Bitter Sweet Symphony

The boys started school a little over a week ago. They're loving it so far. My big boy comes home everyday, proudly pulling his beat-up paper from his backpack to show us that he had another green day.

Green days are the best.

This boy is a far cry from the timid, antsy,over-stimulated boy we used to know. He's controlled, he's logical, he's responsive, he's helpful, and he is ever so looking for praise and affirmation. He has won our hearts and we are so proud of how far he's come.

Our little one races to me when we pick him up from day care. He still wants to be swooped up into my arms, wrapping his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck.

"I missed you today, mommy," he says. Then, "How you baby?"

It's funny when he asks about "my baby," when for the longest time he was (and in some ways still is) my baby. The baby of our family.

Yesterday was a challenging day, but the boys wouldn't know it. They don't need to.

We had a mediation hearing on their case. It was actually requested by the kids' maternal grandmother (on behalf of their mother) and granted by the case judge. That in and of itself was frustrating enough, but what happened next was icing on the cake. They didn't show. They called off due to a "family emergency."

I would think mediation about these kids was family emergency enough, but I'd be wrong.

But we were all there. The foster parents, the case workers, the attorneys. We demanded that mediation take place because we'd all taken off work, gotten sitters, commuted downtown to be here when it wasn't even us who had requested it. They agreed and made mom participate via speakerphone.

Mediation is a fancy word for "let's all get together and air our grievances so that we can come to an amicable agreement." You see, right now, the case is not going well for the kids' mom. And because of this, she had some concerns and questions about what the future will look like for her being in her kids' lives. She wanted to address us to talk about some things that were upsetting her and ask for assurances that, honestly, we can't give completely.

It was frustrating.

It was also sad.

These are her children, but they're not.

She gave birth to them, but they live with me and call me "mom."

She is afraid about her place in their lives as time goes on, but so am I.

Because it doesn't matter how this ends up. It doesn't matter if a miracle happens or if they become my children permanently. I will never be her.

I will never be their mom.

Sure, I will be there mom, but not their mom.

So, I understand when she shares how she feels about sharing her children. I understand when she expresses fear that she will be cut out, forgotten. I have those fears, too.

But I have to remind myself that our hearts can hold so much love.

My kids can love us both. I love all my parents, after all.

There's room for all of us in their hearts.

My job is to tell them how very much they're loved. How much they're wanted. How safe, and important and smart they are. How no matter what happens, they will be taken care of.

And for me, well, my job is to listen to my Father when he says, "So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail your nor abandon you." 

I have to trust him when he says, "Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand."

Jesus, give me faith to believe these words. Help me to stand in these truths. We cannot do this without you.