If you want to love the way God loves, resign your rights

I had a dream a couple nights ago that the peanut and I were heading into Chuck E. Cheese's. I won 5,000 tokens from a radio contest by texting the word "Languid" to 36500. (I'm assuming this dream was inspired by my earnest attempts to win tickets to the IHEART Radio Music Festival) We were walking on a narrow path to get into the doorway. The pathway was made of yellow and golden bricks and the peanut's little hand was interlocked with mine. Her sandals were shuffling against the cement bricks as her pace quickened and she squealed and laughed. Several workers stumbled over themselves to open the doors for us and they greeted us warmly. They had built rides specifically for us that had never been used. In the background I could see an enormous chocolate fountain and tables filled with platters of food. Peanut looked at me and smiled and we continued down the path. Suddenly a loud clank and a thud came from the parking lot and her parents jumped out of their car and darted towards us wearing their fancy dress clothes. Peanut's mom kept tripping on the yellow bricks as she tried to run so she crawled towards us. I reached down to offer her a hand and lifted her up. They picked up the peanut and we walked side by side towards the door. With our arms linked, we squeezed together trying to fit into the door. When we realized we couldn't we decided to line up single file. Mom, Peanut, Dad and then Me. Mom stepped through, Peanut walked through, Dad stepped through and then this uncomfortable shifty looking teenage boy in a uniform lifted the velvet rope just as I was about to enter and held up his hand signalling me to stop and firmly stated "We're at capacity, ma'am." I stood frozen. He lifted my hand, unwrapped my fingers from around the pouch full of tokens and walked them over to Peanut's parents. I think this story speaks for itself.

I haven't gone to church since April. I've composed all sorts of flimsy excuses when my friends ask why they haven't seen me there. I typically blame life's circumstances and cross my fingers that they accept it without questioning me further. I'm disappointed in myself and it's easy for me to look at the gaping holes I see in my life as a result of it. My thoughts are lacking inspiration. It's hard to get a sentence out that is more weighty or bracing than "Guess what happened to me today." I've been sitting on my back lanai for over 2 hours listening to the rain hit the roof and the only thought that's come to me is that I need someone to pour some life into me. Sometimes God's plan for you hurts. Being angry at Him is easy. Denying His existence is easy. Ignoring His call when it's time to do something that you know is going to be hard comes naturally to someone like me. Loving God and trusting in His sovereignty and goodness requires a strength you can only draw from feeling His love for you. When I step back into that church, I know He will consume me. I will receive a message seemingly designed for me alone and I will hear God's voice speaking to me directly through my pastor's earthly body. I will feel safe in that church. I will feel loved in that church. I will feel held. And then when I leave that church, I will do the work that God tells me to do. This is what I've been avoiding.  

"If you want to love the way God loves, resign your rights." That means, Amy, give up control, you control freak ;) It is not my job to crucify the peanut's parents about their choices no matter how much I fear for this precious child. It is not my job to pass judgment . It is not my job to try to convince others to rally around in the pain I feel in my heart by speaking badly about them so that I am not bobbing in my stagnant pool of sadness all alone. I watched a podcast of one of my pastor's messages a few weeks ago and he discussed Romans 12:19. He talked about still offering more of yourself when it is hard; still giving when what you give is being mishandled. This is the time I need to wake up in the morning and do the work God has asked me to do, and at night when my heart is aching and my soul hurts, trust that He'll hold me and breathe His strength into me, granting me another day. 

Romans 12:17 Repay no one evil for evil but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, live peacebly for all. Beloved never avenge yourselves but leave it to the wrath of God. For it is written, vengeance is mine, I will repay says the Lord

Change in Plans

I learned on Tuesday that I will be keeping the peanut for at least another 4 months. As much as I would love to sing and scream out the details of the unfairness in our abysmal mess of a child welfare system, I will instead rejoice graciously that God has granted me more time to be her mommy. I am being honest and sincere when I say that this certainly came from left field and hit me like a sock full of batteries. I was sitting here for over a half hour typing and erasing, adding ideas and then replacing them.This was a huge week for us so I felt like I should be able to write something equally monumental and yet instead of my thoughts flowing out of me in beautiful form, they were stunted and uninspired. Eventually, I decided to admit defeat as my post was going nowhere fast.I stretched my arms, cracked my knuckles, closed my laptop and crawled around on the floor gathering the random strands of Mardi Gras beads that the peanut left a trail of on her way upstairs to bed.

As I crawled around on the floor, I remembered the sting I felt a week ago when I was putting her toys inside a giant rubbermaid tub to go to her parent's house with her.I had already dropped the peanut off at my friend's house and I still had an hour before I had to leave for court so I decided to pack up a few more things. I lifted each toy and smiled and laughed at the memories it brought and then gently positioned them all next to each other precisely and carefully as if treating them tenderly could somehow change the situation. I imagined how her parents would react to inviting this piece of my home into theirs' and wondered if this tub would ever be opened. I felt a familiar twinge of anger towards them but thankfully it was fleeting. I pulled the orange rubbermaid lid out of my pantry closet and sealed it on top of the tub when I looked down and realized that I was clutching her Mardi Gras beads in my tight fist. I held them to my heart, letting a few tears fall and then I looked at them and I couldn't help but laugh when I pictured them dangling from her neck and bouncing against her chubby tummy when she runs, or the wild screams she belted out when I had to untangle them from her curly blond hair or unwrap them from the steering wheel on her riding toy.

I have to be careful about the way I write this next paragraph. I have pecked at the keyboard and then erased it completely several times over trying to formulate my words in the exact way I want them to be interpreted. Maybe I'm working too hard but it is summer vacation after all and I have a child that goes to bed at 7:00 p.m. so where else does my loyalty lie at this hour? On court days, to say I am twisted in knots is an understatement. I tiptoe into the courtroom and try to swallow what feels like a beanie baby lodged in my throat. My hands sweat and my cheeks flush and without fail my licensing mentor nudges me in the arm and jokingly tells me to remind myself to breathe in and out. I just smile and rest my back against the cold metal of the folding chair feigning confidence and inner calm. Everyone feels the elephant in the room; its presence is suffocating. I can't say what happened in there but I can describe the feelings I had when the severity of the situation shot towards me like a fierce cannon. She's coming home with me again.

I pictured myself unpacking her boxes of clothes and placing them neatly back in her dresser. I pictured myself leaning down to scoop her up at daycare and feeling her stubby arms wrap around my neck and I imagined our silly dinners together where she practices balancing each green bean on her forehead. I felt an overwhelming sense of victory that I had more days with her and then I looked across the courtroom.Her parents. We had made arrangements in the court waiting room about the time they would come to pick her up, the items I was sending home with her, the plans we would make to meet up in the future so I could watch her grow. They spoke sincerely and enthusiastically. I had walked into court that day preparing to lose something that I loved and treasured so very much and in the midst of my selfish joy at the turn of events, I watched the parents of my child lose the hope they had of bringing their precious daughter home with them that day.

A good friend reminded me today that when it is my turn to go to Heaven, I will be accountable for my life. What will that day look like for me? I want to know that I was kind when it wasn't always warranted and understanding when it was hard. I want to know that I acted with grace when I was able and tried harder when I wasn't. I want to know that I could be a comfort to others in the midst of my joy and still be joyful in the midst of my tears. I want to be the woman God wants me to be. I continue to pray daily that God's grace covers us all during this transition in our lives. Please fit us into your prayers tonight. We so desperately need it.           

My little birdie

Something strong hit me this weekend and momentarily took my breath away. Each week the little peanut's parents and I meet in a parking lot at a restaurant halfway between each of our homes. We exchange pleasantries, I unstrap her from her carseat, sneaking a kiss on her forehead without them seeing, and hand her over to them. We have been meeting in this manner since last August. Sometimes the conversation is minimal and tense and sometimes we laugh and chatter like friends, almost forgetting that each word we exchange is carefully documented by all parties involved.


On Friday, I pulled into the parking lot a bit early. I unstrapped the peanut from her carseat and brought her into the front with me. There was a cool breeze, so I rolled down the window and turned my car off. She tugged on the steering wheel, pretending to drive and laughed each time I honked the horn. We both watched quietly out my front window at the people buzzing about around us and a bird landed on the hood. She softly mimicked its chirps, waved and then pointed at it with her chubby finger. I watched quietly as her blue eyes darted back and forth, silently following the tiny bird's trek across my car. She gasped with surprise and then giggled when its wings flapped and he flew away. She climbed up my body, using the sleeve of my shirt to pull her up and stuck her head out of the window to see where it went. Her pointy sandals were pinching my leg and she started jumping up and down when she saw the bird land on the car next to us. She looked back at me, studying my reaction so I smiled and laughed, so happy to see that this sweet doll's gentle spirit is in tact and so far removed from the circumstances surrounding us. In that moment, I selfishly thought to myself "No one can love her like I do." I carry this thought around with me always, like an ugly badge that I wear on my sleeve in case I think the world is forgetting about our journey. I'm not proud of these thoughts, but by acknowledging them as part of the package deal, I can find the strength to relinquish their power over me.  


Her parents rounded the corner in their car. The peanut's eyes darted to them instantly, recognizing the familiar hands waving out the window at her. She stretched her arms out to them. They pulled to a stop next to me and her daddy got out. I opened my door and set the peanut down, her legs already moving before they touched the concrete. She raced to him with her arms wide open and she wrapped herself around his leg. He lifted her high into the air and blew on her tummy and she scrunched up her nose and giggled. He gently handed her back to me so she could give me a hug. She wrapped her soft, chubby arms around my neck and then moved her forehead to my lips so I could kiss it and then she climbed back into his arms "Tell Miss Amy bye bye" he said while he moved her hand up and down. I waved goodbye and smiled warmly.


When I pulled out of the parking lot, I slowed down at a stoplight and nervously bit my lip as I watched their car pull up next to mine heading in the same direction. I know what I was afraid to see and it happened to be exactly what I saw. I glanced over and saw the peanut smile as her big brother tickled her tummy. I watched her parents having a conversation in the front seat, her mom reaching over to change the radio station, her dad peeking into his rearview mirror and smiling. It was then it hit me, I'm her foster mom. I know it sounds like a revelation that should've been made months ago, but this is an important one that I needed to come into in my own time. Of course I always knew she wasn't mine, I felt that familiar twinge of pain every time I watched her reach a new milestone and drank it in as if it were my last one. When you are caring for a child your role in their life loses its title. Watching them in their car that day, I realized that the peanut is a piece of their puzzle. There is a special, intricately made spot created just for her.


I'm her temporary home. Her in between. It's true.. no one can love her like I do. My love for her is unique and irreplaceable. My first child. Her first momma. Her family can't love her the way that I have, but they can love her in a brand new way, unique only to them, a special love that only they share.


Although my journey with her is ending, I believe when I let her go my little birdie will fly.

Tear Soup

Today was a beautiful day. The breeze was perfect and we enjoyed our picnic at the Sesame Street Safari in Busch Gardens. Watching the little peanut grab ahold of Elmo's hand and then kiss him when he bent down to hug her melted my heart. She's growing in leaps and bounds and I've been a fortunate witness to the beautiful little lady she's turning into. 

Despite these moments, and because of them, I'm so feeble and fragile right now.. I've let life's circumstances mold me, instead of letting my Maker's hands. I've found myself thriving on negative energy and it's grown inside of me like a toothy monster, feeding off of circumstances beyond my control. I'm angry and it's manifested itself in snarky, rude comments and lots of intentional eye rolling. I understand this anger. I own up to it. I recognize it, and yet I find myself coming up short when it comes to taking the reigns on its power over me.

I've unknowingly stamped unfair conditions on God's love and He has again proven that He alone controls our fate. I've always battled with the notion of prayer when His plan for me has been sealed since before my birth. And yet I've prayed so hard lately, (eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white from clenching them together kind of prayer). He has woven people into our lives to serve a short term in helping us grow to become better, more accurate reflections of Him. The learning comes when we have to let them go.


The hardest battle I fight when following Christ is handing over control when I know that His plan for us will still include unbearable pain. I think about all of the injuries from my past and the methods devoid of God that I've used to mend them. Quick fixes with crooked healing and noticeable scars. I accept my pain this time. My grief will bring me close to Him in a raw, cleansing way that my wounded soul needs. It will take a long time I believe, but He will be faithful to me.


What I can't accept is that His plan for the peanut may cause her pain. I want her to have the tools to tackle life's shortcomings and to be able to feel confident despite a wounded heart. Even though it seems silly, sometimes I feel like He has forgotten about her. I want Him to speak to me so clearly, so vividly, so loudly that I can't deny it. Amy, I'm watching her. I want her to know Christ intimately.  I want her to appreciate the warmth of the sun on her face and liken it to His hand on her cheek. I want Him to reveal His glory to her, and quickly, so that her faith can develop and pulse through her tiny body when she is scared or confused. She will be going home in less than 2 weeks and I feel myself buckle at the knees each morning when I go to get her out of her crib. She wraps her arms around my neck like dainty ribbons and then kisses me on the cheek. The streetlights glow through her dimly lit bedroom and we battle as I try to get her dressed while she twists and contorts her body, straining to see my Jack Russell Terrier playing with her toy. Each tiny coo, I imprint into my memory, tucking it away for a time when I feel strong enough to let it out.


I bought a book from Amazon.com called Tear Soup. It's a children's fiction book. I bought it for a student but I've taken so much solace from it. It chronicles a grieving elderly woman named Grandy who has suffered a big loss. The book never specifies what her loss is which allows the reader to mold the story to fit their own unique needs. The author compares grieving to making "Tear Soup." I cried when I read the book because it was such a gentle way to approach grief. Everyone takes different amounts of time cooking their soup. Everyone's recipe for Tear Soup is different. No one can tell you how to make your Tear Soup or that you're doing it wrong. Some people may be angry at you for spending so much time making Tear Soup and tell you that you've been cooking far too long. Some people have made their Tear Soup from a can, trying to cook it hastily and clean it up but their healing wasn't fully complete. It was such a brilliant way to make tangible such an abstact process.

I don't know Jesus the way I'd like to. I don't know the Bible as well as I want to. I resist forming a solid bond with my God, without meaning to. Sometimes I feel I trivialize God's power so I am able to wrap my head around it. I feel silly at times for believing that I know better than He does, what is best for me, what is best for my child. I am His student. I am always learning. How blessed I am to be given the chance.

A Hungry Caterpillar

Whenever I finish a blog post, I have the option to click "SHARE" in the bottom lefthand corner, alerting my facebook friends. It seems ritual to let the cursor hover over the button for a minute, lingering there until I find the courage to bite my lip, squeeze both eyes shut and click. I never know what is going to come out of the end of my fingertips and I think that true, genuine thoughts can easily be cheapened when we tailor them to suit an audience.


Have you ever been in the midst of one of those moments when you're so overwhelmed with an emotion that your stomach flutters and you wonder if it's possible for the feeling to actually break you? I lifted the Hungry Caterpillar Birthday cake off of the picnic table and slowly made my way towards baby K, who was sitting very patiently, yet very confused in her big girl high chair. I lit the giant, wax number 1 on top of her cake and the crowd around us started singing Happy Birthday. K studied my eyes looking for my reaction to let her know everything was ok. When I smiled back at her she lit up with a toothy grin and clapped her hands. Smack dab in the middle of the chaos, I took a quick second to glance around at the people surrounding her, taking her picture, singing and cheering, and my heart did somersaults. For the few brief seconds that it took to sing that song, there were at least 20 sets of eyes focused on only her, at least 20 people smiling at her and celebrating her birth, celebrating her life. I pray daily, sometimes hourly it seems, that God be gentle with this sweet girl and that He let her feel His love through the warmth and kindness in the people around her. And that on the days when she feels wounded and she can't figure out a way to soothe the pain, her heart can remember all of the people that loved her when she was 1, even when her conscious mind can't.


That day was a precious treasure for me to carry with me also. It's funny how in a brief moment of self-pity you can spout out statements about how uncaring the world is and how "unpeopled" your life is and then suddenly you look down to see your friends around you have created a safety net you didn't even know was being woven. I get so caught up in my own struggle that I didn't realize how many friends of mine have opened their hearts to loving baby K, knowing that they too will have to grieve her loss.. and yet they plow forward with me, head-on, in giving her the best life we can provide. She has knitted us together in such a special way and lifted my little heart :)

Giggles

Baby girl’s first birthday is coming up in 4 short weeks. I never could have imagined reaching this milestone with this sweet angel still in my care. As I prep and plan for our “sock-monkey” themed celebration, my heart aches for her parents. I can’t resist feeling that this day belongs to them. They were there the day she was born. This was something beautiful that I wasn’t a part of., A brief part of the baby’s story that is only their special moment to share.

I anticipated feeling a lot of different things when I signed up to be a foster parent. I knew I would be tired. I knew there would be a lot of strangers in my house, evaluating every word that nervously flies out of my mouth. I knew there would be times when I would be forced to step outside of my comfort zone to do the right thing and that this journey would be mine alone. One thing I didn’t expect was to feel this much compassion for the biological parents. I concocted this image in my head about what these parents would look and behave like. Regretfully, my initial mental images were of angry, spiteful, young people whose lives had gone seriously crooked and were beyond earthly repair. I pictured people who were too selfish to be able to see beyond the realm of “this lifestyle feels good.” Not always. I feel a constant push and pull on my heart. My conscious mind is telling me to be selfish, wary and guarded and yet God is pushing me to show them a grace and kindness that is unexpected; to let them see that we’re partners in raising their sweet baby together, guide them with a familiar hand and show them that I trust them to help grow her into a beautiful woman.

Nearly 11 months ago, I received a phone call from a placement worker, asking if I would be interested in taking on a 2 day old infant girl. Being a planner by nature, I was surprised at the ease in which I accepted. Delivered to me that morning (a mere 20 minutes after my phone call) was a tiny bundle wrapped up in a striped hospital blanket with a hand-knitted, pastel, purple bonnet. Her meager squawk sounding like a cat’s gentle meow. My heart leapt with joy. I held her close to me that night and rocked her for an uninterrupted 8 hours trying to memorize her face.  My racing mind, too anxious for sleep. I remember feeling fearful that night that I had made the wrong choice, that there were better, more experienced mothers for her. While I cradled her into the late morning, God had cradled me as well, easing my fears. Tonight during her bath, I put a puff of bubbles on the tip of her nose and she let out a full belly laugh as she looked at it with crossed eyes. Then a wide, toothy grin spread across her face, her cheeks as round as water balloons. I blew her a soft kiss and whispered Momma Amy loves you. With her lips puckered she brought her chubby hand up and pressed it against her tiny mouth and kissed it. For a brief moment, I saw a piece of me in her and my soul smiled. I wish I could bottle that feeling and carry it with me always.                        

Surprise

I have begun typing this post several times now but have found myself erasing it shortly after sentence 4. It’s not that I’m uninspired; it’s that the words that are coming out seem selfish. Far be it from me to send more negative energy into the world than we’re already breathing in. I feel guilty for housing this venomous attitude and it’s my hope that tomorrow when I roll out of this bed and my feet hit the soft carpet, I’ll truly be able to start fresh.

This past few weeks have drained me; emotionally, professionally, physically. (Can someone be drained professionally?) I’ve spent more time reacting to my circumstances than rejoicing in His love for me and I’m reminded of this by the aching in my bones. My pastor discussed today the element of surprise in following Christ. The moments that define us, not only as Christians but as beings, are the moments where we must react when God surprises us. He talked about Mary and the surprise she was given when the Angel Gabriel told her of her pregnancy. How amazing that such a gift was bestowed upon such a humble, regular woman. Without hesitation or fear she accepted His will and asserted her faith in Him.

I’ve been considering ending my journey as a foster parent. While this year of my life has been beautifully life-altering, it has also hardened me in a way I can’t willingly accept. Between case managers who are overworked, judges who seem cold and hard, biological parents who consistently come up short , and my constantly being villainized because I’m stamped with the title “foster parent”, I want to run as far away from this system as I can..the paperwork and the double standards and the random strangers walking into every room in my house to inspect it every month. I want to be able to keep my Advil in my cabinet instead of under my cupboard in a locked box and I want to be able to drink a glass of Arbor Mist without having to climb on top of a chair and stand on the tips of my toes to pull it out of the locked box on the top shelf of my pantry. I want my life to be my own. I pray on this with every breath but the answer I receive never seems to be “It’s ok. You can stop.” His answer always seems to be “Here. I will make you stronger.”    

But alas, this morning during silent prayer at church I again prayed that prayer. “When God surprises you, how will you react?” While I thought about the pastor’s question and how it applied to my life, his next phrase shot out of his mouth like an arrow headed straight towards me. “While you may be resisting it, God may be telling you to take a foster child into your home.” Message received.   

I have this vision of the way I want my life to be: In this vision, my sweet foster baby is mine forever. I want to put pigtails in her silky, strawberry blond hair on the first day of Kindergarten and kiss her on the tip of her nose before she runs into her brand-new classroom. I want her to love Jesus and I want to be the vehicle she needs to know Him. I want to build forts with her in the living room out of blankets on rainy days and I want to teach her how to be servant-minded and give even when those around her are taught to receive. I envision coming home from work each night to a man who still smiles at me when I walk through the door; Someone who is eager to learn and grow himself that way that I am. I want to live in a modest home in a small town with a wrap-around porch so I can read the paper outside and grow old with my husband. I want to always be willing to give it another shot, even when my body is weak and my spirit is weaker. I want to show my children that even when those around me live life with their fists up, when God surprises me, I will accept His will and follow Him faithfully. Even when my plan doesn’t match his. I can’t wait to see what He has in store for me.

This entry doesn’t really have an ending. I would tell my students to revise it. That’s the good thing about being a teacher. I can do what I want. With love, Amy