Point of Vulnerability

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

James 1:27

I had been spending some time with this verse prior to knowing anything about GAP Ministries or ever having considered foster-parenting. What had caught my attention was the last part, "keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

I was coming at it from the perspective of someone who wasn't working with "widows and orphans." I appreciated the third "option" for genuine religion. My thought was, "Well, if I'm not working with the "homeless and loveless," as the Message translates it, at least I can make great efforts to keep from being polluted by the world."

But now that I am in the midst of preparing to host children who are temporary orphans, I see the verse in yet another light.

I love that God's word is living and active.

This week Andy and I spent two very, very long days finishing our initial training and testing. We will be required to have on-going training (all house-parents are) over the year, but we have now passed all the hurdles to get us going.

Training was extremely difficult for me.

In part, because I realized that I am, in fact, "working" again. After nearly three years of being at home, I am jumping back into schedules, meetings, paper-work, deadlines, and a myriad of other work-related words that I haven't had to think about for a very long time.

It took me many months to get OUT of work mode, I'm sure it will take a similar amount of time to transition back IN.

But, it is tricky. I don't want to look at the lives in my care as "work." I have decided that for me, I will think about anything on paper as my job. The logs and forms and information that I have to keep daily to report to the state of Arizona about how I am providing care, those things are what I get paid for. The children that come under my roof, the conversations that I have, the discipline that will inevitably be required - those things are a privilege. Each life I encounter is valuable to God, I want to treat it as such.

The other aspect of training that was difficult was the array of horrible, horrible scenarios that we were trained for. At some point during each of our training sessions I had to struggle against tears. And on a couple of occasions, Andy and I both were fighting to remain composed.

I learned everything from how to supervise phone calls between children and their estranged parents, to how to handle children who run away from our care, to how to identify and report signs of sexual, emotional or physical abuse.

Oh, my heart breaks.

So yesterday, when I read, "and keep yourself from being polluted by the world," I had a whole new perspective. If I am not careful, things that now sound unimaginable to me, will become common place: the anger and difficult behavior I encounter will become a nuisance instead of a sign of deep hurt, the paperwork will seem like the priority over people, the wickedness of man will cease to cause sorrow in my heart.

I don't want to be dulled or polluted by this world.

I am about to encounter more of the "world" then I ever have. I have always had a family that loves me, a sense of security, a safety net. My world has been small, because I have had that luxury. But now, by my own choosing, I am opening my home to the world. I am welcoming people in who are covered with the world's pollution, either by their choices, or by misfortune. My options are to try and stay away, so that I don't get dirty in the first place, or to draw close, and let the Holy Spirit daily cleanse me, so that the pollution doesn't stick.

I hope that I live the latter.

When I went to get my physical and drug test (a very bizarre experience) the doctor who was helping me was completely baffled by what Andy and I are doing. She kept saying over and over, "Ten kids! Ten kids?!" She was very friendly and curious, but she just couldn't fathom it. After a little bit of conversation she said, "You should be on reality tv!"

Now, I confess, the though had crossed my mind. There is a certain element of the process that has seemed very detached from reality (making it perfect for "Reality TV") and like prime fodder for mass media.

Yet as I was reading, "and keep yourself from being polluted by the world," I realized that my other point of vulnerability, and entrance-point for pollution, will be my pride.

I know this venture sounds either miserable or marvelous, depending on your own personal risk-aversion. Either way, there is a sense of wonder that accompanies doing something out of the ordinary.

I am a person that loves praise. I love to put on a good show (not on a stage, that would be horrible, but I like to make things look good and easy) and have people notice all the little details I have paid attention to. I know this about myself.

I know about myself that I like to do well. Prepare yourself for a disclosure that reveals my true sin-nature, but whenever I start a new job, I always, always think, "I am going to be the best they have ever hired." There is something in me that just wants to make people love me and need me.

So, I would lie if I said wasn't walking into this venture thinking, "Andy and I are going to be the best!"

And I would lie if I said I didn't think telling people about it makes me sound oh-so-awesome.

But...

Knowing this about myself, I make it my aim to stay in step with the Holy Spirit. If I can genuinely walk with him, and surrender my ambitions to be the very best, to his goals, then I feel in a safe place. Being humble, doesn't mean not being incredible. Jesus was humble on this earth, and we all know how awesome that turned out! I firmly believe that God wants big things for the kids who come into GAP's care, and if I am a part of that, I will be so grateful! The danger comes when I see successes, and claim those victories as my own, rather than evidence of God's goodness and greatness.

So, in addition to the challenge to keep my heart soft, I need to keep my heart humble.

Easier said than done.

But with God, all things are possible.

Oh Lord, please help me as I give you my life!

...

I had hoped to give you a little more factual information to answer questions, but right now, my heart and head are so full of the process that I can't quite nail down details. Bear with me, we will get there.

Thank you for joining me on this journey!

GAAAAHHHHHHHH!

I told you several months ago that I moved in with my in-laws.

I have a story I could tell, every day, about this adventure, but I am saving them all up to tell them in bulk some day.

Speaking of telling you stories,

it appears I have not

shared my dirty-mouth-due-to-Biggest Loser-story.

My apologies.

I shall remedy that now.

Let me start by telling you

that I just really don't like cursing.

I don't even like to say, "I swear"

when I mean "I'm totally serious."

Until this story took place,

I had only said one bad word

in my whole life.

It was in sixth-grade and I was late for the

bus for a band field trip

and I couldn't find my flute.

I said "the s word."

Gasp.

I don't even really like writing

"the s word."

But yes, I played the flute in middle school.

However nerdy and school-girl

you can imagine me at that age,

multiply it by about a million and a half,

and that would be me.

In purple stirrup pants.

But back to present day.

Imagine me a just a few weeks from birthing

my second son.

Huge.

And tired.

And with a brain that was totally malfunctioning.

Andy and I were watching

Biggest Loser.

Well, I was sort of spacing out on the couch

while Biggest Loser was on

and Andy was taking care

of things around the house

and wandering back to see highlights

of the show.

At some dramatic twist to the weigh-in

Jillian Michaels swore.

Big time.

Like the worst one of the bad words.

They beeped it out, but her mouth

made her emotions extremely obvious.

Andy heard drama on the screen

and wandered back to get caught up.

As he was walked into the room he

asked, "What'd she say?"

And without the slightest hesitation,

that dirty word fell out of my mouth.

And Andy fell right to the floor.

It took me just a second to realize what I had just done,

but Andy caught it immediately.

I am not sure

if he has ever laughed that hard.

Needless to say, my face was very red

and my dirty-mouth count now is up to two.

Anyway, I now live out in the country.

With a cat that catches mice and snakes.

And a family of dear, complete with a daddy-buck with antlers, that we see in the morning eating apples that have fallen from our apple tree.

Before you picture a barn, let me show you my current residence:

Not too shabby eh?

The house is new, but even new houses in the country can't avoid the blight on an otherwise perfect season.

Spiders.

The destroyer of all my lovely feelings about autumn.

Not just any spiders, wolf spiders. Don't click that link if you can't handle spiders.

Gah!

Now, I'm not life-or-death afraid of spiders. I'm just grossed out on a normal-person level. Except wolf spiders. I'm probably a little more then normal-person afraid of them.

Screams and everything.

Well, it appears that I will have to overcome that squeamishness if I am to raise two boys in the country.

Today Jack ran up to me with a very proud face and said, "Mama! What that?"

Usually he brings me a crumb or dust bunny to examine. A few times it has been a dead bug, but that has seemed manageable.

I was bracing myself for a fat fly or crusty crane-fly until he came up with a closed fist.

Dread set in.

He had something ALIVE.

He opened his hand, and his entire palm, his sweet, pudgy, baby-soft palm, was covered by a wolf spider.

I screamed.

He dropped it.

I then had the unfortunate task of catching the spider and killing it.

The only thing close enough to grab and still keep my eye on the spider was a piece of mail. Me with a tiny piece of paper against a killer-arachnid! I wildly tossed the envelope on the floor, hoping to have it land on the speedy, ugly guy and then squish him under it, but the spider was so big and fat that even when the envelope landed on it, it was no use, the spider just continued to crawl around - with a piece of mail on its back! What sort of monstrous bug does that?! Eventually I had to get a tiny big braver and press the paper down onto the spider with precision.

GAHHHHAAAAHHHHH!

Precision is difficult to manage when you are imagining a fist-sized spider turning on you, leaping at your face and then devouring your first-born child.

But I finally prevailed.

I wish I could convey my terror and disgust. Even writing it now I feel like I have bugs all over me.

But as soon as the carcass was disposed of I thought, who can I tell?

There is only one person who can fully appreciate the horror of such a moment.

My sister.

I called her and left a trembling message, ending with several reenactments of my shrieks at discovering the black creature on my son (insert gag here).

Jack though that my squealing was hysterical. For the rest of the night he asked me, "Mama, what'd you say?"

When I would forget I would say, "What do you mean?"

He would smile wickedly and say, "About a spider!"

Then it was my job to squawk and watch him laugh at the memory.

He also kept wanting to examine the envelope for signs of guts and leftover spider bits.

Oh boys!

How many more years of boys being interested in bugs do I have left? I'm not sure I can handle it if this becomes a daily habit, which I am afraid of given Jack's delight at my loss of self-control today.

Next time, I will have to try very hard to not make a scene.

Actually, I don't know if that is even possible.

I'll have to try something else.

Can you give a kid a time-out for bringing you gross things?

GAHHHHH!!!! Every time I think about it I shudder.

GAHHHHHH!!!!

This kid is going to give me a run for my money!