Do you ever find that you have seasons of loving better? When you're your best self (or close to it) and you find that the overflow of that is full of patience, grace, understanding, compassion, and joy?
I desperately want this.
Lately I have been feeling exhausted. Owen has become very clingy as he's entered the separation anxiety stage. You never know when he will cry when I try to pass him off to someone else. Whereas I used to be able to put him down on the ground with some toys so that I could get stuff done, now he cries the moment his bottom touches the floor and then crawls after me, crying and whining, "Mama, mama, mama." I have to admit it's heartbreaking. But it's also tiring. But I know, too, that he won't be this little forever, and so I am soaking it up, holding him and comforting him as much as he needs.
We've entered the homestudy phase of the adoption process. It begins with us completing the online adoption training geared towards understanding attachment, post-adoption behaviors, our rights, what to expect from the kids, and basically how to parent children that legally yours but not completely emotionally yours, but ones you've been entrusted to care for for a lifetime nonetheless. It's a huge honor and privilege, but it is also terrifying. Just going through some of the material today online I was struck at how truly ill-prepared we really are to take this journey.
But can we ever be prepared for this?
You would think that after 2+ years of caring for, loving, encouraging, disciplining, raising, and living life with these kids would give me some confidence in how to move forward in the next leg of our lives together. But honestly, I feel like I am back at square one. It is one thing to agree to adopt, and even want to adopt because you love your kids. It's another thing to consider all of the ramifications and what that looks like for all of us for the rest of our lives.
For example, questions like how much contact will they have with their birth family once the adoption is finalized?
And how will we honor their race, culture and heritage as an interracial adoptive family?
And what will holidays and birthdays look like going forward? Will we have two separate events, one for our family and one for theirs? Or will we do a combined event?
And finally, how will we meet all of their needs when so often we are not the ones they want?
Whenever someone asks me what it's like to be a foster parent I tell them that it is hard and messy. I am not one to gloss over or glorify something that is difficult. Sure, there are rewards and I love the boys as if they were my own flesh and blood, but I would be lying if I didn't say the truth about what it really feels like on a daily basis.
A lot of times, it feels like unrequited love.
Others, it feels like a battle; a civil war.
Sometimes, it feels like we are trying to survive inside a psych ward.
And yet there are days, too, when it just feels like family. Like we have always been together.
Those days are our saving grace and reminder as to why we do this.
But most days, the mundane, emotionally-difficult, behaviorally-challenged, hurtful days are more often than not. This training reminds me that those days will continue to occur once the adoption is finalized...some things never change; they just become more manageable and less frequent.
That's not the point, though.
The point is that I, we, GET to love these boys and raise them as our own in spite of our sin, regardless of our abilities, in the face of every obstacle we've encountered along the way: We get to be their mom and dad forever.
Forever.
There's that word again.
Heavy.
Real.
Permanent.
Someday soon, they will be ours, and that will begin a whole new process of learning, forgiving, grieving, rejecting, accepting, rejoicing.
And I'm the lucky one, because through it all, I still get to hug and kiss them goodnight.
Through it all, I get to be their forever mom.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Your Love Never Fails
I have many fears about raising black sons. It doesn't take much to understand this fear: just watch the news. But I'm not there yet. I'm not scared of that...yet.
I'm scared I will fail them because I'm white. That I won't "get it" enough. That I won't be able to offer them the things they need, things of racial and cultural importance, that only a mom of their own race could offer them. I am afraid that they are being short-changed of a life experience that I simply cannot offer.
There are two other white foster families within blocks of us also raising black children. All throughout the city, probably the entire U.S., black children in the foster care system are being placed with and loved by white families. For many reasons. There could be volumes written about why this is; Maybe we have the homes, the means, the education, the security, privilege, etc.. It could be because there are more white foster families than other races (I truly don't know). It could be because the races of foster children are predominantly African American (surely in our city this is the case), and so the odds make sense. Whatever the reason, here we sit, responsible for stewarding these precious lives all the while completely ignorant of all that they need.
That's a big responsibility. And it's important to me.
It makes me think about the story of Moses. How he was forced, by circumstances beyond his control, to live among foreigners. How God, in His infinite mercy, allowed Moses' mother to continue to nurse and influence him, despite that fact that he lived with a much wealthier, well-educated, privileged people. How he benefitted from his Egyptian upbringing, but still deeply loved his people and felt a responsibility to them. How one day, God used him to rescue his people from oppression.
I think about how if God could do that for Moses and the Israelites, then surely he can do that for my boys and their family, their people. Maybe God is allowing my children to thrive and prosper in an environment that would not have been possible had they remained with their own people so that one day they can use their upbringing to influence, shape and heal their family, thus forever altering future generations. I think about how important it is that I instill in them a love for their family, their culture, their history, their race, so that like Moses, they grow up with a deep love and compassion for their people, for equality, fairness and justice.
My oldest regularly asks me, as if to remind himself, "Mom, you said God can change anybody, right? Maybe he can change [my dad]."
And it's my job to say,"Yes, son. God can change anyone. And He has. Time and again He has changed the hearts of millions of people who love Him. And He will never stop."
It's a reminder I need myself.
He never stops.
Even when we lose interest. Turn away. Say it's too hard. Miss the point. Fail.
He never gives up.
And so, too, I will never give up trying to be the best mom I can be for these kids who deserve more than this world can give them. Like my Father in Heaven, I won't stop. Even when they say they don't want to live here. Even when they remind me they have a "real" mom. Even when they say they miss their absentee dad. Even when they hate us.
I won't stop.
I'm scared I will fail them because I'm white. That I won't "get it" enough. That I won't be able to offer them the things they need, things of racial and cultural importance, that only a mom of their own race could offer them. I am afraid that they are being short-changed of a life experience that I simply cannot offer.
There are two other white foster families within blocks of us also raising black children. All throughout the city, probably the entire U.S., black children in the foster care system are being placed with and loved by white families. For many reasons. There could be volumes written about why this is; Maybe we have the homes, the means, the education, the security, privilege, etc.. It could be because there are more white foster families than other races (I truly don't know). It could be because the races of foster children are predominantly African American (surely in our city this is the case), and so the odds make sense. Whatever the reason, here we sit, responsible for stewarding these precious lives all the while completely ignorant of all that they need.
That's a big responsibility. And it's important to me.
It makes me think about the story of Moses. How he was forced, by circumstances beyond his control, to live among foreigners. How God, in His infinite mercy, allowed Moses' mother to continue to nurse and influence him, despite that fact that he lived with a much wealthier, well-educated, privileged people. How he benefitted from his Egyptian upbringing, but still deeply loved his people and felt a responsibility to them. How one day, God used him to rescue his people from oppression.
I think about how if God could do that for Moses and the Israelites, then surely he can do that for my boys and their family, their people. Maybe God is allowing my children to thrive and prosper in an environment that would not have been possible had they remained with their own people so that one day they can use their upbringing to influence, shape and heal their family, thus forever altering future generations. I think about how important it is that I instill in them a love for their family, their culture, their history, their race, so that like Moses, they grow up with a deep love and compassion for their people, for equality, fairness and justice.
My oldest regularly asks me, as if to remind himself, "Mom, you said God can change anybody, right? Maybe he can change [my dad]."
And it's my job to say,"Yes, son. God can change anyone. And He has. Time and again He has changed the hearts of millions of people who love Him. And He will never stop."
It's a reminder I need myself.
He never stops.
Even when we lose interest. Turn away. Say it's too hard. Miss the point. Fail.
He never gives up.
And so, too, I will never give up trying to be the best mom I can be for these kids who deserve more than this world can give them. Like my Father in Heaven, I won't stop. Even when they say they don't want to live here. Even when they remind me they have a "real" mom. Even when they say they miss their absentee dad. Even when they hate us.
I won't stop.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Free to Be Me
We have officially entered normalcy.
The kids are back in school, Rocky is mostly healed up and back working up a storm, and Owen and I have found a rhythm that works, but one that leaves us with enough wiggle room for whatever the day brings. There is nothing I have loved more than the freedom to say "no" to the dishes, and "yes" to an impromptu playdate.
Last year in January I wrote about my word for the year: Open.
I can say without hesitation that last year was the most easy-going and open as I have ever been. I found that having a baby while simultaneously starting an adoption process while your husband starts his own business will kind of force you to go with the flow. And I liked being more flexible. More in-the-moment. More ready and at peace for whatever happened.
A permanent change has absolutely occurred within me because of last year.
This year, I debated about whether or not I would choose a word. After all, does it really matter? Did my word last year actually motivate me to act in a way I might not have otherwise?
I think it did.
I remember consciously telling myself to be open when I felt my instinct to close in, protect, preserve.
I am not a risk-taker by any stretch of the imagination. I like routine, dependability, schedules, monotony, even. Looking back now after having gone through so much therapy with and for my kids, I realized that I found comfort in routine and security in the monotonous because my world as a child felt so out-of-control that I created my own stability. Since then, living that way has always made me feel safe. It took moving to Chicago for God to began to chip away at that way of thinking. I found that I didn't want to feel protective of my ways or inflexible about life. I came to hate that I would get so hung up on things that I let bother me so much. I was sad that spontaneity felt threatening.
And so little by little, I let go. I pushed myself past the point of comfort. I started hushing the voice that would tell me to turn in, keep it inside, don't be vulnerable, don't risk. And in 2015, I really feel that this voice was permanently silenced. I truly did allow myself to be open.
And so, I've given some thought to what this year's word should be. What is my next step? What is still burdening me that I need to throw off? What needs to change? What should my attitude and perspective be this year?
And all I hear is free.
Free.
That is the word I have chosen.
Free to be me.
Free to enjoy myself.
Free to indulge in things that nourish me.
Free to say yes and no, without guilt.
Free to spend my time the way I want to.
Free to love the people in my life the way they need to be loved.
Free to serve God in the way He's gifted me and asked of me.
Of course, free is easier said than done.
Free is a hard word for me because I live under a shroud of self-imposed guilt, as I image most moms do. Everyday my thoughts are a jumbled heap of questions like:
Did I spend enough time playing with my kids?
Did I love my husband well?
Did I do something for myself, for my health and well-being?
Did I acknowledge God, like at all?
Did I love my neighbor?
Did I encourage and pray for a friend?
The guilt comes from the fact that the answer to all of these questions is usually a resounding NO. I pretty much fail at all of these things. For every one instance I get right, there's at least two that I get wrong. The weight of the guilt I feel about this is overwhelming. Suffocating. Unbearable. Most days I just try to dust myself off and try again, but without the grace I never afford myself, because for me to feel that grace, I need to be free to receive it.
Quite the predicament I find myself in.
So in 2016, I'm going to try to free myself from my own demands and just let myself be. Like chill out. Relax. I'm going to try to go to bed every night with no run-throughs, no questions, no guilt, no regrets. I'm going to try to be free, so that God can use me to share the grace that I so desperately need myself.
Free sounds nice, doesn't it?
Couldn't we all do with a little more of free?
The kids are back in school, Rocky is mostly healed up and back working up a storm, and Owen and I have found a rhythm that works, but one that leaves us with enough wiggle room for whatever the day brings. There is nothing I have loved more than the freedom to say "no" to the dishes, and "yes" to an impromptu playdate.
Last year in January I wrote about my word for the year: Open.
I can say without hesitation that last year was the most easy-going and open as I have ever been. I found that having a baby while simultaneously starting an adoption process while your husband starts his own business will kind of force you to go with the flow. And I liked being more flexible. More in-the-moment. More ready and at peace for whatever happened.
A permanent change has absolutely occurred within me because of last year.
This year, I debated about whether or not I would choose a word. After all, does it really matter? Did my word last year actually motivate me to act in a way I might not have otherwise?
I think it did.
I remember consciously telling myself to be open when I felt my instinct to close in, protect, preserve.
I am not a risk-taker by any stretch of the imagination. I like routine, dependability, schedules, monotony, even. Looking back now after having gone through so much therapy with and for my kids, I realized that I found comfort in routine and security in the monotonous because my world as a child felt so out-of-control that I created my own stability. Since then, living that way has always made me feel safe. It took moving to Chicago for God to began to chip away at that way of thinking. I found that I didn't want to feel protective of my ways or inflexible about life. I came to hate that I would get so hung up on things that I let bother me so much. I was sad that spontaneity felt threatening.
And so little by little, I let go. I pushed myself past the point of comfort. I started hushing the voice that would tell me to turn in, keep it inside, don't be vulnerable, don't risk. And in 2015, I really feel that this voice was permanently silenced. I truly did allow myself to be open.
And so, I've given some thought to what this year's word should be. What is my next step? What is still burdening me that I need to throw off? What needs to change? What should my attitude and perspective be this year?
And all I hear is free.
Free.
That is the word I have chosen.
Free to be me.
Free to enjoy myself.
Free to indulge in things that nourish me.
Free to say yes and no, without guilt.
Free to spend my time the way I want to.
Free to love the people in my life the way they need to be loved.
Free to serve God in the way He's gifted me and asked of me.
Of course, free is easier said than done.
Free is a hard word for me because I live under a shroud of self-imposed guilt, as I image most moms do. Everyday my thoughts are a jumbled heap of questions like:
Did I spend enough time playing with my kids?
Did I love my husband well?
Did I do something for myself, for my health and well-being?
Did I acknowledge God, like at all?
Did I love my neighbor?
Did I encourage and pray for a friend?
The guilt comes from the fact that the answer to all of these questions is usually a resounding NO. I pretty much fail at all of these things. For every one instance I get right, there's at least two that I get wrong. The weight of the guilt I feel about this is overwhelming. Suffocating. Unbearable. Most days I just try to dust myself off and try again, but without the grace I never afford myself, because for me to feel that grace, I need to be free to receive it.
Quite the predicament I find myself in.
So in 2016, I'm going to try to free myself from my own demands and just let myself be. Like chill out. Relax. I'm going to try to go to bed every night with no run-throughs, no questions, no guilt, no regrets. I'm going to try to be free, so that God can use me to share the grace that I so desperately need myself.
Free sounds nice, doesn't it?
Couldn't we all do with a little more of free?
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
A Change Will Do You Good
It's 2016.
I feel like I am just now getting my bearings back from last year.
2015 was a doozy.
I don't want to go as far as to say, "good riddance," but I am grateful that 2015 is behind us. It was a hard year. A great year, but a hard year. The hardest of my life. Even though there was so much to be thankful for, I feel like for every wonderful thing that happened, something terrible happened, too.
Owen was born (making it the best year ever), but my body was banged up and it took me 3 months to heal as opposed to 6 weeks. I'm still not completely back to normal.
The boys became eligible for adoption, and we've since started the process, but that means their parents' rights were terminated. Forever. They will never again live with blood family. And this has created chaos in our home as our children struggle to process this reality.
We flew to California as a family of 5 and got to see nearly every member of our families. The people we love the most got to meet all three of our boys. But we left feeling homesick, confused, and wondering where exactly God wants us to be.
My mom moved to Chicago and lives with us now. It's amazing. She's a huge help and we laugh all day. A lot. But that means that her marriage has truly ended, and so while we're happy she's here, it's for a heartbreaking reason; one I wish wasn't so.
2015 was one big paradox.
And so, I am thankful the year is over. While giving birth to Owen and watching him grow has been the most amazing experience of my life, I can't hold onto that forever, suspended in time. And the rest of 2015 (outside of our vacation to California with all of our family in August) was just plain tough, on us and a lot of people we love. Divorce, cancer, infidelity, job loss, financial woes...It seems like across the board, it was an incredibly challenging year for so many.
I am looking forward to this year. Blank slates, new possibilities, every opportunity waiting to be discovered.
I'm excited to reconnect with my husband now that Owen is becoming more independent and I don't feel the overwhelming need (and desire) to be with him at all times.
I'm excited to see how my big boys mature, learn, and grow emotionally, academically and physically (we're working on spiritually, too, but they need to feel safe and secure before they can even fathom all this craziness that we believe and devote our lives to).
I'm excited to see who Owen turns into as he nears toddlerhood; what his voice will be like, the things he'll say, the foods he'll love and hate. He will turn one and I am already brainstorming birthday party ideas. For a one-year old. (I never thought I would be THAT mom, but gosh, this kid...)
I'm excited to reconnect with my girlfriends after being sucked into the whirlwind that is babyhood and adoption processes. I miss just being Nicole. Not wife, not mom, not daughter. Just me. With my friends. And wine.
I'm excited to get back to myself. Spend time taking care of myself. Eating better. Working out. Feeling good and looking good.
I'm excited for summer! The best season in Chicago!!! I can't wait for barbecues, and concerts in the park, and al fresco dining and going to the beach. Crossing my fingers I can maybe get a tan on this pasty Irish skin.
I'm excited for everything the future holds.
I know things are almost never easy. I've learned (quickly!) that the more people you love, the more complicated things get. I'm sure my positivity might wane in the coming months when things get hard, again (because that's life sometimes).
But right now, today, in this moment, I am excited.
I feel like I am just now getting my bearings back from last year.
2015 was a doozy.
I don't want to go as far as to say, "good riddance," but I am grateful that 2015 is behind us. It was a hard year. A great year, but a hard year. The hardest of my life. Even though there was so much to be thankful for, I feel like for every wonderful thing that happened, something terrible happened, too.
Owen was born (making it the best year ever), but my body was banged up and it took me 3 months to heal as opposed to 6 weeks. I'm still not completely back to normal.
The boys became eligible for adoption, and we've since started the process, but that means their parents' rights were terminated. Forever. They will never again live with blood family. And this has created chaos in our home as our children struggle to process this reality.
We flew to California as a family of 5 and got to see nearly every member of our families. The people we love the most got to meet all three of our boys. But we left feeling homesick, confused, and wondering where exactly God wants us to be.
My mom moved to Chicago and lives with us now. It's amazing. She's a huge help and we laugh all day. A lot. But that means that her marriage has truly ended, and so while we're happy she's here, it's for a heartbreaking reason; one I wish wasn't so.
2015 was one big paradox.
And so, I am thankful the year is over. While giving birth to Owen and watching him grow has been the most amazing experience of my life, I can't hold onto that forever, suspended in time. And the rest of 2015 (outside of our vacation to California with all of our family in August) was just plain tough, on us and a lot of people we love. Divorce, cancer, infidelity, job loss, financial woes...It seems like across the board, it was an incredibly challenging year for so many.
I am looking forward to this year. Blank slates, new possibilities, every opportunity waiting to be discovered.
I'm excited to reconnect with my husband now that Owen is becoming more independent and I don't feel the overwhelming need (and desire) to be with him at all times.
I'm excited to see how my big boys mature, learn, and grow emotionally, academically and physically (we're working on spiritually, too, but they need to feel safe and secure before they can even fathom all this craziness that we believe and devote our lives to).
I'm excited to see who Owen turns into as he nears toddlerhood; what his voice will be like, the things he'll say, the foods he'll love and hate. He will turn one and I am already brainstorming birthday party ideas. For a one-year old. (I never thought I would be THAT mom, but gosh, this kid...)
I'm excited to reconnect with my girlfriends after being sucked into the whirlwind that is babyhood and adoption processes. I miss just being Nicole. Not wife, not mom, not daughter. Just me. With my friends. And wine.
I'm excited to get back to myself. Spend time taking care of myself. Eating better. Working out. Feeling good and looking good.
I'm excited for summer! The best season in Chicago!!! I can't wait for barbecues, and concerts in the park, and al fresco dining and going to the beach. Crossing my fingers I can maybe get a tan on this pasty Irish skin.
I'm excited for everything the future holds.
I know things are almost never easy. I've learned (quickly!) that the more people you love, the more complicated things get. I'm sure my positivity might wane in the coming months when things get hard, again (because that's life sometimes).
But right now, today, in this moment, I am excited.
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