't tell him yes or no, but I could tell him that I was happy to have him.

And I am!

Yesterday I cheered on a boy at the skate park. Today I listened to him ask every hour when we could go back.

Yesterday on the first attempt to get to the skate park I received a call from one of the schools asking me to pick up one of our kids who was suspected of bringing drugs to school.

Today I assembled a tv stand that had thwarted all of the teen boys - even the ones who "like to put stuff together" and Andy.

Today I also had a mini-meltdown over the minor detail that I haven't figured out where CrossFit fits into this new life.

Tomorrow is Jack's third birthday, and I feel just a tiny bit guilty that I haven't even purchased gifts for him. We will, don't worry, but I am finding myself extremely thankful that he is still just young enough to not be aware of how exciting a birthday could be.

Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to learn and to develop a flow for this new family. To pray. To laugh. To feed. To thank God for his good gifts and ask him again to give me everything I need to let his love flow through me and into the very special and fragile lives that are now living in my home.

Quick Update

Well, we just (seriously, JUST... like five minutes ago - so this will be brief) rolled back in from our second, and apparently last, short-term house stay.

Midway through our week at SPLASH 8 (each of the 10 GAP houses is numbered), we got a call saying there were both a house and kids waiting for us.

So this weekend we will be packing up our daily life and moving it to a new house, for good. Joining us on Monday will be a set of four siblings (3 boys and a girl, all middle-school or younger), a teen boy, and a teen girl.

It has been fun to see how other families order their days and to have an opportunity to test out our skills in a home with lots of chances for immediate feedback. But I can not tell you how excited I am to have my own home.

The house we are moving into is still in the process of being renovated. We did a walk through yesterday and it is far from finished, but with a good team, and some elbow grease it should at least be functioning by Monday for us to bring kids in.

My fingers are crossed!

To be continued...