Highlighting Innocence

Once, when our first born was four years old, she stood in the foyer of our home holding her kitten, wearing a little corduroy jumper.  The light streamed in from the front of the house, and made her blonde hair sparkle.  She was filled with innocence and sweetness as she looked up at me, and it was as if heaven opened, and highlighted that moment for me.  Highlighted her innocence, her purity.  I'll never forget it.

Today my parents came to take our Sunshine to her violin lesson.  They pulled in the drive, as she was just finishing up some baking she had begun.  I was out in the driveway to meet them, and as I turned to see if she was going to be coming soon, or if I should go in to get her, the door burst open.

Out onto the porch spilled this same innocent child.  Dressed in a coral blazer with a navy blue crocheted dress and matching coral sandals, she came.  Kicking up a cloud of dust, heading toward us on a dead run, hair flying every which way, she came.  Her violin and books in one hand, clutching a small paper towel with two "fresh baked" cookies for Nanny and Poppy in the other; her Kit doll tucked safely under her arm. 

A picture of innocence, highlighted.  Twelve years old, and full of life, radiating sunshine.  This beautiful blessing, running towards me...  I'll never forget it.

The thing is, it's all beautiful...

Friday, my joy came rushing back.  It's been nine months, and I have been patiently waiting for the grip of grief to loosen... for the joy that has always marked my spirit to find its way back to my days.

That morning, I opened my eyes, and felt it.  I must have giggled and laughed and smiled more on Friday than all the last nine months combined.  It was like drinking Living Water.  Friday afternoon found me out with a friend for a two and a half hour break of laughter, story telling, and fun.  We laughed... a lot.  I felt "spunky" again.

I returned right on time, as promised for an appointment with my youngest - just "you and me" in the rocking chair.  It's his new favorite thing.  Which, in itself, is a huge success.  When we met him, he didn't know how to rock, nor did he care for any part of it.  Now, six months later, he's a rocking machine!

He'd had another one of those days... those angry, testing, pushing away, resisting love days... but he is beginning to crave the rocking chair, so as soon as I walked in the door, I hung up my purse and sat down - motioning him to climb in my lap.

He settled in and then began recounting his day.  "I was angry today", he said.

"I know, buddy.  It's okay", I responded.

"I don't want to be angry anymore.   My heart has all these broken pieces in it." 

"I know buddy".

"I wish I could just have Jesus with me all the time, and I wish He would give me a new heart, and I wish He could take away my anger".

Oh, Lord - my heart!  I've been praying for this day, when He would want to live his life for you.  So there we were, all snuggled up, when I asked him if he'd like to have all he had just wished for.  We got Daddy, and as we both laid our hands upon this small child, our son prayed... asked for all those things... and was received into the kingdom of heaven.

Then, with the faith of a child he asked, "Momma?  Can I ask God for just one more thing?"

"What's that, honey?"

"I want to see Jesus, right here in this room, I want him to show himself off to me". 

And so, I replied.  "Son, don't you know?  Don't you know that Jesus lives through Daddy, and through me?  Every time you are hungry and we feed you, every time we keep you warm, and care for you when you are hurting; every time you look into our eyes and see them sparkling right back at you, when you are angry and we scoop you up to rock you... that's Jesus... right here in this room - showing himself to you."

"Momma?" he said, "I knew you guys were the good people".


So, even though we are far from "done" on this road to healing, even though there are tough days ahead, the fact is... it's beautiful here.  It's all so beautiful... and I'm back.  My sunny heart is back, and it's shining Jesus all over my home.

Oh No, We'll Never Let Go - Part Three

(Continued from Part Two)

I continued helping my "fussy" baby boy, rocking, singing, stroking his face as he screamed and yelled "I do not want to be close to your heart!!!" and rocked while he blurted out, "I CANNOT love you!!!" 

Then, after over 4 1/2 hours since the beginning of our morning, it happened.  He let go of it all.  The tears began to flow, and in the privacy of our empty home he began to tell of the "bad things", and the "sad things" he's been hiding inside.  All those years of neglect, and all those years of fear, and he began to trust me enough to hand them over to me. 

When he was through, I asked him if I could pray for him.  He nodded in agreement, and as I was asking God to take away the memories (thank you, Beth, for the idea!) of all those horrible things, I heard a tiny little boy voice begin to bring his heart to God.  My little son trusted me enough to bring his brokenness to God, while he was holding my hand.

Soon he was asking God to take away the anger, and give him joy... he was thanking God for a Mommy who would not let go, and wasn't angry, wouldn't hurt him, and didn't yell.  And then we sang together and read together and I let him just stay and rest with me until he decided he had had his fill. 

An hour and a half later(!), he was ready to get up.  But not before requesting "his song" I made up for him.  Then, after I had gotten done singing that one, I heard that song come to my mind, the one from the radio... and I sang it to him.

"Oh no, (we'll) never let go, through the calm and through the storm, oh no, (we'll) never let go, in every high and every low, oh no, (we'll) never let go - no - (we'll) never let go of you!" 

And he grinned the widest grin... and his eyes were bright with love and happiness.  And I am amazed at how this is exactly how God loves us... he never lets go, we rage and scream, and throw stuff, and do it 'almost' right... we tell him "I CANNOT love you!", because we're so aware of our own need for real Love, and we're so afraid if we finally let go, and trust Him enough to care for our hearts, we'll die.

That's when I realized... I'm a "child from the hard place"... and I've got a Daddy in Heaven who will never let go.  He's with us, on this journey to walk the road of healing with our son, and he'll never let go.
*Edit: I must add here, that when I say I am a "child from the hard place", I mean all of us, each of the Sons of Adam, and Daughters of Eve, all... are a child from the hard place.  (My home of origin was a beautiful, sweet, oasis.  Just to clarify - and to honor the childhood my parents gave me.) <3

In case you were wondering, it took just one minute to complete the "one minute task" after we were done connecting and rocking.  Once that was done, he went to the laundry room to get a towel on his own, wiped down the couch, pushed in the chairs, and offered a suitable response to the broken toy.   Then, (don't pass out), he thanked me for helping him.  Keep going, my friends, my "mothers of children from the hard place"... it's worth it... they're in there... under all that fear.

 

Oh No, We'll Never Let Go - Part Two

Here we go then...back to the chair, and our "one minute" task... 

If you remember right, we were at home, and I had just assigned our Jitterbug the task of sitting on a chair for one minute, with his hands on his knees.  I was using this task to help me see if he was ready to listen and follow - and to see if it was "safe" to venture out in public today...

...So there he is at 7:30 in the morning, sitting on the chair, with his hands... on the back of the chair.  He is looking at me with mischievous eyes, daring me to see that his hands are not where I asked them to be.

"I can wait a long time, darlin'... no worries about hurrying this along, okay?" I say with tenderness.  Those eyes tell me quickly that this is not going to be an errand day after all.  I quickly resolve to conceal my disappointment at the calls I won't be making, the laundry that will never be rotated, and the milk that will remain in the dairy section of the neighborhood Winco. 

8:00 has him with his hands on his knees, but no kidding, he's actually on his knees (not his bottom), and he's demanding "this is too what you told me to do!", and could I please "honor the agreement and let me move on with this day?"
 
He is sizing me up, testing me to see if I've got what it takes.  Am I strong enough to be trusted?  (No worries, small son... I've got this.  I'll take us both to a place of healing by not giving in to anger). 

8:30 and he's under the chair playing with a toy car. I chose to ignore this at this time, as I had four children to get ready for school.  (That's okay, I'm not looking to force him to obey at all, I'm looking to provide him with an opportunity to simply surrender on his own to a small, one minute project.) 

At 8:45 I inform him we will take a break to eat.  He eats breakfast, and we drop the girls off at school.

9:15 has us back to the "one minute" project.  He has now thrown the chair across the room, broken someone else's toy, hit the couch, and stomped on the floor.  We talked briefly about how he will need to put this energy back into the home when he's done by doing a small task for the person's toy he broke, wiping the couch down, and pushing all the chairs in to the table.  He asserts I will never see him doing these things.  I raise my eyebrows and smile.  I have never lost yet.

9:30 he's on the chair screaming at me, and he's sitting backwards.

10:15 another break.  We take the big kids to the retirement home.

10:40 back again we go.  He's now sitting on the floor with the chair on top of him.  "Will this work, Momma?"  he asks.  I do not respond audibly, but my eyes twinkle and my head shakes, "No, son."  I am now reading a magazine while sitting on a chair in front of him.  His real goal is to get me to join in the raging, his secondary goal... to disrupt and frustrate me... if either were accomplished, he would succeed at breaking the attachment.  He asks why I am smiling at him, with that "gentle face"!!!???  He does not like my gentle face.  I tell him cuz I've got the "Joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart.... WHERE?.... down in my heart!...."  This does not please my small angry son.  The singing does, however, help me keep my cool and remain in a position of being unflappable.  I was rockin' unflappable today.

11:00 I tell him he can take a break, as I am going to the kitchen to start dinner.  "Please let me know when you'd like to try again - and I'll fit you in to my schedule", I say.  11:10 he's bored, and I have not reacted at all to the screaming... (did I not tell you I was rockin' unflappable?) -he'd like to try again.  I returned to witness the "one minute" moment.

11:20 Still no success.  Finally, he pulls the trump card out and begins to attempt to dismantle the living room, throwing things here and there.  I bend down quickly, call him to me... no success.  I remember how I learned at this point to lower my voice a bit, slow my words down and give clear directions... no success. 
After realizing I'm going to have to catch this quick, angry rabbit to help him calm down and keep us both safe, I wait for my moment and when he is close enough, I swoop in, scoop him up, pull him to me, tell him of my love for him, and begin to rock... he, wrapped in a soft blanket, me rocking back and forth and whispering my love.

I've decided to call these days "fussy days" as I would have if he had been eighteen months old, instead of 6 1/2.  (The temptation is to label him as "out of control", or "defiant", but now that I've been studying, I know that this is F-E-A-R, fear so hot it sears him on the inside.  If my eighteen month old were this scared, I'd hold him, I'd rock him, I'd speak soothing things to his soul.  We'd say he was "fussy" but we weren't sure why - and we'd love, love, love.)

(See "Oh NO, We'll Never Let Go - Part Three)

Oh No, We'll Never Let Go - Part One

This post is mostly for those of you in the trenches, doing the work of loving on those little ones "from the hard place", however, if the following is not your current reality, I invite you to read on - as today was so much more than that.  Come celebrate with me...

Dear mother-friend of mine, I believe that this is the hardest thing you have ever done.  I believe that your life looks oh, so different than the one you dreamed of when you were just a girl, in your room, rocking baby dolls to sleep, and pretending to make dinner on plastic burners. 

If that's you... if your dreams are crashed upon the rocks of someone else's brokenness, then come with me to the reality of my "today".  Come sit with me awhile, and I'll tell you of the success of today, in the midst of the hard things, and the glimpse I saw of my son's heart, and the reality of the fear that still drives so many of his behaviors; how I fought a very long battle to keep his heart close to mine.

So many of our recent days together have been filled with our Jitterbug pushing away from the love, nurturing and connecting that I keep bringing into our relationship.  I am a relentless nurturer, pursuing my son with all that I have to bring to the table.  Humor, silliness, tenderness, love, gentle touch, smiling eyes, song, and so many more "horribly scary" (to him) actions. 

I've been "loving strong" lately, and frankly, it's freaking him out.  He is beginning to feel a sense of connection to me, Mommy #4, and his old tapes in his head are telling him plainly "we are in immediate danger".  This is his very reality, and studies show kids from these hard places absolutely believe they have kept themselves alive through maintaining power and control at all costs.  Simply put, if they were to give up that control, they would surely die.  He fights this hard, because he is so afraid that if he lets us lead, he will die.  We believe if we don't fight for his heart and win, he will never truly live.

 

Today, I thought I'd begin with a simple direction to assess our small son's level of cooperation.  This would be a good indicator of if we should venture out in public or stay home today.  I asked him to sit on a chair for one minute, and place his hands on his knees.  The reason I gave two directions (where to sit, and what to do with his hands), is so I could see if he was really "on board" with obeying.  We're learning he can sometimes conceal his true rebelliousness through the morning routine, only to take it out and display it for all to see at random places, such as the store, post office, library, church service, etc.  Our goal is to only venture out in public together if his heart is ready to follow joyfully.  This is saving us from so many unnecessary embarrassments, and is keeping his ability to seek power through public displays of anger to a minimum.

After today's battle, I'm so very grateful God gave me the idea to test our Jitterbug's heart in this way.  I could have had a real "experience" at Winco I would not have soon forgotten!

(See "Oh No, We'll Never Let Go - Part Two")

The Rest of the Story

My heart has been so plagued lately as to "why" I was not able to write about the adoption of our son.

Next Monday will be six months.  Six months?!? 
Wouldn't a "good" mother want to write about that? 
Why couldn't I write?

What was wrong with me?

I've got it now. 

I can tell you now...

now that we're a bit further along.

 

31 years ago, I dreamed of adopting.
18 years ago (this Saturday), I met the man my heart had longed for,

who had a heart for adoption like mine.
We knew that someday we would adopt.
13 Years ago, we applied for adoption of a six year old boy.
(Then we found out we were pregnant!)

Plans went on hold, then came another baby...
More time went by...

Then, two years ago, we had an appointment scheduled to meet with our adoption worker on a February day - to adopt a "six year old boy".
The night before our appointment, we received a call and 

opened our home to our little darlins;
postponing our adoption for "a few days" (we were so naïve!)
while the girls were with us.

More time went by...

Then, last September, the call came.
On October 1st, we met our son.
Our "six year old boy" that we'd been dreaming of, and praying for,

for so. very. long.

And so where are the postings on this "dream come true"?
Why is the journey missing?

 

Because, to be honest with you...
it wasn't exactly what I had expected,
this "new beginning".

It was messy.
It was hard.
It was scary.
A lot of things got broken.

There were days with NO sleep.
Doubts crept in...

Now that I can look back, I finally figured out what it's like.
It's like the first few months of your pregnancy when you're exhausted, sick to your stomach, deeply fatigued, and (if you are being very honest), while you are delighted, you are also kind of fearful of the change that's coming.

 

"Will this change our family very much?" 

"Will we still 'feel' the same?"

"Will it be a good thing for our other children?"

"Will there ever be a time when I am 'not' exhausted... ever... again?"

No one tells you these things, though.
No one tells you that you will wonder if you made a mistake, you will be afraid, you will be more tired than you have ever been in your life, you will gaze at your husband and wonder when the last time you spoke to him was, you will arrive places with half of your makeup on, wondering if you brushed your teeth this morning.  No one tells you your body will be processing so much extra cortisol that you will find yourself unable to process a complete thought, or make out a logical grocery list, and you will wonder if you are ruining your other children's lives. 

No one tells you that people will come and pin all kinds of verbal awards to your shirt of how "wonderful you are for adopting", and inside you will just feel like a fraud, as you wonder how the beauty of this is evident to everyone except you.  No one tells you that relationships take time to build, and it is okay that this child who is yours smells 'foreign', that you will hear his feet hit the floor in the morning and your stomach will tighten as you wonder at what battles lay before you today as you continue to prove yourself faithful and loving and he, in fear, invents more ways to show you that he cannot trust your love is real.

So I'm telling you.  Today, I'm letting you know.  God has a plan to put the fatherless in families, and He has a plan for His church to rise up and gather up all the orphans, and there are so many more children... and it's OK that it's hard at first.  It's alright.  It gets better... so much better...

 

God has begun to soothe our worries with Hope, and he has answered our questions.  Here is what I know now, "No, it will never be the same again - and thank goodness! - because it will be better, and fuller, and richer!".  When we take part in God's work, of creating LIFE, or in our case... bringing our son back to LIFE, we get to touch the Sacred Space.

 

We get to serve, and live, and breathe in the Sacred Space.

The healing is coming, and we are so amazed that God's work for our jitterbug is flowing through us!  We get to be a part of Heaven's work.  He is accomplishing His plan for our son through two people who fell in love and dreamed that one day they'd bring home a six year old boy.

He is beginning to equip us with tools that are bringing about change and renewal.  He has led us to those who've walked the road before us, and have successfully brought their children's hearts back to life. 

A little heart is starting to sprout where before only fear had resided.  We've heard his first *sigh!*, we've heard his first belly laugh, we've seen the first genuine smile, we were there when he finally learned to sleep through the night, we taught him to rock in the rocking chair.  We took him on his first hike in the woods.  

 

The fear that caused so much nervous energy is beginning to recede, it's melting away... and we stand in awe that God would work through us to complete his plan for our son's life.  It's not as hard as it was in the beginning, and I am captured everyday at the resilience of this child who has endured more brokenness in his six years, than I have known in an entire lifetime.

No more will you wonder, my child.
You are Home.
You Belong.

"Kings & Queens"

Little hands, shoeless feet, lonely eyes looking back at me
Will we leave behind the innocent too brief
On their own, on the run when their lives have only begun
These could be our daughters and our sons
And just like a drum I can hear their hearts beating
I know my God won’t let them be defeated
Every child has a dream to belong and be loved

[Chorus:]
Boys become kings, girls will be queens
Wrapped in Your majesty
When we love, when we love the least of these
Then they will be brave and free
Shout your name in victory
When we love when we love the least of these
When we love the least of these

 

Blind Date Blessings

 

This running journey has been full of unexpected blessings.  The blessing of healing that it is bringing to my son, has been my focus, and occupied my line of sight for the last couple of weeks.  Last night I walked into my home from a run in the dark with my Dad, the children were all asleep, and the quiet allowed my heart time for reflection.  God is so completely faithful, and while I have a list of many answers to prayer, it always takes me back when God comes to answer, to minister to those things on my mind that I have neglected to even mention to Him... but He knows...

 

I've been following the Couch to 5K running plan, a slow easy climb from inactivity to being able to run 3.1 miles in nine weeks.  Step one:  Run 60 seconds, walk 90, repeat eight times.  This was a plan I could get behind!  One minute!  Alrighty then!  Each week, the minutes would slowly increase, and after a small panic, I would see that the previous week had prepared me well for the increase; I was beginning to hit my stride, I was gaining confidence.  This insurmountable goal that had been hanging out there, was slowly being eaten away, one minute at a time.

 

This last week, I hit the five minute mark.  Run for five minutes, walk for three... repeat... repeat... and I began to wonder if maybe I had found my max.  Maybe I had been right all along, and I was not an athlete, (who was I kidding?) I could never hope to achieve being able to run 5K.  The doubt increased.  I checked the training program on my iPod and saw that in three days time, I was supposed to be able to run 20 MINUTES at a time.  As in all-at-once.  No walking.  Twenty minutes?!?  If I couldn't run five, how in the world was I going to manage twenty?

 

My Dad had always been with me on the previous runs, but my parents were on vacation for this little panic of mine.  I had hit the hardest part of my training schedule thus far, and was trying to complete this without him running beside me.  He was completing the same runs on his trip, and we were texting back and forth, checking in with each other.  His texts said he was right on track.  Those texts said nothing about him "maxing out" and I worried when he got back, what if I couldn't keep up with him? 

 

I cried with my husband.  "Honey!?!  I can't run 20 minutes!?!  I can barely run five!  I mean, I physically CANNOT do this!  What am I going to DO???"  He offered to ride his bike beside me and cheer me on (he can't run due to the knee surgery he had last year), and while I found his offer a sweet confirmation that I had married the best man in the world, I was still quite sure of my inability to run 20 minutes, despite the constant encouragement I knew he would give.  The doubts began to grow.

 

Yesterday morning found me in a slump, I motored through the therapy exercises with my son, accidentally bleached all of my clothes but five shirts, and tried to plant math concepts in the resistant soil of my older children's brains.  I tried to make my bed, only to be overwhelmed by the thought of the task.  The bed went unmade.  The realization that I was too taxed to make my bed worried me.  I was burning out.

 

The daily healing plan for our son is intense.  It isn't daily, it is minute by minute.  It requires my vigilance, and constant presence.  Yesterday it required more than I was able to give, I was just too tired.  We work with him, and the realization of the brokenness is right up in our face "this is what he endured", and the "I don't think I can bear it" pain is right there... all the time.  It breaks a Mommy heart.  It robs me of my very breath.  All this pain, and I wasn't there.  All this pain, and the path to healing is long.

 

Tuesday is not a running day for me, but when my husband came home in the early afternoon from work I knew that he could take the helm, and I could finally escape for a minute.  I needed to get away to compose my thoughts. I needed to breathe air that wasn't being shared by brokenness.  I grabbed my iPod, loaded up the next run and headed out the door.  As I glanced at the screen,  I saw that I would be running two eight minute intervals.  I had never run that far, but figured today was the day to try.  My next run was that elusive giant of 20 minutes, and so at least I would have one more run before I had to quit from inadequacy.  (Isn't fatigue uplifting?)

 

I had no idea where I was headed.  Then I remembered the text that I had received just a few hours prior: "We're Home"... and I knew where I was headed.  I needed my Mommy.  I needed to see my Dad.  I needed the stability that comes from going "home", needed to drink up a bit of the two of them.  As I neared the school, I heard my App trainer yell "JOG!" and I began to run.  Halfway to my parents house, I was surprised that he, (the app calls him "Sarge") hadn't told me to "WALK!" yet, but I reasoned that since I had never run eight minutes, I didn't know how long it felt.  If I couldn't run eight, I had no hope of ever reaching twenty, so I pressed on.  I was too going to run eight minutes!

 

It was when I hit my parents' driveway that I realized something had gone wrong with my App.  Surely, I didn't run to my parent's house in eight minutes, they live almost two miles away!  It turns out my iPod App had accidentally been paused somewhere along the way, and wasn't even ON for the whole run.  I went back through my playlist and figured out by how long the songs were, how long I had run... can you guess?  It was 20 minutes.  I still can't believe it.  My lack of a sense of time finally paid off.

 

The blessing is not in the fact that indeed, I am able to run that long... the blessing is that God cared enough about me to "arrange" for me to see what I really was able to do.  It was a blind date with a 20 minute run.  He is a God that cares for the tiniest things.  I can just picture Him smiling as he planned the whole thing.

 

I found my Dad and Momma in the backyard. They were putting things away from their trip, and she pulled me inside, fed me, let me sit on her couch and ramble all out of order all the things that were on my shoulders, and shared her prayers for me that had occupied her earlier in the day.  She bolstered me with her Mother Love.

 

That night, after I had everyone ready for bed, I drove to my parents house once more, this time for a run with my Dad.  We ran the fives, just to see where we were at... and they were easy.  My blessing then?  He was right beside me.  I had forgotten how good it felt to run beside him, draw from his strength, and chatter in his ear as we went along.  Nearing the house as we completed our jog, our breath puffing out in little clouds in front of us, I grabbed his hand, and we walked up to the porch that way.  I confess, I felt like a little girl, all over again... and I soaked up this blessing that is and always has been my Daddy.  How many women get to be embraced by their parents in this way?  Thank you, Father... for my parents.

 

This running journey, it has been filled with these surprise blessings along the way.  God has hidden so many displays of His affection for me in what started as a spontaneous decision one winter day.  He has answered prayers I hadn't even found time to speak, showed me clearly how near He is to me, and reassured me of His love through a pair of running shoes, and a pink iPod. 

 

 

 

"So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Isaiah 41:10