I sat here and typed out this long diatribe about all of the different things that are happening right now in my life and the peanut's life and then I deleted it. Unfortunately, it was all written at the expense of being honest. I took out chunks at a time until the screen was completely blank. And I've decided that's where we're both at. Blank. I can't flip to the end of this novel and pre-read the resolution so that it lessens the sting or skim the next 6 months worth of pages so I can have some sort of idea where this wild author is going to take us. I'm not the writer here.
Two of my friends came over the other night weilding cold beer and a bottle of wine. We sat around talking while our children dumped toyboxes, pulled down curtains and tackled each other to the ground over ownership of a simple, plastic, yellow cup. My friend Shannon had mentioned what a trial fostering has been for us and that's the reason she could never do it. Instantly, like a reflex, I said "Well, if I had known it was going to end this way.." and then I stopped. I didn't know how to finish that sentence and I didn't want to. It wasn't true. I glanced across the room and watched the peanut clutching her yellow cup against her chest and stuffing it full of plastic french fries and I imagined what my life would be like if I had never met her. I chose my next words carefully. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me." I catch myself often saying things I don't mean, nodding when I don't agree and supporting ideas I don't believe in. But in that moment, I've never believed something so deep in my heart.
I've heard that good writing doesn't serve its people if it isn't honest. Rewind to Fall 2009. Fostering wasn't even a consideration. I had just been dumped by a boyfriend that I had wanted to end it with from the beginning due to his obsessive man-love for Tim Tebow and the way he whispered sweet nothings each night to his 4 cats while I laid in bed next to him, (cat butts all up in my face), yet I didn't want to admit defeat and change my status back to "single." If he hadn't decided he'd had enough of my erratic mood swings and snarky comments towards him, we would probably be married by now, me, him and my pride. I could infer I would have a whole different type of blog. It was a Saturday. I had just bought my Jack Russell Terrier the week before in an attempt to fill that "hyper, emotional, overly dramatic male" void that my ex boyfriend had left. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. I was wearing his bright orange Florida Gators tee-shirt and an offensively old pair of ripped up pajama pants. I had one sock on. Kobe was tearing up a roll of toilet paper in the living room of my tiny apartment and I was laying on my giant red sofa. I lifted my cell phone. Nope, no calls. My blinds were closed. Sunlight was peeping in between the slats. Soap Network hummed in the background and I stared up at the ceiling fan, watching it spin in circles. That was my life. God was calling me to do something so much bigger that day but it would take another full year for me to recognize His voice.
Being a mom has brought a bright color to areas of my life that I didn't even realize I was missing. When I told my friends and family that she would be staying with me another 6 months, I saw this look of panic cross their faces and I understood. It's the same panic I felt in my heart as the judge gave her ruling on Thursday. Can I do it? Some friends replied with quiet words of encouragement. Some friends were furious that I'm going to spend the next 6 months again in limbo. Some friends expressed concern for the peanut's ability to transition home and some friends blatanly asked "How do you want me to feel about this? I will feel that way." On my walk to parking garage after our hearing, my mind raced. I felt like my brain was a giant switchboard being lit up in more areas than I could attend to in one short walk. The main area needing attention was the one shouting "how do I feel? how do I feel?" My feelings are beyond the realm of explaining. I feel elated. I feel sad and anxious. I feel guilt. I feel hopeful. I feel fearful.
Mostly, I feel honored. Honored that I get to be a part of her story for another 6 months. Honored that He's using my humble body and hands to mold her and be her vehicle to knowing Him. Our life is written by Him. He doesn't need my editing skills or input. He doesn't make mistakes. I don't get to know what happens on the pages to come but I can always look back and recognize how much more beautiful life has become. I've come to love this crazy story.
Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)
11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
