Chickens and Faith

I have become an egg farmer's wife. Thoroughly so. The egg farmer also builds houses, which at times takes him an hour from home. Then the egg farmer's wife is responsible for the healthy cackle of 7,500 organic and free range hens. These happy hens are let out into their pasture every day automatically unless it's going to rain. Rainwater can make confined cacklers very sick. One moist cloudy day the egg farmer was working far in the mountains with no cell service. It was morning and this egg farmer's wife was busy gathering and packing pretty brown eggs and she forgot to turn off the automatic gates that let the chickens out. Chance of rain was 50%. The gates swung open and 2,000 chickens streamed out into the lovely cloudy day. They wouldn't go back in until after dark. She looked at the tumbling navy clouds and she despaired. A jillion thoughts spiraled through her mind as she wondered how to save the chickens. She went into the pasture and ran back and forth wildly flapping her arms hoping maybe the 2,000 chickens would run back into the barn. They didn't. Nothing left to do, the egg farmer's wife gave up and prayed, "Lord, please help it not to rain today". All day? No rain? When the clouds were brewing and stewing IN the morning? With dragging feet she walked to the house. Then the Lord spoke! He said,
 "I can make it not rain today, but if I let it rain...
   I can make the chickens not get sick, but if I let them get sick...
   I can make them not die, but if I let them die...
   I can help you not go under financially, but if I let you go under, let you lose lots of money...
   I'll still be there for you."
I relaxed. I let go. With a promise like that, why would I stress? Faith. A friend once said, "Stress is a lack of faith." Well, that might be a little stiff, but he may have a point we can learn from. And friends... it didn't rain all day.

More on learning to love...

    Now for more of my story... my journey of learning to love. I hope that term doesn't make you gasp. Have you ever babysat a child and the things that child did annoyed you more than your own child? You do not mistreat that child (God forbid). You do not dislike the child, but you haven't learned to know and understand that child and therefore you struggle with tolerance, with forbearance, with long-suffering. So often we pardon to the extent that we love. Learning to love can be a process, a journey. It may be described as "the cup not full", "the foundation not layed", "the anchor has not caught hold", "the chasm not bridged". And yes, it is hard, because, well, you must learn to love. This is not babysitting and the child, the precious yet hurting child, doesn't go home for the night.    
     Now a bit about me: I struggle tolerating weakness, especially in those dearest to me. I was raised in a "buck up and get over it" environment. If you were tired it was "in your head". If you were sick it probably was "in your head". Feeling sorry for yourself was not allowed (I still do sometimes, tho! :)  It was pounded into my head to "be happy". Oh yes, I had a wonderful childhood and a loving home! My parent's taught me about life and life isn't easy. BUT...along with it... sympathy doesn't come easy for me. I don't like tears with a reason, not to mention the ones without.
     One day the Lord gave me a child. A perceptive and sensitive child. A child who searched my face hourly for what it would reveal. One day that child started crying. For months she cried. Some weeks were better. Many weeks were worse. She cried when she rubbed her arm on the table. She cried when she "almost" stubbed her toe. She cried when she went to bed. She cried when she woke up. She cried when she ate breakfast. She cried when she ate supper. We tried lots of love. We tried holding time. We tried ignoring the tears. We tried time outs. We tried positive positive positive. We prayed and prayed and prayed, but nothing worked for long. Many days it felt like we lived in a house of doom and gloom. It grated on my nerves like many splinters. Many days I cried because of the half-filled cup, the lack of foundation, the chasm unbridged, the drifting anchor, the void of trust. And there is no fairy solution for trust. It's like trying to build a castle on water. No, I'm sure you never noticed. It looked good on the outside most of the time. No one else knew how we watched when she would wrap herself around a nearly perfect stranger. So sweet, so endearing, everyone thought. (Some of you adoption experts who are reading this are saying, " It's RAD -reactive attachment disorder-, read Nancy Thomas!" We agree, it is partially attachment difficulties, but I'm not focusing this post on RAD.) Yet we knew something was not right, something was missing. It is not so hard to handle behavioral issues, when you see results, when you see improvement. But the lack of results for months and months... the coming up to the surface for a few days only to be plunged under again and again with only tears...no answers, no reason, no light... it broke me, it broke us.
    The breaking was a gradual thing. Yet slowly God and I found a little word called "grief" once again in a cracked room of my heart. Of course, God knew it all along. The grief of forgiving myself again for being strong, proud, and independent, which may have lead to the events that followed our firstborn's birth. Why is forgiving myself so hard? I've rarely struggled forgiving the doctor. But ME, how I have hated myself. And once again I find myself facing the need to accept, to submit. "Lord, I'm so ashamed, so humiliated. Why? When you have given so much? When I wouldn't change my life if I could! Why am I struggling with this again?" I feel ridiculous. Maybe the Lord needs to show me how weak I am.  Or maybe it's because of the loss, because it is what it is, it is "loss". Loss with horrible memories. Memories that the Devil loves to taunt me with. Maybe loss must be grieved and maybe grief is a journey, too.
    With my heart open and grief exposed once again, it changed me. It softened me again, she who needs softening. In laying down my will, in accepting life again, I found a deeper acceptance of her, my tearful child. I, me, couldn't change her. No matter what we tried. We were at the end of our rope. The Lord was working with me. He wanted to quiet me. He needed to humble me. He needed to teach me again that I am so small, so destitute, so depraved, that I cannot even fully love my child without Him filling my cup daily with love, love overflowing.
    And sometimes we must learn to love on purpose, diligently, slowly, absolutely on purpose. I'm learning to grit my teeth and smile. Hug when I feel like glaring. Talk kindly when I feel like shaming. Go slow when I feel like hurrying. I'm sure most moms can relate! Yet children with whom the relationship foundation is laid, you can mess up, you can back up, and they trust you again. A child with whom you are floating one mistake can take months to repair.
      The last couple months have been amazing. She has almost quit crying for unknown reasons, almost completely! Yes, she's changed, yet probably the biggest change has been me. I have accepted her tears in a deeper way. I have accepted her in a deeper way. I'm learning to love and it's deep and it's full. I know God is filling my love-cup. It's a journey and still too many days I find myself being the unsympathetic person I so dislike. But hopefully through it all day by day, hour by hour I'm learning to be more understanding, more sympathetic, more accepting, more long-suffering. And maybe, just maybe, she needs me as much as I need her.

Learning to Love

    There is much said in adoption circles about children bonding to parents, however I'm focusing this little piece on the parent's bonding to children. I will describe bonding as "learning to love. Maybe this particular battle is more common with children joining our home beyond the baby stage or maybe not? I don't know. I've wondered if it is a more prevalent issue than we know? Have you ever noticed how many Bible stories illustrate favoritism in families? It seems like through the ages parents clicked with some children and some they did not. Maybe some were easy to understand or relate with and some were not. As parents learning to love is not an option. Biological or adopted. If we cannot understand we must learn to understand. The bond is. the. foundation. Without it we fail. This bonding topic must be an open subject. Because Satan loves to work in the dark and he doesn't care who he destroys, children included.
   Yes.. it is a stormy night as you rock your child in the dark and cry tears that you want no one else to ever see, because she doesn't feel like yours, yet you feel obsessively possessive of her. How this little miracle you hold is a constant reminder of your "loss". The tumbling feelings like thunders colliding. Yet even worse in this downpour nightmare is your heart doesn't feel the same toward her as your other children. The thunder deafens. Or maybe she who often grates on you like fingernails on chalkboard or who is impossible to understand is your adopted child. Lightening crashes. There's an extra dimension to the equation. You have a crutch. Or do you? Drenched in rain and standing in the dark, and there, because it's too wicked to talk about, the Devil's demons cackle with glee giving you so many despairing thoughts your mind is like a sphere of spaghetti. If you are in this nightmare don't panic, give yourself time, lay down your will, open up to a close friend or spouse and pray and pray and pray and pray and pray and pray.
    Sometimes it is love at first sight. Sometimes it is not. Yes, sometimes we fake it, 'til we make it. Depending on circumstances, grief, personalities, etc.. it can be complex. Bonding can take time. Learning to love can take time. It also seems to me that a large part of bonding has to do with 'me' giving in. Of recognizing the broken pieces. Of giving all the broken pieces of me to God again. It is "Lord, I am helpless and hopeless without you". Only then can your child give you the broken pieces of her. And only then can God put you back together again and start building the most beautiful puzzle ever made. Two souls from different worlds interlocking in love and trust. And when you are "here" coming from "there", no words can describe the fulfillment, the pride, the love, the trust, the bond.
   Yes, looking back we can see how far we've come. Yet "here" from "there" is relative and our journey is far from done. The journey to build this tedious and sometimes elusive foundation. Until you haven't had it, you cannot know it's value. It stretches me thin, it disputes everything I've ever known, it grabs me with frustrated fingers... until I surrender my will again and embrace the differences in this little human who challenges me so.
    Oh, what a slow learner am I. So quickly I forget the Answer. Again and again I strive on my own and "me" looms large. Then I remember... and pray.. and pray... again and Answers come.
    Am I meek enough...humble enough... to learn to love and ultimately learn to understand? Do our relationships on Earth reflect our relationship with the Father?

Always Too Tight...

When I read the letter below it brought tears to my eyes. Because I can relate. Because I worry. Maybe every adoptive mom worries. Maybe every classic mom worries. Probably. When it's dark outside and I'm alone in the quiet I fear rejection. If you could know how I  love my children. You do know, surely! How I want to rock them til their 30, how I want them all playing in the living room cozy, forever, how I want to slow the hours so I don't have to let go. How I hold on too tight, always too tight. Most likely you do, too, if your a mom. But maybe adoptive parents are faced with a clearer realization that my children are not mine. Because no matter what kind of mom you are your children are not yours either. Yours are God's and mine are God's. I'm not trying to drum up differences here, but let's face it, there are differences. There is a different dimension of challenges, of hard places. Of dealing with rejection issues, or biological blood. And with those challenges and these little souls around me, it weighs heavy. The fear of being discarded, when you love so deep, pierces a little closer. Am I doing enough? Am I being the mom they need to follow on the narrow road? Because other roads may beckon. And then I sink my head in my hands and hold on tighter, always too tight.
   Yet as I sink my head in my hands, a failure, a small sentence remembered restores my soul! In it's small way it says "Look up!". The same God who parted the Red Sea for Moses is Alive! He is able! I loosen my knuckles. I slowly let go of my grip. I unwrap my arms from around my children. I give them to Him, give them to Him, give them to Him. I let go......again. Because I must let go. Because only He is able to save. Mom can't. And He wraps His arms around us all.

Happy Mother's Day mom's!

Dear Mom of an Adopted Child by  Kathy Lyn Harris

I met you in adoption education class. I met you at the agency. I met you at my son’s school. I met you online. I met you on purpose. I met you by accident.

It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I knew you right away. I recognize the fierce determination. The grit. The fight. Because everything about what you have was a decision, and nothing about what you have was easy. You are the kind of woman who Makes.Things.Happen. After all, you made this happen, this family you have.

Maybe you prayed for it. Maybe you had to convince a partner it was the right thing. Maybe you did it alone. Maybe people told you to just be happy with what you had before. Maybe someone told you it simply wasn’t in God’s plans for you to have a child, this child whose hair you now brush lightly from his face. Maybe someone warned you about what happened to their cousin’s neighbor’s friend. Maybe you ignored them.

Maybe you planned for it for years. Maybe an opportunity dropped into your lap. Maybe you depleted your life-savings for it. Maybe it was not your first choice. But maybe it was.

Regardless, I know you. And I see how you hold on so tight. Sometimes too tight. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?

I know about all those books you read back then. The ones everyone reads about sleep patterns and cloth versus disposable, yes, but the extra ones, too. About dealing with attachment disorders, breast milk banks, babies born addicted to alcohol, cocaine, meth. About cognitive delays, language deficiencies. About counseling support services, tax and insurance issues, open adoption pros and cons, legal rights.

I know about the fingerprinting, the background checks, the credit reports, the interviews, the references. I know about the classes, so many classes. I know the frustration of the never-ending paperwork. The hours of going over finances, of having garage sales and bake sales and whatever-it-takes sales to raise money to afford it all.

I know how you never lost sight of what you wanted.

I know about the match call, the soaring of everything inside you to cloud-height, even higher. And then the tucking of that away because, well, these things fall through, you know.

Maybe you told your mother, a few close friends. Maybe you shouted it to the world. Maybe you allowed yourself to decorate a baby’s room, buy a car seat. Maybe you bought a soft blanket, just that one blanket, and held it to your cheek every night.

I know about your home visits. I know about your knuckles, cracked and bleeding, from cleaning every square inch of your home the night before. I know about you burning the coffee cake and trying to fix your mascara before the social worker rang the doorbell.

And I know about the followup visits, when you hadn’t slept in three weeks because the baby had colic. I know how you wanted so badly to show that you had it all together, even though you were back to working more-than-full-time, maybe without maternity leave, without the family and casseroles and welcome-home balloons and plants.

And I’ve seen you in foreign countries, strange lands, staying in dirty hotels, taking weeks away from work, struggling to understand what’s being promised and what’s not. Struggling to offer your love to a little one who is unsettled and afraid. Waiting, wishing, greeting, loving, flying, nesting, coming home.

I’ve seen you down the street at the hospital when a baby was born, trying to figure out where you belong in the scene that’s emerging. I’ve seen your face as you hear a nurse whisper to the birthmother that she doesn’t have to go through with this. I’ve seen you trying so hard to give this birthmother all of your respect and patience and compassion in those moments—while you bite your lip and close your eyes, not knowing if she will change her mind, if this has all been a dream coming to an abrupt end in a sterile environment. Not knowing if this is your time. Not knowing so much.

I’ve seen you look down into a newborn infant’s eyes, wondering if he’s really yours, wondering if you can quiet your mind and good sense long enough to give yourself over completely.

And then, to have the child in your arms, at home, that first night. His little fingers curled around yours. His warm heart beating against yours.

I know that bliss. The perfect, guarded, hopeful bliss.

I also know about you on adoption day. The nerves that morning, the judge, the formality, the relief, the joy. The letting out of a breath maybe you didn’t even know you were holding for months. Months.

I’ve seen you meet your child’s birthparents and grandparents weeks or years down the road. I’ve seen you share your child with strangers who have his nose, his smile … people who love him because he’s one of them. I’ve seen you hold him in the evenings after those visits, when he’s shaken and confused and really just wants a stuffed animal and to rest his head on your shoulder.

I’ve seen you worry when your child brings home a family tree project from school. Or a request to bring in photos of him and his dad, so that the class can compare traits that are passed down, like blue eyes or square chins. I know you worry, because you can protect your child from a lot of things — but you can’t protect him from being different in a world so intent on celebrating sameness.

I’ve seen you at the doctor’s office, filling out medical histories, leaving blanks, question marks, hoping the little blanks don’t turn into big problems later on.

I’ve seen you answer all of the tough questions, the questions that have to do with why, and love, and how much, and where, and who, and how come, mama? How come?

I’ve seen you wonder how you’ll react the first time you hear the dreaded, “You’re not my real mom.” And I’ve seen you smile softly in the face of that question, remaining calm and loving, until you lock yourself in the bathroom and muffle your soft cries with the sound of the shower.

I’ve seen you cringe just a little when someone says your child is lucky to have you. Because you know with all your being it is the other way around.

But most of all, I want you to know that I’ve seen you look into your child’s eyes. And while you will never see a reflection of your own eyes there, you see something that’s just as powerful: A reflection of your complete and unstoppable love for this person who grew in the midst of your tears and laughter, and who, if torn from you, would be like losing yourself.

Kathy Lynn Harris is the author of Blue Straggler, A Good Kind of Knowing, and Higgenbloom and the Dancing Grandmas. She is an adoptive mother and blogger. You can read her blog, including the original post of this blog, here. 
 

Finalization!

Hello from your severely delinquent blogger! Yes, we finalized! As planned on April 10, 2014, at 4:30 it was so ordered that Adele Hope and Violet Mae are FOREVER ours! Thank you for your prayers dear dear friends. We would not have made it without them.
   Dear Birthmom of Addie and Violet had a baby this week. Boyfriend wants to give it up for adoption, birthmom says "she can't do it". What a sad world. She really has no stability in her life yet and I do not know how she is going to take care of him/her. Our social worker asked us if we were open to a baby. Our hearts said, "No". But at this time birthmom is going to keep him/her (haven't heard the gender yet) and so we do not need to make a decision. Makes my heart heavy, tho. All the little children around the world.... Yet, Jesus loves them, this I know.
   And then....I've been thinking....of my dear friends.
On an emotional rollercoaster.
The lonely battle.
You can't just talk about it because... well just because.
The tears.
The empty arms.
The elephant in the room.
The funeral that nobody comes to.
The longing.
The hoping.
Hope crushed.
Again.
And again.
The barren desert called infertility.
Harder to say than cancer, yet just as painful.
Probably more painful for some than others, but always painful.
If someone you know is in this desert... Reach out. Care. Love. And. give. a. lot. of. room.

Acceptance is a choice, yet a journey.

A song that has been near and dear to my heart lately as I feel for my friends in this desert is this:
Give Them All to Jesus -by Phil Johnson and Bob Benson
Are you tired of chasing pretty rainbows?
Are you tired of spinning 'round and 'round?
Wrap up all the shattered dreams of your life,
And at the feet of Jesus lay them down.

Cho: Give them all, give them all, give them all to Jesus; shattered dreams, wounded hearts, and broken toys. Give them all, give them all, give them all to Jesus; And He will turn your sorrow into joy!

He never said you'd only see sunshine;
He never said there'd be no rain.
He only promised a heart full of singing
About the very things that once brought pain.

Life is a long lesson in submission.
In lying limp in my Father's hand.
In letting go.
In absolutely and unwaveringly believing in God.
Because He is God.
And there we find that...
Joy is not the absence of sorrow, but Joy is the presence of God.  -Margaret Penner Toews

ADOPTION DATE!

 Yes, we have a date!!! A real live date! On April 10, 2014 at 4:30pm the judge will pronounce Adele Hope and Violet Mae OURS FOREVER!!! I could cry for joy. The judge assigning a date means that he/she has went over ALL the paperwork and found everything perfect and ready for adoption. We are thrilled. The end is in sight!