Free Bird

Tonight we told our children that their father had been released from jail.

These are truly words I never imagined I would say to my children.

Growing up and imagining motherhood you never quite think about all the alternative ways to build a family. You only think in the traditional sense; I'll grow up, get married, have a baby, etc. Even as a child I knew I wanted to adopt, but I didn't really know what that meant.

I've always carried around a burden for orphans like a millstone around my neck.

Tonight we celebrated as a family the release of their father. They had lots of questions, one of the first being "Can we visit him?"

So complicated, these little lives.

Such a delicate situation into which they have been thrust.

We had to explain to them that they could not see their daddy right away. That he had to meet with their caseworker and take care of some business before he would be allowed to see them.

They have not seen their father in 9 months.

Nine long months they have wondered about him. What was jail like? Was he safe? Did he have friends? Was he lonely?

We talk openly and honestly with the kids in an age-appropriate manner, and we never lie. We simply tell them enough. It's not fair that everything else in their life is so secretive and chaotic. They deserve to know the very basics surrounding their family to help them understand why they can't go "home."

Home.

That's another tricky concept that I never thought I'd question. Home is where the heart is. Home is where your family is. It's where you live.

But what if those first two, "Where the heart is, " and "Where your family is," are only half-true? What happens when your heart is split in twos and threes and your family is split up into 7 different homes? Where's your home then?

Sometimes it's hard being their mom and having to share them, and their hearts, with so many others. It's hard to reconcile that even though their little arms are strung around my neck and their heads are nestled in my shoulder that they are thinking about everyone else that they love that they don't get to snuggle with. I wonder if they lay in bed at night, before falling asleep, thinking about their mom and dad and brothers and sisters. People they may very well never share a "home" with again.

I think about carrying that around at 6 and 7 years old. What that must do to them.

It is easy loving my kids.

It is not easy watching them hurt, knowing they're torn, feeling their pain.

I suppose that's true for any parent, regardless of how your children came to be yours.

It's not easy watching the ones you love suffer.

I wish there was an easy answer for my babes. I wish there was a resolution that would make everything ok and allow them to be with all the people they love. I wish they didn't have to discover so young that sometimes, most times, adults make as many mistakes, if not more, than kids do. That even though we're older, we're still trying to figure it all at. That even when we're mommies and daddies, we're still selfish, and broken and imperfect. That we all need Jesus.

More than anything I wish I could comfort them.

My hugs and kisses feel so empty, so void sometimes when compared to the scale of their hurting. I wish I could absorb them into myself so they could feel protected and insulated from the realities of their lives. I wish so many things for them, for their parents, for their siblings, all of which can only be realized through Jesus.

In the meantime, we're going to keep praying. Keep hoping. Keep hugging and kissing and snuggling. We're going to live like tomorrow will be a new day, and anything is possible.

We're going to have peace that surpasses understanding and confident faith that our Savior has only just begun His work in our lives.

We're going to show our children that hope is never lost; That the Redeemer can always make things new.