Lost in My Mind

I've always felt like less of a reader because I prefer nonfiction to fiction. It's not that I can't appreciate fiction. It is, after all, how we are usually introduced to reading in the first place. But as I've gotten older, it doesn't hold my attention, captivate my mind, engage my spirit the way a good memoir or real-life account does.

Why does this matter, you ask?

I guess because over time, my reading preferences have aligned with my beliefs and convictions in a way that makes it almost impossible for me to enjoy the frivolity of a fictional story. Don't get me wrong, the characters in fiction, when written well, can appear just as deep, human, tortured as any real-life character. But something about knowing a story is true- that's what gets me. Captures me. Keeps me turning the page.

I just finished reading a witty memoir of sorts, written by Nora Ephron, which was a gift from my kids for Mother's Day. There are several things that struck me while reading it. First, I didn't realize (or maybe I pushed it out of my memory since I love her work so much) that she was an atheist. This makes me sad. I also didn't know she had been married three times. Also sad. Still, her writing, her charm, her self-deprecating humor is what has made her work (largely fictional) so endearing to me. I'd venture to say that her quick sarcasm and cynicism is also what has appealed to me.

And it got me thinking about how I relate to people. Oftentimes I am fairly selective and judgmental in choosing the people I want to get to know. I'm even more so when considering who I will allow to get to know me. And I think of Nora; A writer, director, you-name-it, putting it all out there for everyone to read, and I feel the weight of my small world, my tiny circle of existence shrinking in on me.

A life so short lived so protected is not much of a life.

Now Nora's life, that's not the life for me. I have no desire to rub elbows with the who's who of New York, or eat in fancy restaurant, or be able to retell the latest juicy gossip.

No.

What I want is to expand my world by being the hands and feet of Jesus.

Wait. Back up. I lied.

I do want to eat in fancy restaurants. Sometimes.

But I digress.

I want to meet my neighbors and invite them into my home without fear that they're casing the place. I want my kids to be able to talk to people passing by the backyard fence without my heart catching in my throat that the person is a racist, kidnapper or pedophile. I want to pray for and minister to a city who doesn't know or believe in God. I want to be brave.

And that is why I love nonfiction. The heroes are real. They have lived through adventures or tragedies,  or both and then were brave enough to put it on paper and say, "Here. Here I am. In these pages. This is me."

I want to be like that when I grow up.

The reality is that it's not that the real-life characters didn't experience fear, rejection, hurt, pain. They embraced it. They understood that it's all a part of life, of the journey, to wherever it is we each think we're headed in this life and maybe the next. They got that their stories, though about them, were not about them. Their stories were sounds in a universe, a tapestry of lives lived and lives passed. They're merely contributors to the beauty of creation, the story of time.

So, how can I be that, too? How can my life, my story, be open and vulnerable and brave? How can I put myself out there and say, "Here. Here I am. This is me."

I don't quite know yet. Or better said, I'm working on it. I'm working on using less filters. I'm trying to grab ahold of the things I've convinced myself I don't like or I'm not good it. I'm trying to take another look with a fresh perspective and see if there's something here, in me, that I've squashed that is waiting to be exposed.

Spring is here.

New growth is on the horizon.

"For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? 

I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland."

(Isaiah 43:19)

Money (That's What I Want)

Enough.

Why do things never feel like enough?

I struggle so much with wanting more. More time. More money. More energy. More faith. I am in a constant tug-o-war with my mind, heart and soul about what is important, what isn't, and what that means. Sometimes it feels like I am two people trapped in one body, forced to function as a team. Much like Paul, my flesh is weak and I am almost always in some kind of battle with it. Gluttony. Greed. Pride. Envy. Wrath. Sloth. Lust. Yes, the seven deadly sins. I suffer from all of these, and more.

I want to eat and drink what I want (but never gain weight).

I want to amass and hoard a fortune (and never feel guilty about not sharing).

I want to be right (and I want others to feel bad for being wrong).

I want what my neighbor has (and I think I deserve it more than they do).

I want people to be punished for their wrongs (but I want to receive grace and forgiveness for mine).

I want to quit my job and stay at home (but I still want to collect a paycheck).

I want to conquer (and build my own kingdom, not someone else’s).

If only acting on these sins would result in judgment, I could escape quite a bit. I’m a rule follower by nature. The reality, however, is that the amount of time spent wrestling with these things makes me just as guilty.

At heart, I am lazy. I am tired. If I didn't have such a guilty conscience (read: conviction), I could easily live those temptations out. I want a life of no consequences (for myself). I want a carefree life, free of sacrifice and suffering and hardship. I want the exact opposite of what Jesus had. I want to be the rich ruler in Mark 10 who walks away.

If only….

Rocky always tells me that I should be Catholic for the amount of guilt-motivation I need to pull off this life of faith. The constant internal dialogue is enough to deafen me some days.

I really want to buy that throw pillow! No, how could you spend $24 on that? How could you justify spending that kind of money and a PILLOW knowing what you know about the world? You’re right, I won’t buy it. But it’s so pretty!

<guilty sadness>

I really wish I made more money. I used to make so much more money. I want to start looking for a better job. But this job is so perfect for your lifestyle! For your family! More money isn't everything. Just look at how great your bosses are and how you get to help people for a living. Yeah, but I can’t afford to buy cute shoes or a gratuitous throw pillow. I wish I didn't want that throw pillow! 

<guilty resignation>

And so it goes. 

I am notorious for not buying much for myself. 90% of my shoes (minus a pair gifted to me) are at least 3 years old. The others were bought on clearance. The last piece of clothing I bought was a dress on clearance at Target, and it’s been too cold to even wear yet. Everything I've recently purchased has been for the house. When we get the occasion to travel (which isn't often anymore), we choose a cheap(er) hotel room. We try to eat at home and bring our lunches to work most days.

I am half proud, and half resentful. 

The truth is that I wish I didn't have to care about money. I wish I had an endless supply. I wish it wasn't an issue. I wish I could make a luxury (for me) purchase without second-guessing and getting buyer’s remorse and eventually returning it (ask Rocky). 

The love of money. It’s a thing for me. 

It’s a sin. 

I know it. 

Even though I am not a big earner or big spender, I am consumed with wishing I had more. 

But God has us right in that sweet spot; Giving us a little bit of cushion, but not enough to not have to depend on him. 

Do not misunderstand; We are extremely blessed people. Blessed beyond what we deserve, and I’m not just saying that because it’s the “Christian” thing to say. We have so much.

So why doesn't it feel like enough? 

Why don’t I always feel blessed? 

The only answer I have is sin. 

And I wish I could shake this thorn in my flesh. I wish I could be content in every circumstance without wanting more or wishing for something better. I wish I could go out tomorrow and buy the minivan we will need to purchase here in a few months. I wish everything didn't take so much work. 

I was better at the rat race than I am a lot of times at this faith journey. 

Making your life about Jesus is hard. Going without to be like your Savior is hard. Denying your flesh is hard.  
I know the truth. I know it’s worth it. I know my reward is in Heaven. I know it is much better to be a “good and faithful servant” than a rich ruler. I know that Jesus is good and worth following. 

I just wish the truth was louder than the temptation some days. 

Like Paul, I continue to pray for this thorn in my flesh. 

Like him, I may not be delivered of it in this life. 

And that is precisely why I need Jesus.

I Need a Hero

At 4:07 p.m. yesterday we excited the Juvenile Justice court and my heart was broken.

The judge agreed with the agency’s recommendation to terminate my kids’ mom’s parental rights.

Many have asked us what this means.

It means that the State, instead of working towards reunification will now be building a case against her to show that she is an unfit mother. The foster agency will now be switching their goal-oriented services from fostering a continued relationship with mom to building a foundation for the kids to be with us permanently.

Some people have congratulated us.

I feel sick to my stomach.

There are no winners here. Certainly not their mom. Nor their dad, whom we saw for the first time yesterday. Shackled, head bent low, shuffled into a court room. Do you know what it feels like to look at the face of your boys’ dad and see them in him? In this state? It made it real. It made their memories real. It made their stories true.

And here I am, standing there in this court room with my wonderful husband and my charmed life and I’m looking at these two young, attractive, lost people and I’m asking God why? Why does it have to be me, here, loving and raising their kids? Taking their kids away?

I know what you will say. “You’re not the one taking their kids away.” “It’s best for the kids.” “Maybe this will move them to get their lives together.”

Yes, all those things we’ve been conditioned to say. They’re true in their own way. No, I’m not the one who took their kids away; I’m the one who was there to swoop them up, provide a safe home, love them through their tears. And yes, it is best for the kids in nearly every way. Better home, better school, happily married mom and dad, involvement in church. Yes, in those ways, it’s exponentially better. And yes, this rock bottom, this dark pit of a circumstance, of a sentence, may stir change, hope, resolve to fight for themselves so that one day they may fight for their kids….

But so what?

Do any of those condolences masquerading as truth mean that their hearts are not crushed? That their spirits are not devastated? That their hope is not gone? That my children may never, never, live with their natural family again? Does any of my better make it better?

No.

It does not.

As I sit here, and grieve this heavy loss for people I barely even know, but whose children I now call my own…as I sit here and grieve for them, all I can see is my kids. Their parents were once kids like my own. And there was no one there to help them, nurture them, encourage them, love them, point them to Jesus. I look at them and I see a young girl and a young boy, and the unfair hands they were dealt and the family, born into a cycle, who were unprepared and ill-equipped to raise them into the people my kids would ultimately need them to be. They are victims, too.

They are not the enemy.

I am not better than them.

I had better than them.

And that is part of my why.

Why did my life turn out the way it did? Why did God choose me for this moment in time? Why not them?

As I struggle to grasp the gravity of this decision, of this new life, I recall my Pastor’s words last night when we told him the news.

He said, “Everyone needs rescue.”

Me. My kids. Their parents. You.

We all need rescue.

So come, Jesus. Please come.

The weight of these broken hearts is unbearable.

Please come.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted And saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

God, Be the Solution

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28, NIV)

His purpose.

God’s purpose.

Let’s read that again.

“And we know that in all things [all things, even hard things] God works [arranges, orchestrates] for the good [well-being, betterment] of those who love [adore, cherish, trust, follow] him, who have been called [charged, ordered, commanded, chosen] according to his purpose.”

God’s purpose is not…

…to make me comfortable;

…to keep me healthy;

…to make me rich;

…to give me my heart’s desire;

…to see to it that I have a carefree, safe and happy life.

God’s purpose is to…

…redeem;

…to set free;

…to reconcile;

…to make new.

What does this mean for us, for believers? How does this work in our lives? What does this look like in our current circumstances? What does this have to do with me?

If I, a lover of God, am called according to His purpose to redeem, set free, reconcile, make new, then my focus, attention, efforts and prayers better be cemented in this truth.

The boys’ mom has been on my heart since we heard last night that the agency will recommend her parental rights be terminated. I keep asking God how this fits in with His purpose. How will this situation be redeemed? How can this family be made new? How can a mother, without the hope of someday being reunited with her kids, be set free from the bondage she’s in? How will God use this situation, use me, to help reconcile this family to Him?

Hard situations often threaten to overshadow the truth. They whisper lies of hopelessness, impossibility, pain and sadness. They say that this family is irrevocably broken, that there is no rescuer waiting in the wings, no hope to save them. The enemy tries to claim victory and celebrates at a family’s devastation. He knows how easy it will be for despair to set in, take hold, crowd out the light. He is preparing his throne in the darkness.

But the Light of the World, Hope himself, knows something no one else does.

He will use this time, this hardship, this pain. He will use it for good. He has called me, and Rocky, and countless others to His purpose for these children, hundreds of thousands of orphans around the world. He has called us.

And we believe.

And we will follow Him.

We will trust that He is there, He is with us, He is riding in on his white horse called Rescue.

There is hope still.

Never is a Promise

It's been a frustrating month for us in terms of fostering politics.

Our social worker was fired recently. We loved her. Like considered her a part of our family. She loved our kids, was a professional, sought the best case scenario for everyone when she could, and genuinely loved and was passionate about her job. We were so upset. Scratch that. We are so upset. Fostering without a social worker is like heading into a meeting without a clue as to what you're presenting. Our day-to-day hasn't changed much, but not having someone to keep you informed, be a resource and advocate, and manage your kids' case makes fostering challenging.

The make matters worse, our kids' case has a permanency hearing set for this Thursday. A permanency hearing is when the foster agency, kids' attorney and mom's attorney meet before a judge to discuss the status of the case and make recommendations for either reunification or termination of parental rights. When kids are removed from their parents' custody, the goal is always reunification. The courts and the Department of Child & Family Services put programs and services in place for the parents to complete as they work towards reunification with their kids. Permanency hearings are scheduled about every six months, barring something major occurring the case.

In our case there are 8 children. My boys have seven siblings ranging in age from 4 months to 11 years. They are all precious kids, victims of a cycle of poverty, drug abuse and neglect. They do not deserve the hands they have been dealt. They deserve loving families, moms and dads, safety, health, nurturing and love. They deserve to have a biological mom and dad who care, who are working towards a better future for everyone, who are sacrificing so that their children may thrive.

They are not getting that.

Instead, they are spread out across Chicagoland, split into fragments of a family. Eight kids in 5 foster homes; some paired up, some alone. Some have a foster mommy & daddy, and others just a foster mommy; a paid substitute for their own mother. They are all in much better circumstances than from which they were removed.

But they want to go home.

They want their mom.

They want the comfort of being known by a people that are theirs.

Family.

We like to say things like, "Family is who you choose," and "There are many different ways to make a family." But the thing is, your family is your family. They will always be your family. Just because you live with someone else doesn't make them your family. It's not about blood or DNA or genes; it's about who you are, where you're from, how you're known. It's a whole lot more than two adults and two kids in a house with a dog. It's rooted; it's a part of you. Family is everything, next to God Almighty. Everything about who you've ever been is tied to your family. And for my kids, for their brothers and sisters, that thread had been shredded.

The kids are grasping at a loose string flying in the wind.

They cannot grasp it. Cannot mend the tapestry that is their family.

This Thursday our foster agency will be making a goal change recommendation. They will ask the judge to terminate parental rights for our boys and their two little sisters. They will ask the judge to forever change the course of these kids', and their mom's, lives. They will ask the judge to tell a mother that she used up all her chances. She's done. It's over. You will never get these kids back.

And my heart has been broken in a way I did not know possible.

Please pray with me. Please pray that in everything that God would be glorified. That in whatever decision the judge makes, that God's goodness and redemptive power will be shown. That in whatever capacity, God will use us to minister to these kids and their family.

That we would remember that it is never finished in God's eyes. Redemption does not expire.

Paradigms Shifting

Yesterday in church we were all asked one simple question: “How has your paradigm shifted?”

In other words, how did you used to think about something that you now see differently?

Rocky turned to me and said he thought parenting would suck; That he wouldn’t like being a parent, But, as it turns out, he really loves it. For me, well, I thought parenting, loving a child, would come more naturally. I thought that my motherly instinct would kick right in and it would be nearly impossible for me to not cherish my child and want to spend what I could of my life making their life better.

How laughable that seems now.

There is nothing like becoming a parent to put you face-to-face with your own selfishness. Nothing quite like being needed all the time to make you want to crawl under a rock or run away to escape, to just breathe. The love is there, for sure, but the energy? The unadulterated joy and delight? The living-for-every-moment excitement? Those are choices, not nature. And they’re not easy choices.

This question about paradigms shifting has forced me to confront my childhood in a new way. Relationships have been mended and hatchets have been buried, but what I’ve realized as a new mom is that parenting is hard. No other living species parents for life. No other species have to give so much for the survival, happiness and health of their offspring. Add to that the expectations of our culture, the cost of living, proximity to family, etc., and you’ve got yourself an extremely tough job under even tougher circumstances. I can’t imagine how much harder it would be if I was a single mom!

I spent so much of my childhood wanting more from my mom. More time. More love. More attention. More validation. I thought my mom should be who I wanted her to be. I was convinced that if you chose to have kids, your world should revolve around them. You shouldn’t go out with your friends, hire a babysitter, make your kids play outside on the weekends so that you could have a break. You should want to spend all your free time with them, playing with them, nurturing them, teaching them. In effect, if you wanted to be a parent, then your life should end until they turned 18 and you were free again.

As a kid, that is what I sincerely thought. Major center-of-the-universe complex. So self-centered and ignorant.

It makes me wonder if every kid has felt this way at one point or another. Sometimes I’m pretty certain that my kids must think this way by the things they say and do. It’s exhausting to even consider that these child-brained expectations could be true. I don’t think I would make it. I would surely run away. Escape. Disappear.

Which brings me to this.

Dear Mom,

I am so sorry that as a kid I thought your world should revolve around me. I am sorry that my age-appropriate ignorance and unreasonable expectations allowed so much resentment and unforgiveness to form against you in my younger years. I apologize for not realizing just how hard it is to be a mom. And for you, to be a dad, too, when there wasn’t anyone else. To have to work full-time (sometimes more than one job), to have to worry about finances because you were on your own, to have to live in a bad part of town because that’s all you could afford, to have to come home exhausted to do homework, and cook dinner, and clean the house, and make sure we were clean and warm. You did it all by yourself and I don’t know if I’ve ever said, “Thank you.” Thank you for working so hard to take care of us. Thank you for marrying a good man to be our dad. Thank you for not abandoning us even though things must have been so hard sometimes. Every time I feel exhausted, or disappointed, or annoyed, or angry, or resentful, or jealous, or overwhelmed, or any of those other tough emotions that come with being a mom, I remember that you must have felt them, too. And I am thankful that you stuck it out. And I’m thankful that I have you to lean on now. I love you.

One Thing Leads to Another

You know those weeks when you honestly cannot remember the last time your kids bathed?

It's been that kind of week around these parts.

Today marks the one week anniversary of us living in our new home, which means it marks the one week anniversary of throwing our lives into absolute, construction-dust-covered chaos. Right now my nostrils are burning from the smell of freshly sawed wood in the downstairs bathroom where Rocky and our friend are tearing out the subfloor.

I keep telling Rocky that I feel like we're taking one step forward and then two steps back. I guess that's what happens when you buy a fixer-upper. You go to make one simple improvement and open a can of worms. Upgrade our electrical panel? That will require ripping out a room's worth of drywall. Replace old peel-and-stick bathroom tile with new (for now) for a simple bathroom refresh? That requires ripping out the subfloor underneath said old tile since it's been discovered that the floor is rotted. A $60 project turned....???

Little victories have not been enough to keep my spirits up, but the weather is partly to blame for that. Today is the first sunny day in more than a week. My soul is utterly exhausted from lack of Vitamin D and warmth that only the sun can bring. My body aches from the unpacking, bending, lifting, scrubbing and rearranging, not to mention the fact that we're sleeping on a mattress laid upon hardwood floor since our box spring will not fit up the stairs. Old houses equal narrow passageways and tight corners. We will have to order a split box spring in order to get our bed off the floor. One more thing to add to the list.

Oh, and hubby's sick. Again. Poor guy cannot escape getting what seems to be a monthly cold that lasts at least a week. Even so, being the trooper he is, he won't allow himself to rest for too long. There's too much to do around here.

But the kids are loving the new house. They sleep like babies in their new rooms, new beds. They love having a yard, although this is only the 2nd day since we've lived here that the weather has been favorable enough to play outside. They are soaking up the sun and the outdoors and the fresh air. It's a joy to be able to send them outside and hear their laughter and know they're safe.

Rocky & I? We're just trying to get this house settled while finding time to rest and reconnect. The move has been hard on our patience, our relationship. Because of the TLC the house needs, it's been stressful in ways that normal moves are not. We still have some unpacked boxes after a week of living here. That's difficult for me to swallow, even though it's not a big deal. We have a very large house with plenty of storage and I still have unpacked boxes. Some things just can't be unpacked yet. I have to get over it.

I have to accept that I will not have a put-together house for a few months, maybe a year. Who knows.

All I know is that once that weather warms up, and that sun starts shining, I will be putting down my dust rag and vacuum and heading out to our deck with a pitcher of margaritas.

The house will wait.