Ch-ch-ch-changes

This whole moving thing has brought out a little chaos in our home. Rocky has been spending a lot of time at the new house getting it ready for us and meeting the contractors, so I’ve been home alone a lot with the kids (or the cuckoo birds, as I call them). Between packing, and cleaning, and cooking, and laundry, and parenting, and self-care (ha! What’s that?!), we’ve all been a little frazzled by all the changes happening around here.

I’ve noticed the kids are acting particularly anxious. Acting up, shutting down, fighting, crying, whining. And it got me thinking about how scary this must be for them. Moving to a new house. Not knowing how things will change. Not understanding distance and time. I’ve found that my grace for them during this time has been particularly difficult because of everything going on, but extremely important for the same reasons. Don’t be fooled; I’ve definitely lost my cool with them and lacked patience when it should have been easy to give. But the more I think about this move from their perspective, the more I want to slow down, hug them, reassure them and talk through what moving means.

See for them, moving means fear. It means broken, angry, sad, hurt, alone. It means separated. And even though they can’t articulate to me what they’re feeling, they can say, “I don’t want to go to the new house. I want to stay here.” And I hear their heart, feel their fear, sense their anxiety. I know that for them, moving somewhere new is not exciting or adventurous or fun.

The last time they “moved” they were taken to an office building in a high-rise downtown where a white couple came to take them “home.” All their precious belongings were crammed into backpacks too big for their tiny frames and they wore matching jackets and jeans that had been secured by belts made from a shoelace. The time before that, they “moved” from mom’s house to auntie’s house and even though things were bad there, they were with family. They still felt like they were somewhat home. Who knows about the times before that, where they lived and with whom. They were 4 and 5 when we picked them up that Monday afternoon in October. They were scared and they cried. They had no idea where they were going, who we were or if they were ever going to see their family again.

I’d imagine they’re feeling a lot of those same things right now.

And so we’ve been having a lot of discussions in our house. A lot of, “Everything will stay the same except for our house. Our house will be bigger, and you’ll have a bigger room and a backyard to play in. And we’ll even get a dog and in the summer we can get a small pool and water guns and play outside. You will still go to your same schools. Rocky will still drop you off and pick you up everyday. You will still see your family on Thursday nights. All that will change is our house.”

Sometimes I can feel them relax into me when I’m holding them and repeating this mantra. Everything will stay the same except for our house. Other times they still tense up, hold tight.

And I think of my Father in Heaven. How often I have been paralyzed by change, fearful of the fallout, wondering if I can trust. I can look back and see His faithfulness and His good plans and I can be comforted even in the fear. At 33 years old I am able to do that. But my kids? They’re 5 and 6. When they look back, they don’t see goodness and faithfulness. They see horrors, violence, broken promises, abandonment. They see hell. And all I can do as I hold them tight is pray to Jesus that He can help them to see they’re not there anymore. Everything will be okay.

Everything will stay the same except for our house.

Love is a Battlefield

Let’s talk about expectations.

The kind of expectations that we all have about how things should be. Like when you’re a teenager and you just know that you’re going to get your degree, and land your dream job (assuming you know what that is at this point), get married, buy a house and a dog and have 2.7 kids.

So you do just that. You get your education (all the while working full time, so go you!), you land a job with major career potential that you actually like and that pays well, you buy a home (because God is taking his time in the Mr. Right department), and then a few years later your husband walks into your life and *poof*, most of your dreams are complete. There are all other kinds of interests and adventures and endeavors that you two will enjoy together, but kids? Well, no kids…yet.

Being in your 30s and having no kids gives you time to think. Time to plant dreams. Time to grow expectations like a garden.

And then you have kids (birth, foster, adopt…whatever) and you realize that your kids don’t look like the seeds planted in your dreams or the flowers growing in your expectation garden. Your kids, though beautiful and strong, are damaged, malnourished, needing light and protection. And your expectations? They’re crowding them, suffocating them even. So what do you do?

You weed the garden.

You remove the expectations so that your children can grow, thrive.

Our six-year old has been having a heck of a time in the last few weeks. Disobedience, bad behavior, foul language, talking back, fighting, lying, cheating, you-name-it. This has been followed up with discipline, talking, explaining, tears, hugs, promises of I-will-be-good-tomorrow. And then it happens again and we’re at a loss.

Our boy is hurting. He’s angry. He’s frustrated at his circumstances. He’s confused. He does not understand why his young life looks the way it does.

So he lashes out. And then he shuts down.

Just like that.

And the next day begins anew with hope and expectations.

Expectations.

That word. That word is the cause of so much of my sin. That word is rooted in anger and pride. That word demands to know Why can’t you just do things right? Why can’t you just be good? Why are you doing these things? Why, why, why?

And my heart is ugly because I think these things. When I’ve done everything I can do and nothing is changing and I am exhausted,  I cling to my expectations, my righteous indignation, my you’d-better-knock-it-off attitude. I hope my disappointment and my anger will cause change- at least fear of being in trouble that will result in change. But when has disappointment and anger ever caused change that was good?

So I need to kick my habit – my expectation habit. I need to quit cold-turkey. I need to stop being so damn disappointed when my kids do not act the way I think they can, should, better. I need to understand that they are their own people. I need to see that they are wounded and hemorrhaging and that maybe sometimes the only way to get the bleeding to stop is to fight.

I need to confess.

I need to pray.

I need to forgive.

I need to hold, hug, watch, listen.

I need to be Jesus to these boys who don’t quite know Him yet.

I need to hope.

Movin' On Up

So, this happened...

We bought a house.

And not just any old house (although it is a whopping 108 years old). This is the house we've been praying for; Not specifically, per se, but this house embodies the things we've been praying for for more than a year now.

Four bedrooms? Check. Two full baths? Check. Two floors of living space? Check. Rentable apartment in basement? Check. Huge backyard with entertaining area? Check. Two-car garage? Check. Within our budget and in a nice neighborhood? Check.

Looking at that list, it doesn't seem like we prayed for anything unusual, or even extraordinary. You see, a majority of homes in California have everything on this list, minus the basement apartment. But in Chicago? This list was HUGE. Maybe even impossible.

Here's the reality: When we decided to move to Chicago, we left behind more than half of our salaries. We left six figures for lower middle-class wages, and we're okay with that for the most part. But that left us at a huge disadvantage when trying to enter the real estate market here. Aside from our salaries, buying a home in the neighborhood we currently live in and where our church is located is completely out of the question. We are totally priced out of the market in Logan Square, where even 2-bedroom condos are going for upwards of $290k, plus $6k in property taxes and $300 monthly HOA fees. No thanks! We had to look elsewhere.

Then there's the issue of that list. That list fulfills all of our needs and wants in a house, and a home for our family. Four bedrooms? Yeah, right! Half of our friends' families are living in 2-bedroom flats with their kids sharing a room, and a small room at that. We're talking about OLD row houses, narrow and long, that have been divided into multi-unit flats. You're constantly below, above or in between other people, and there's no such thing as extra space or room to breathe. Welcome to city living! Getting four good-sized bedrooms, and two full floors of living space, is a prayer come true. This will allow us to have a larger guest room/office, boys' room, master and a fourth bedroom for, well, we'll see.....Who knows?!

Next up: bathrooms. People. Seriously. We have been living with one bathroom for a year and a half now. And adding two little humans without adequate bladder control? That's been interesting to say the least. I am beside myself with the thought of two FULL bathrooms where I may (*may) once again have privacy where a person should expect to have privacy. (Oh, and there's another full bathroom in the basement common area that needs some remodeling, which will leave us with 3 full baths!!!! Can you believe it?) Heavenly. Thank you, Lord!

Now, the basement apartment. First, let me educate you: This is a Chicago (city?) thing. They're called "garden units." I guess that sounds nicer than "basement dungeon apartment." Either way, one of the things we prayed for was a basement apartment that we could rent out to offset some of our mortgage payment. We looked at plenty of houses (and even put offers on some) without basement apartments, or ones that were not finished. But God totally surprised us with a cute, fully-finished one-bedroom apartment in our basement that we can (hopefully) find a nice renter for. (Would you please pray about that for us? We're hoping to get someone in as early as May 1st, maybe a single college student?)

Then we have the backyard. {swoons} Do you know we have lived without any kind of yard for a year and a half? Living on the top floor of a 3-unit building doesn't really afford you an outdoor space, unless you have one of those suspension balconies, which really scare the heck out of me! Since getting the boys it has become increasingly obvious that we are desperate for a patch of grass, or slab of concrete that we can call our own. We had to invest in a portable BBQ for where we live now since we have to transport it up and down two flights of stairs just to barbecue on the front stoop. Fancy. But now....now we will have a big (by city standards) backyard with a double-layer deck and a patch of grass for the kids to play. God is so good!

A garage. This one might not seem like a big deal. It is, in fact, a luxury for most people in Chicago to have a car, let alone a garage. And we're getting a 2-car garage? What?! I cannot say how excited Rocky is about this garage. No more frozen windshield wipers! No more mounds of snow to brush off the car for 10 minutes before taking the kids to school! No more driving around the block hoping a spot opens up so you don't have to lug your groceries for a mile! Enough said.

But ultimately, all of this would mean nothing if the house hadn't been affordable or if it had been in a bad neighborhood (which, I'm ashamed to say that we totally compromised on the neighborhood for other houses we bid on. We wanted a house so bad that we tried to force God's hand by crossing things off our wish list. But God, in His goodness, like a good Father, let each of those contracts fall through so that He could show us the so-much-better house he had for our family.) We will be living in a safer neighborhood than we're in now and near a very good elementary school for the boys. Plus, our mortgage payment will only be $400 more than our rent payment has been. Once we get a renter in the basement, our mortgage payment will be LESS than what we are currently paying for rent.

So how did this happen? How did we get more than we prayed for for less money than we planned on spending? How did we get more than the best-case-scenario that we believed in our hearts to be true?

It's simple: God loves us.

So much.

He loves us so much.

I mean, can it get more simple than that? How about if He says this:

“Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on 

seeking, 

and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be

 opened to you. 

For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who 

seeks, 

finds. And to 

everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.

“You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you 

give 

them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give 

them 

a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give 

good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly 

Father 

give 

good gifts to those who ask him." (Matthew 7:7-10)

Amen.

Thank you, God.

Good People Like You

(Enter office building, ride up elevator, enter office suite, walk into kitchen to brew some decaf and toast a bagel)

Co-worker: Good morning! (smiling)

Me: Good morning!

Co-Worker: How are you?

Me: I’m ok

Co-Worker: Just ok? Sorry to hear that. Everything ok?

Me: Oh, yeah, just a rough morning with my little one having a meltdown

Co-Worker: (chuckles) Yeah…I don’t know how you guys [parents] do it….[more words my non-caffeinated brain cannot remember at the moment]…Why was he upset?

Me: He misses his mom, wants to go home

Co-Worker: (wide eyes, tongue tied) Yeah, that would be hard

…and then he proceeded to tell me about growing up in a family that did foster care until they couldn’t handle the heartbreak anymore while I poured my coffee and nodded along sympathetically. And then he said, “It’s so hard, but good people like you make it easier.”

I, of course, proceeded to brush off the compliment/affirmation/praise (whatever it was) and then we both headed off to our respective desks. And I was deeply unsettled.

What is it that rubs me so wrong about being referred to as good?

I think it must be this:

“Why do you call me good?” Jesus asked him. “Only God is truly good.” (Luke 18:19)

Jesus, good? Yes.

Me, good? No.

You can call me many things. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Wife. Mother.

You could even call me Christian, or advocate, or justice-seeker.

I am all those things.

But I am not good.

I remember in my militant atheist days I used to get so angry when Christians would put themselves down. I remember loathing a religion and/or god (because I didn't believe in one) that could convince a people that they were not worthy. I remember cringing at their humility (real or not).

Yet, what I have found since becoming a Christian is that none of these things I thought about Christians are true. They don’t put themselves down, they simply know their place in the grand scheme of everything. They know they are not worthy, not in the sense that they are not valued or loved, but that they are not worthy of the forgiveness and grace that has been offered to them and paid in full by Jesus. They are not humble for show and because they believe it’s the religious way to be, but instead, having accepted their sin, selfishness and depravity, they have reduced themselves so that Jesus may become more evident in them.

You see, I’m not good. I don’t love God with all my heart, mind, soul and strength. I don’t love my neighbor as myself. I don't forgive my enemies. I don’t even believe what I believe in sometimes.

I am not good.

I am desperate.

Desperate to know and believe and cling to the hope I have in Jesus. Desperate for Him to rescue me, transform me, embolden me and lead me along the narrow path.

What we do, this life as foster parents, is not because we’re good. It’s because we want to see our Savior. We want to glimpse his face in these orphans, in these broken families, in these hard and painful places. That’s where He is.

And so when my babies cry for their mom, or say they want to go home, or hurl insensitive things at us because their hearts are broken and they’re scared and confused, I don’t think to myself, “You are so good to be doing this.”

I think, “Jesus, please help me. Please help me comfort them. Please help their mom get her act together. Please, God, help us.”

Because, after all, only God is truly good.

And we are desperate for Him.

I Will Bring Praise

Try to imagine for a second that you're watching your kids across a room. They don't know you're watching and you're really just taking them in, the image of them, the way they move and talk and play. Imagine the feeling you get in your heart and in the pit of your stomach, the overwhelming love you feel for them. The pride and fear and responsibility, but mainly the love. Now imagine not knowing if they'll be yours forever.

That's what it's like to be a foster parent.

At least that's what it's been like for us.

It's difficult to explain to someone who has never been a foster parent. Most people (strangers and good-intentioned friends alike) oftentimes can't comprehend the way we feel about our boys. They can't imagine loving someone else's child as much as they love their own biological children. Sometimes they make statements like, "It's different when you have your own," or "You will know what I mean when you have your own," or, "It's a different level of love when you've grown and given birth to your child."

I don't always have a patient and kind response response to this kind of thinking. I know that in most instances they honestly believe the words they are saying and they are absolutely not trying to minimize the love we have for the boys. Still, I have to call it what it is:

LIES.

They are lies. Statements like those are simply not true any more for me than they are for the person speaking them. It is 100% a lie that you cannot love a child that you have not given birth to the same way, amount, etc., than you would one that you have.

In most cases, I feel sorry for people who think these words are true. Sorry that they have limited their Creator's craftsmanship so much that they cannot fathom loving someone else's child the same as they would their own. Sad that they have closed off that part of their heart that might love a child who desperately needs it. Sad that they clearly do not know how much they, themselves, are loved by their adoptive Heavenly Father.

This weekend we got to open our home to the boys' 9-year old brother. We've been praying some big things in regards to the kids' family, and this is one way in many that we're being intentional about keeping the bonds between the boys and their family strong. It has been a beautiful, live-giving weekend for all of us. It has also ripped my heart to shreds.

Do you know what it feels like to sit in the possibility that as your family is being built another's is being dismantled? Do you have any idea the sadness, guilt and shame it's possible to feel when you are given the task, honor and responsibility to raise someone else's kids? (No need to point out why this is. Blaming and villainizing the boys'  family will never help them nor the situation). It doesn't matter why the boys are in our care. For whatever reason (and there are a multitude), they are. And yet, we do not know for how long.

And so we live each day loving them, teaching them, disciplining them, guiding them, comforting them, encouraging them, discipling them, praising them, RAISING them. And all the while we sing our Father's praises, knowing that He is our strength, our comforter, our shield. No matter the timeline, we have said, "Yes," and we will say it a thousand times again if He asks.

This brutal, beautiful life as a foster parent is worth it. The kids are worth it. Jesus is worth it.

Days Like This

Days like this - when you haven't slept much, and work has been busy and demanding, and kids have been misbehaving and lying, and you have a migraine and your husband has work to do and you have clothes to wash and dinner to cook and children to teach, hug, kiss and tuck in - days like this can feel like the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Or, they can feel like life. Like being alive.

Every joy, every disappointment, every setback (yes, even the setbacks) are evidence of God's sovereignty and an invitation to rest in Him. To trust in His plan, His timeline, His goodness.

Today we were dealt some not-so-great, but not the end-of-the-world news about our timeline for closing on the house, and about some money we were counting on to come in just in time to replenish our savings account after all is said and done. If you're anything like me, your initial reaction in situations like this is annoyance or anger (at the situation and, sometimes, at God), and then frustration (and sometimes tears), and then acceptance (or if I'm really being honest, feigned indifference).

But something new happened today. I didn't feel any of those things. I didn't feel scared or anxious that we weren't going to close this week. I did feel bothered by the fact that the delay might have been avoided, but what's done is done. I could tell that Rocky was frustrated and if I've learned one thing about being a team in marriage, I've learned that we can't both be upset at the same time in situations like this. No, one of us has to be an encourager, a reminder that everything will be ok. I'm sad to say that more often than not Rocky is that person since I lean so easily towards negativity, but today, I actually felt okay about these hiccups.

There are two very real reasons why this might be the case. First, pure exhaustion, and acceptance that I have little to no control over any of these things. While that is completely true, I don't think that's what resulted in the peace I feel. The real reason, I think, that these things (two biggies in one day!) didn't cause me to derail is because I've been spending more time with God. I've been praying for things, big things...and do you want to know something that is mind-blowing? He's answering! He's answering our prayers.

See, what I didn't tell you is that two (no, three) VERY big prayers have been answered in the last month. Prayers that took a lot of courage for me to pray. Prayers that have repercussions and rewards. I am asking God, seeking God, relying on God, spending time with God in ways I haven't in a long time and He's showing up. He's making Himself known. He's revealing the ways He's working in our lives and in the lives of our kids and our families and our friends.

He's rocking our world.

So delays? Setbacks? Hiccups?

They've got nothin' on our God.

He is greater. He is stronger. He is enough.

Everything else, well, that's just cake.

And So the Packing Begins...

There’s something about moving that makes me sad.

My whole life I’ve felt like I’ve moved constantly, and to a degree I have. For the most part, I’ve actually loved that, but that act of packing up the house and boxing up the memories always makes me sad. The thought of someone else living in my space once I’m gone, arranging their furniture differently than ours was, having people over for dinner that are complete strangers…am I the only one who thinks about these things?

When I was a kid, and we’d move from place to place with the military, I always (sometimes obsessively) thought about the life our house would lead once we had moved on. Who would move in? How would they decorate? What kind of life would they have? Who would sleep in my room? What would they do on a Friday night as a family? The thought of it all always made me sad inside, even though I was almost always excited to be going somewhere new.

I still struggle with that and I think I know why.

Nothing quite like a home, no other inanimate object, can quite hold the memories of a life lived like a house can. It’s like a container of memories; good, bad, happy, sad…the life we’ve lived in whatever amount of time is contained within these walls. Packing it all away in boxes, a chapter closing, is like saying goodbye to a friend you will never see again; goodbye to a chapter you will never live again. There’s a grieving to it that I’ve never gotten used to, even in all these years of moving.

As we pack up our apartment in Logan Square, I can’t help but feel melancholic at leaving behind the walls that welcomed us to Chicago, where we started a new life in a new place, where we became parents and deepened our relationships with friends, co-workers and family. Leaving behind this space, and thinking about someone new living here instead, makes my heart hurt, despite my joy at moving somewhere new – a place we own! A place with a yard, and two stories and a garage – things we haven’t had in the last year and a half of living in the city. I am so excited for this new house and what it means for us and our boys. I feel so blessed and cared for by my God, who never fails to provide for our needs. I am grateful and happy and full.

But these boxes, these empty shelves and windowsills, these last pages in this chapter – for them, I might weep.

I am, afterall, saying goodbye to a friend; a part of me, a part of my story, our family’s story.

And all I can think is, thank you, God, for such a beautiful beginning to our lives in Chicago. May the next chapter glorify you even more.