Bad Things

I know that it's only March, but allow me to say that 2016 has been a really hard year.

We said goodbye to our Baby S, and seeing him still brings pain as we reel through the changes in him and the heartbreak of his confusion and sadness every time we say goodbye again.

We are celebrating our expectation of another biological baby in August. And that's been so much harder than I expected. I have been so sick. I'm just past halfway through this pregnancy, and the magical numbers when morning sickness should disappear have come and gone. Sometimes it gets worse instead of better. Bonding with a baby while saying goodbye to my Baby S and experiencing physical sickness and weakness - what feels like a confusing betrayal by a body that used to be able to serve my family well - it's confusing, to say the least.

We started a house hunt. And oh, boy, adding one more thing to this plate... Wow.

This morning, on Good Friday, I'm thinking of a conversation I had with Big Brother A as we waited for preschool on Monday.

Me: You don't have school on Friday, you know.
A: Why not?
Me: It's Good Friday. Do you know what that means?
A: It's the day Jesus died. But why is it good?

Why is it good? I've processed that before, but never explained it at the spur of a moment. And if I'm honest, it's a question my heart still asks.

Why is all of Jesus' pain and suffering good? Why is an account that still leaves me confused and angry at the injustice and the indignity GOOD? Why is a group of friends running away and abandoning the one they loved, then watching him die as they stand stunned, confused, and out of hope, GOOD?

Why is Baby S leaving good? Why is being so sick that sometimes I can't even serve my family good? Why is being so busy that I'm back to throwing up most days good?

And for that matter, why was Baby S coming ever good? His coming was out of brokenness and pain and a family ripped apart. Why was getting married and then learning to be content in rented apartments, doing foster care in a small space and watching family after family moving forward into houses while we stayed and felt the limitations of where we were in the context of what we wanted to do, ever good? Why is one more very hard thing - being so sick in a time that is already so draining and emotionally difficult- why is that ever good?

Why is it good?

The complete measure of the goodness of what Jesus did for me can only come from the pain and the bad and the hurting of what happened to him. What happened to Jesus was brutal. It was wrong. People sinned when they mocked him, chose to hold illegal trials, found false witnesses to condemn him, and put him to death in a humiliating display between two people who deserved to be where Jesus was. I sinned when I chose, when I still choose, to follow my own way over and over and over again. I sinned and put up an ugly, irreversible wall between myself and God, between myself and Heaven. I made my own future, and it was ugly, brutal, condemning. It was all that Jesus took on himself.

It was bad.

And the goodness of what Jesus did shines from that badness. Every additional day that I live with me, I realize how deep my need for Jesus is. I'm a rule follower at heart, but that does not mean that I am good. It has meant that I want people to see me as good. It has even meant that I thought I was good, that I thought I could win some sort of imaginary prize for doing what's right. And the more I get to know my own heart, the more desperate my situation looks. That pride doesn't want to die. That stubbornness and insistence that I can do it myself, thank you is part of the big, bad, ugly wall that should have kept me away from God.

And Jesus broke that wall in the ugliest moment in history.

The ugliest, most beautiful, most Good moment in history.

This year has been a journey of grasping at hope when the emotional bad is so heavy that I can physically feel it. I've asked God to help, and although the very hardest bad things haven't gone away or gotten better, he's faithfully grown my joy, my purpose, and my hope inside of me in a way I can't explain outside of him. It's been a long, slow process. A lot of days of the process were me learning to just believe that there was hope, that there could be days of light and happiness again - not just the deep joy that doesn't go away; I love and value that, and I long for Heaven. But actual happiness. And as I woke up this morning, I realized that the answer I gave Big Brother A was the one I needed, too.

There has been a lot of hard and bad and sad this year. Jesus doesn't change that part of my life. Jesus told his friends it was going to be hard; he said it would get harder, even, if they followed him. Jesus didn't come to take away the hard.

Jesus came to make the hard mean something. He came to bring hope. He came so that all of my best efforts that fall so short and leave me so spent could somehow, in a way I absolutely don't deserve, bring about God's good and best. He came so that I could rest in him in the very hardest days, trusting that he knows what he's doing even when I don't understand it.

He came so that the months when my loudest cry is How is this Good could have the same answer as Big Brother's question. He came so that the badness and brokenness that still exists could make the Good richer and fuller and more mysterious and beautiful and filling than I could ever ask for or imagine.

The hope in my darkest days isn't in being delivered from the hard. It's from the beauty that glows forth from that hard and makes me long for Heaven as God faithfully uses me to play some small part in pointing others there, too.

The hope is a house - our first house! - found after some long weeks of searching and eight years of apartment living; of tough visits with Baby S and moments when his pain at our goodbye breaks my heart but also reminds me that I'm blessed to still be an influence in his life; of a whole new wave of change and painful transition at our church that's going to be hard, but I'm convinced will lead us in new and exciting places as we make sure our hope for growth has always been in Jesus and not a leader. The hope is more people loving Jesus in Rochester and becoming better followers of Jesus. The hope is finding our perfect house, on the street I drive down sometimes just because I love it so much, and knowing that God will be faithful to bless our move even when sometimes I'm too physically weak to do the laundry and I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to pull off the packing and cleaning involved. The hope is an ultrasound of a healthy baby, and my husband feeling the baby kick for the first time, both giving me moments of intense bonding and being able to finally start to look forward to this little person and see an end to this physical pain even if I am only just halfway through with a hard pregnancy.

The hope is ultimately knowing that these places we are in will still hurt. Some days I'll cry out for hope because I won't feel it. But I will know that God is faithful to refill me when it's time.

I'll know that there is Good in the very darkest, very worst day. That each day, like Good Friday, the Good will shine even brighter because it is happening in the dark places. That God's plan is still what is best, even as Jesus reminds me that the very best and most beautiful plan can also be the most painful.

A Week Later

We have had so many people support our family and pray for us with Baby S's departure. I am so thankful for the love that has come our way. Thanks for the prayers, guys; we crave them, and we believe they make a difference.

How's the week been for us?

It's a little surreal. We are used to long stretches without Baby S. We are used to waking up in the morning and doing the quick calculation of "how many kids are asleep in our home?", or hearing a child during naptime and thinking "is there a baby in our crib, or is there another kid in the building?". So there are a lot of moments where I know he's gone, but then the reflex response takes over, and I have to recalculate in my head and realize Baby S is not here. The natural next calculation is "how many days until?" and the new answer is "maybe not again" and "one day at a time".

We are really mostly okay. Every day of foster care is a little bit of the grieving process. Every trial date, every visit, every overnight is a little bit of the goodbye grief surfacing. A foster parent isn't just starting the grieving when the child leaves. The grief has been real for a while, and the coping mechanisms that get us through every other day of foster care are still there for us the day the child leaves and the days after. There are tears in the days and weeks leading up to each tentative goodbye, and there are tears following the goodbye when it really happens. But they are mostly controlled, because we are used to holding it in when our minds and hearts are crying and hurting in court, and in meetings, and when we're with birth families. I try to let Big Bro A see some of my grief, so I can help him know that it's okay to grieve, too. And then the rest I am able to save for quiet moments when I can have some healing tears all to myself.

There are the unexpected tears, too. That's going to happen for a while. Like finding Baby S's sweater in the wash after I thought I had all of his clothes sorted and packed into clothes to go and a small pile to stay just in case. Or the moment when Big Bro A heard me talking to the cat and came in from the other room, asking if I was talking to Baby S. Or when I wake up at 5:05 AM and think "he'll be up soon!" before I've done my recalculating. The planned pain is manageable, like when we know he should have been coming home at night; the moments that sneak up on us are the hardest to cope with.

I have learned that I often don't know what to pray for in these moments, and in the many tough moments that foster care has brought in the last year. I have learned that sometimes I simply need to cry out to God for help. Help for me and my husband; help for Baby S; help for Big Bro; help for Birth Parent. Help for a broken system in a broken world. Help to know how to pray, what to hope for, how to process each painful interaction. Prayers as simple as "please help" have carried me through a lot of days. They're real, and the small number of words doesn't lessen the relief I feel when I bring these heavy things to God. When my babies cry out for help in the hardest, most hurting of moments, I don't need to ask them what they need. It's clear. And I reach out and help them without asking them to figure out the plan first.

As far as Big Bro A, I didn't know what to expect with his reaction. I've been a little surprised by how matter-of-fact the whole situation is for him. He's looked at pictures of his little brothers gone home every day since he can remember. He was only two when we started. He doesn't know siblings any other way. We've been telling him since Day 1 that Baby S would probably leave, but if he needed to stay, we'd be here for him. Big Bro loves birth parent, with a very real, innocent, childlike love. It is straightforward for him: Parent is better, Baby S is living there now, and now we will get the visits and he will spend his nights there. There haven't been any tears (other than a suspicious case of "sweaty eyes" at school the day of goodbye). But there have been prayers for Baby S that make my husband and I tear up. He talks about missing him "so so so so so so so much" (with a lot more so's, but you probably get the picture about as far along as I do, so I'll spare you). And some moments, he talks about Baby S as if he's still here, and tells us he keeps forgetting when we remind him that Baby S has moved out. He's used to the big stretches without Baby S, and the calendar is a little fuzzier for him, so it's going to take him longer to absorb what's really happened.

While I'm surprised that Big Bro's emotions don't match mine, I have no doubt that his compassion passes mine. He doesn't see all the details, and he's genuinely happy for a job well done. He says he wants more foster brothers and sisters. So if you're thinking about fostering and wondering if it would be too painful for your older children - I can say that I have been amazed at the strength and compassion of our 4-year-old. It is beyond what I could have expected. I wouldn't take these experiences away from him for a minute. He is absolutely, undoubtedly, better at this than I am. And having him here with us, a joy and a bit of hope in the hard places of unknown and goodbye, is a blessing and gift beyond description.

It's going to be a long process. We are going one baby step, one day at a time. Life on this side of goodbye doesn't really have any fewer unknowns. So we just live in each day. Some days, we move and laugh and talk about next time. Some days, we let ourselves shut down just a little. Sometimes Big Bro and I don't come right home after we're out, because I don't want to see the too-empty apartment or eat lunch with an empty chair that should have a booster seat in it. We just call it a day at a time.

We're figuring out how to grieve someone who is only gone for us, how to move out forever someone who might actually need us again someday. We're grieving, too, the changes that will come for Baby S under his new normal. He will not be the same. He is going through something painful and traumatic, and he has fewer ways to cope than we do. With our other goodbyes, we did not have follow-up with the children. That was its own kind of pain. While seeing Baby S again is joyful, it brings along a different sadness and a lot of extra goodbyes (he still gets so happy and thinks he's coming home when he sees us). Returning to a birth family is a goal to strive for; but things are sadder and a bit more confusing when the child doesn't remember another family before the foster family. This is not so much "going back" as "starting out" for him.

We probably won't get grieving just right. Saying goodbye doesn't get easier for me each time, but I do gain more tools for coping. So we are really and truly okay, and part of that is smiling and laughing and making more memories, and part of that is curling up and crying with one of Baby S's loveys every now and then. We continue to try to love on him and Birth Parent, and we appreciate your prayers as we go through the joys and pains of working alongside a birth family reunited, and watching the sadness and heaviness of this transition for our baby.

Baby S Went Home Today

Baby S returned to his mother today.

Starting today there is a car seat in our van without a passenger.
There is a crib that nobody will be sleeping in.
There are toys that will not go played with.
There is one particular car ramp that won't be seeing any races.
There is a spot at the table that will be empty.
There is a sink that will have far fewer dishes.
A special nighttime song will go unsung.
Mornings will start an hour later than they used to and bedtimes will be an hour shorter.
Family movie nights will be less frantic.
Going to the store will be less of an adventure.
There is baby shampoo that will sit unused.
And a bath towel.
And mittens.
And a hat.
And boots.
And a raincoat.

His favorite possession? His toothbrush, oddly enough. That went with him. But now there are only three in the cup by the sink.

Over a year and a half in our home comes to an end.
There is a young boy without his younger brother to follow him around.
There is a dad without his youngest wrestling partner.
There is a mother without her baby.
There is a cat that is likely happy about it all. (We really can't tell either way)

We hear people say, "We couldn't do foster care because we'd love them too much to give them back."

But you would love them enough to give them a safe, consistent, caring home when they need it, wouldn't you?

If you think we do foster care because we are strong, then you should come see us in the days before each of the times our foster son was supposed to leave. You'll see a home where we've given up on cleaning, because sitting on the floor and playing is more important. You'll see a couple lying awake and talking because it's too hard to sleep. You'll see two people that simply can't hold it together. Certain toys are just catalysts for sobbing sessions. Still other toys are reminders of a broken world filled with ineffective systems (which leads to further sobbing).

If you think we do foster care because we have something in us that others don't have, then you haven't seen us answer at length the "Why do you do foster care?" question. You'll see a "tough guy" take long pauses and extra breaths trying to say, without tears and as succinctly as possible, why these kids need it. You'll see a mom, unable to hold onto the children she has called her own, find some reason why the pain is good despite her maternal instincts screaming otherwise.

We are far from capable. Very far from capable. We get frustrated too easily. We get annoyed too quickly. We are more cynical than ever. And we find no hope for the future in this world.

We are NOT foster parent material.

So why bother?

Simply put, there is a gap. A very large gap. Between what the world should be and what the world actually is.

These kids can come with all of their possessions in a trashbag. We keep extra duffle bags in our closet. They will leave our home with dignity.

These kids might already feel like an outsider. We keep full wardrobes for many different sizes. They will leave knowing they were one of our kids.

These kids have left what they know and been thrown into a stranger's home. We will tirelessly remind people that this is the same child as last time. They will leave knowing that our home was a constant in their lives.

These kids have likely experienced trauma that many of us will never face. We will sob at night and "get it out of our system" by morning. They will leave knowing they had someone to hold them and someone to cry on.

These kids might not have had even their basic needs met. We will always keep random canisters of baby formula in our cupboard and plenty of food in our fridge. They will leave knowing they always had what they needed.

So we will stand in that gap. We will do all that we can to build the bridge between what should be and what is.

We love them too much NOT to take them. Because they need the love more than I need to avoid the heartache of saying goodbye.

Their lives are messy. So we will choose to wade into the mess.

That's what Christ did for us.

Is Christmas Still For Me?

Last Christmas was my first real taste of what Christmas feels like when life is really, really hard. You can read about that here.

I love my Advent activity calendar. It's such a big deal to me. Going into it this year, I remembered last December's chaos, and I tried to make things simpler. I tried to know that things might not happen.

We had court recently. Baby S is going back. We've been in a holding pattern, told that once Birth Parent decided they were ready, Baby S would be leaving us in two weeks. We've been two weeks away from goodbye for a few weeks. I never like waiting. I don't like it now either.

Today we were asked if we'd do Baby's return on Christmas Day. Yes, you read that right. On Christmas Day. I knew that the county planned to send him soon, despite what I think are a lot of red flags. But Christmas Day? Guys. Come on.

We're gonna try to fight that one. It's beyond crazy. It has been hard enough to guard Christmas in my heart already.

But something has happened. Something held over from last year. Last December, I felt so much sadness as I watched Christmas slipping away from me. All of the missed moments hurt. It felt like I was missing Christmas. Much like Cindy Lou Who in the live-action Grinch movie, I wondered where Christmas had gone, and if I had changed too much for it.

But this year, the more lost I feel, the more good Christmas feels. The more moments slip away, the more precious our Christmas movies and hot cocoa moments are. In a way that I didn't expect, Christmas is more for me this year than it ever has been before.

Advent isn't a season of  trying to shove in all that I can. Missed traditions remind me of how broken life is, and that makes me long for Christmas more. Not because "It's the most wonderful time of the year" (I feel a little like I'm lying to my kids every time we sing that song). I need Christmas because life hurts. Joy is hard to find, some days. And Christmas is about joy coming in the midst of pain.

And finding beauty in imperfection. Christmas sugar cookies don't look like the magazines with kids, huh?

I've noticed a lot of other people are hurting this Christmas. I guess my world is getting bigger and a little more grown-up. Christmas doesn't mean a month without pain. The upside to that is that maybe hitting "real life" won't hurt so much in January, because Christmas wasn't meant to numb my reality and then leave me fighting for hope when all of the good Christmas things are put away.

Christmas was meant to give me something bigger than my reality. It's not just for the happy people. Christmas offers a solution to my sadness. And much like Mary's life was about to get a lot messier, and more complicated, and more painful, and a hundred times more amazing than ever, my life will move forward with a lot of pain and sorrow and purpose and meaning. God won't leave me, even when life is confusing and I don't see his direction. In a few months, we'll celebrate Easter, and I'll be reminded that God's plan was always clear, even when it didn't make sense to any of Jesus's friends. Even if it still doesn't make sense to me.

Christmas is still for me. Christmas is more for me than ever before. I can find a deep peace in the approaching holiday. It's a peace that hurts, but it's stronger for that.

Merry Christmas, friends. May this Advent season bring hope and peace, even if the wounds remain or the circumstances don't look new on the outside. I know we'll be okay, because Jesus came for the broken people, and all of our hurts just make us more qualified for God's amazing work in us.

Wednesday, Goodbyes, and Maybe Not Yets

So our lives might change a lot this week. Or not at all.

Welcome to our story.

Is this about the twentieth time I've said Baby S might be leaving in just a few days' time? It sure feels like it. I'm glad he's still with us, because it hasn't been the right time for him to go back yet. It was supposed to be the right time this time, and then a lot of things changed in a few weeks' time. I know what I would do if it were my choice, but it's not. Maybe that's good, because I'm way too far into this thing now to be unbiased, although I really do try. My mama bear instinct has kicked in and it's pretty hard to shut down.

Wednesday is another court day. We've entered the "have his stuff packed or at least ready to be packed each court date" stage. It kind of drives us nuts, because we can't plan. But it's also become our new normal. So we'll get through this one too.

It's really weird to think about how big Wednesday's decision could be, because each time Baby S is "definitely going back very soon" and then doesn't, it feels less possible that he could leave. He's been with us for 16 months. He's 100% part of this family. It is 100% more crazy when he is here, because he is active and wild and enthusiastically happy about getting into everything because everything makes him laugh. But I'd still rather get up with him at 5:30 AM and chase him around home cleaning up a trail of destruction all day long than have him not here and sleep in and have tea on a veranda somewhere.

Of course I'd rather have him here. He's my baby. I want him here forever, with all of his crazy head-butting hugs and his sweet sloppy baby kisses and his love for hide-and-seek and his silly sweet hair that stands up in random places and flops around as he runs back and forth.

Just look at him. One tiger slipper on, trying desperately to communicate with Winnie the Pooh. Seriously. Super cute.

But how can I want him here when that means he's not with his Birth Parent? Josh and I are really and truly in this mainly because we think that reconciliation and healing in a birth family is the top goal and a wonderful representation of Jesus loving us and healing us although we were so very broken. This doesn't stop applying just because we love our foster son. But desiring reunification is not so easy when the things you see aren't pointing to success for parent and baby. We don't blindly desire reunification in every circumstance. This system is in place to protect children and families, and that means sometimes it is not right to send a child home right now.

Thankfully, as I'm foster mom, I am able to live in this limbo of don't-send-him-away and hope-he-can-go. I'm so glad I'm not a case worker or judge. I can throw my whole entire heart into my baby and fight for his good when it is my place and step back and let others make the call when it is their place to do so.

So it's confusing, and complicated, and ever-changing. So many changes. So many last-minute reschedules and please-pick-him-up-nows and rearrange-your-entire-weekend-pleases. So many we-need-another-meeting, just-one-more-meeting-will-help, they'll-listen-this-time-just-drop-everything-and-come-for-a-meeting.

I'm getting used to planning around not getting to do what we plan. I'm getting used to expecting visits to be cancelled when it's going to be crazy to re-arrange the morning. This is not because I'm being negative, but because it's currently the most likely scenario. There's a whole other level beyond flexible that we live in now, and it can drive you crazy, but it's life and you just keep going and try to laugh when possible and find the right people to cry to when not, and pray the whole time that God will preserve your long-term effectiveness even if the short-term sanity is lacking.

I can no longer wrap my brain around Baby S going. Saying goodbye every month seems worse than doing it once when it happens. And will I really be less blindsided if I go into court telling myself he's leaving?

Who knows.

We don't know how to plan, or how to think, or even how to pray. So for now, we enjoy each day we have together, and the ones we have that aren't together too. We try to paste on a cheesy smile and not yell at anyone when they ruin our plans because sometimes that's all I have left in me. We just ask God to help, because I don't even know what to pray for. But he promises that he knows what I need better than I do, so maybe it's better that way anyway.

Thanks for everyone who's praying and loving Baby S with us. Thanks for being here with us through our slow (not-so-slow?) descent into craziness. I love you guys for that.

We'll make it, guys. Through Wednesday and through however many other court dates are left with this guy. Not because Josh and I are sane enough or great enough or together enough, but simply because God is a big God who can do big things, even with broken people.