Pivot!

We bought the girls bunk beds with a trundle! So exciting! Our littlest broke her crib months ago and her mattress has been on the floor since then.  Not ideal. In fact, it's not allowed if we were still licensed to foster.

We finally resolved it by purchasing a bed.  My husband and I had fun--well, I did, anyway--moving the beds between two rooms to see if we could get all three into one space to open up the other room for play. The obvious solution? Bunks!

Off we went in search of the perfect space-saving sleepers. And we found one with a trundle, no less. Marvelous! Everyone was so excited!

But reality. Predictably unpredictable, the girls were triggered. It took about 24 hours for one to come talk with us. Another hasn't said anything, but she is acting oddly enough that even this dope-of-a-mom figured out she has things going on, too.

Well, poop. Time to pivot. 

I let the girls know that we will keep all the new beds separate and where their old beds were--no designated playroom or group sleeps--for now.  OH! They were all so sad. I worked to explain that Daddy and I wanted this as badly as they did. But the Bible teaches us that we make our plans, and the Lord directs our steps. It is so important to move forward with our plans in a way that we are interruptible and redirectable. 

This is the life. It is true for everyone, really. But it is pronounced when raising children exposed to trauma. We can and should plan. But, as a precious friend always says, we must hold those plans loosely. It would be foolhardy to press on with a plan God doesn't endorse. He knows so much more and loves so much better than we do. It's ridiculous to not lean on His understanding and welcome His will.

When we do stack the beds, it will be at the right time, and it is going to be a party!

March: 2019

Continuing our retrospective into Marches past, we zoom from 2018 to 2019. We lost our precious girl to a Native American family thanks to ICWA laws. It was devastating and our family was still in the deep throes of shock and grief. 

To be honest, the four of us still have wounds from losing our little girl that merely gape a little less. We miss her and pray for her daily.

At this point (in 2019), we were licensed with an agency and hoping to be a safe place for kids in need.  We'd given ourselves a month to make zero decisions after our girl left. Then we discussed whether we would continue as a foster family.  We unanimously decided that if kids didn't get to choose to be foster kids, we WOULD choose to meet them there.  We knew it would be hard, but we could trust Jesus to sustain us.

On a more celebratory note, my first daughter graduated high school! In March, I was writing her transcripts, and she was wrapping up final projects to complete her high school education on the fifth of April. Pretty exciting stuff. She did not enjoy school, and her graduation marked an accomplishment that I hope she still loves.  

Our son was in college, and I decided to join him. In March, we were preparing to begin at WGU on the first of April. I was finally going to get my BA! I spent March hunting down transcripts from my lifetime before raising two kids.

What a March!

My Friend

I was wondering what I could write about, and my friend was helping me brainstorm.  She facetiously suggested herself as the topic and did a little cheeky twirl. Since she knows me well, she quickly followed up with a deep-voiced, "Don't write about me." But she does know me well, so I'm gonna! 

It's a great idea because support is everything. We were made by a triune God Whose very essence is relational. It's no wonder that people are pivotal to our success through various seasons of life. We have been extravagantly blessed with friends. We are astonishingly and undeservedly RICH with people who walk through fire with us! I will tell you about one now.

When you go through the foster parent licensing process, you get asked endlessly about your support system. And for good reason. This oughtn't be done alone. We were blessed this time (our third licensing class) by sitting immediately behind strangers who are now seeing us through some of the most challenging and grace-filled moments of our lives.

This woman is the heart of her family, and what a heart she has! She brought dinner to us when the girls first arrived--then left, knowing we needed to cocoon ourselves to form a new family. She has listened to me for hours that add up to months as I vent, worry, gush, wrestle, and grieve regarding these girls and their stories--plus every other part of my life.

This woman is a whiz in the kitchen and lives to feed others.  She's excellent with kids, empowering them to be brave and try new things.  She is an amazing friend, who expends a tremendous amount of energy searching out ways to bless them. She is so proud of her husband, always bragging about him except when she's baiting him.

She listens. She prays. She is gentle with my failings and encourages me to stand up again. She is so very funny. She is extravagantly generous yet actively seeks how to be extravagantly generous as if she doesn't already live that way. She does things even when she is scared.

She gets grief. She doesn't try to fix what she cannot. She abides, sitting in the pain and brokenness, making it better by doing nothing. 

She embraces people, just as they are. She embraces differences with delight and curiosity. When I slip with one of my crazy quirks, she laughs and eagerly says, "Oh, tell me more about THAT!"

When she goes to the gym, she prays before entering that God put someone in her path who needs encouragement.  When she encounters a stranger or a dear friend, she lights up either way, because all she sees is someone she can love.

She lives life with us, and we are so thankful and humbled.  Her family is wonderful, and we will never be able to repay all they've given. I pray blessings for her as she continues to find ways to live generously.

We were made for relationships. She gets that, and we are so thankful to get to call her friend! 

It's My Sister's Birthday

It's our tenth birthday of hers without her. I am conditioned to look forward to it because she claimed the entire month for her celebration. Of course, now, there are more feelings surrounding the day. I'm just going to tell you about the best woman I've ever known--and I know many, many wonderful women. 

One of the most obvious descriptors of Diane Cherie Porter is that she is intelligent. That is the easy, low-hanging fruit attribute. She was tech-savvy, devoured books in a day, and could teach on any subject. She was so smart that her IQ was still higher than everyone at the office where she had it tested after some of her brain was removed. They fawned over her like she was an A-list celebrity when she was lamenting her diminished skills. 

--You'll have to excuse my verb tenses for this post.  I tend to speak about her in the present tense still because she is a Jesus-lover and thus has eternal life.  But sometimes the past tense slips out as I delve into specific memories.

While her cognitive intelligence defines her and informed everything she did, Diane is so much more than smart. Diane is kind in a tangible way. Her attentiveness, acute memory, and the time she made for people made us feel like we were the most important thing in her life. 

She was the glue in our family. She stayed in touch with all our grands, aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as all the members of her husband's family. She was the greatest aunt one could want. Those connections mattered to her; the individuals were valuable. I know she prayed for us all regularly and her heart overflowed with love.

Diane had the Spiritual gift of faith. We all have faith in something. And believers are given faith. But Diane had the gift of faith that passes all understanding. She didn't waiver. She was so firmly planted on the Rock that she took on the qualities of a rock. One story I love is that she was late to her own baptism because she was busy bringing a teen soldier to Christ.

Diane could be counted on to speak the truth with love in the face of anything and everything. I benefitted countless times from her talks exhorting me that despite all the evidence that I was drowning, God was bigger than the waves. She encouraged me when I felt like my kids would never overcome their challenges. Or when I thought I would never be good enough for my family.

She went through a lot, including fighting brain cancer for years. Only at the very end, thanks to institutional neglect, multiple brain surgeries, and mind-addling drugs did depression ever touch her. But for the rest of her life, she navigated the difficult things with this assurance that love wins. Sometimes she yelled it at us. "Love wins, you idiot!"

In fact, Diane epitomized joy. She was generous and playful. She celebrated others' triumphs. She infused heartache with the deep unshakable joy that comes with an eternal point of view. She knew what lasted and what was temporary. She made an event out of anything, celebrating everything.

She loved to sing. Every time we got together, she'd beg me to sing two-part songs with her. "This is the Day," "He Has Shown Thee," "Humble Thyself in the Sight of the Lord." There is an older one that goes, 'Brother, Sister, we are young/ And our lives have just begun/...Sons of God/ Hear His holy Word/ Gather 'round/ the Table of the Lord..." I wish I'd joined in more frequently and with more verve than I did.  Ah, hindsight. I've countless songs ranging from hymns to 80s ballads that make me think of her.

Diane used the moniker Mrs. Quiet. It was funny because she is a TALKER. But she was married to a soft-spoken shy introvert. It was her joke. It was also an expression of her undying love and devotion to her husband. Man, she loves him!  Her marriage was a beautiful thing to behold--they were both forever in love, giving favor to the other while happily bickering over everything. They were different in just about everything.  He was not a gamer, or a singer, or gregarious, or crazy-smart, or a voracious reader. I am not sure I ever saw him in front of the computer. But it didn't matter one whit. They were into each other, God, and their family.  That was enough.

Diane was an excellent cook. She threw together feasts and treats while carrying out a bunch of other tasks plus three conversations. She was skilled in savory and sweet dishes alike. I strive to cook as she does, but I am more hit-and-miss and can be quite a disaster in the kitchen.

There is so much more. 

• She played an integral role in Protestant Women of the Chapel in both California and Texas while her husband served in the army. She loved the women she taught and fellowshipped with. 
• She homeschooled her kids. She homeschooled other kids. 
• She worked as the secretary at various churches--and was the unofficial confidant to several priests and pastors. 
• She would sit on speakerphone with me while I schooled my kids.  We would just spend hours on speakerphone, both of us going about our day with our families.  
• She loved Jesus. Her love for him drew her into depths ever richer. You couldn't know her without hearing about her Friend. She was a prayer warrior, persevering and persisting in praying for the people she loved.
• She asked hard questions. We wrestled together with doctrinal beliefs, politics, and any hot topic for years, always seeking truth over merely winning an argument. She loved to think.
• She loved movies and TV shows. She invested in characters like they were real, applying biblical truths to the worldliest programming, extracting beautiful parables that would shine light for those who would never crack a Bible.
• She was funny.  She came up with all sorts of silly phrases.  I still use them today, like okeydokey smokeybutt.
• She was wise and had all sorts of maxims. One was, 'Cry when it hurts to not cry. When the crying starts to hurt, stop.'

Thank you for reading about this lovely woman. I am deeply honored to call her my big sister. You can't know me without knowing at least a bit about her. She prayed my husband into my life. She kept us married for the first decade. I homeschool because of her. She made me brave. She made me love Jesus. So much of who I am is because of her.

Trauma Triggers

Sometimes I believe my own hurts are well in my past, and that I have captured all the thoughts and submitted them all to the Lord.  I think the triggers have no power, because I see how the Lord has redeemed the terrible things (or trust that He will), and I am healed from the base-brain trauma responses that used to cripple me.  The PTSD is gone.

I believe all this with a measure of realism. I don't think that I am Mighty Mouse or anything. I know I am not invincible.  I know it is the Holy Spirit doing the work.  I know bad or hard things can (will) still happen in the future.  I even know that when a memory emerges, I will have feelings about it.  But I have tools and support and know what to do.  I won't drown. 

And then...

I watch one of my girls behave out of the box and I realize all the hurt they carry each day without words to explain.  I ache for them.  I feel protective. Someone hurt my baby.  I feel angry. I feel the loss that I wasn't there to protect her, to prevent it. I hate that I may never know exactly what happened.  All these things feel normal and right. It is reasonable to respond with these thoughts and feelings when someone we love is hurting.

But there is something more.  Something I can't quite put my finger on, and it's shaking me. It is blessedly unfamiliar enough that I can't understand why I feel like I just need to sit down, put something down that I didn't know I was carrying, or loosen my clothes so I can take a full breath. With a frustratingly slow dawning, I realize what it is. My own trauma. Once it clicks, the memories come so quickly that the chronology is a mess.

I need to be healed AGAIN.  I need to be restored AGAIN.  I need to get my feet firmly planted on the Rock Who never moves AGAIN. I know I will. I know He will. It will be ok.

And I thank God for it all. I don't love the ride, but I hear the whisper of the still, small Voice telling me that He is bigger, stronger, and ready for it all.  He is not surprised.  Not by the wave of memories and feelings, nor by the ugliness of what happened. Being reminded so viscerally of the trauma gives me the opportunity to feel just as concretely the goodness of Jesus. And THAT gives me the focus and assurance to look my girls in their big, beautiful eyes and tell them firmly that it will be ok.

Going to the Doctor

 We made it through three well-child visits! As a side note, when the office called to make the appointments, I misunderstood her and thought she wanted to set up wild-child visits. I thought it was a great term and told her so, asking how she knew how appropriate it was. It is NOT what she said. 

Some of our past visits were fiasco-adjacent. I hoped to establish a solidly positive session to create a frame of reference for what a doctor visit COULD be. We talked about expectations, did some role-playing, and equipped them with the times they could ask to hold a hand, sit on a lap, or say no.

And we did it! My girls are watching Dora as I type this and I want to exclaim, "Lo hicimos!" We left the building with three smiling little girls and two gushing-with-praise parents!

We need to make vision appointments, because it is time, but also as a first step to investigating headaches in one girl. There is a good possibility that they will all need glasses, so we'll need to keep monitoring that.

One girl had a rough visit with an insensitive tech a while back, so she was very nervous.  On another side note, the medical staff we have encountered since getting the girls have all been wonderful.  Most are good at speaking in code above the girls' heads to discuss possibly scary or triggering topics.  All are positive and supportive of adoptions. And they are really terrific with the girls.

Anyhow, the one wonky tech left my girl feeling really scared about going, but after all the prep and the amazing primary we see, she did really well.  Our daughter allowed for the exam and test, so...triumph! 

We have a referral to OT.  We have confirmations on other diagnoses and support for our chosen treatments. And we have a plan for behavior that can't be diagnosed yet. Everyone was on board with avoiding shots to keep things positive, so... triumph again!

We have one little miss who has struggled massively with past visits who did very well and said no when she needed to to certain procedures. But she is triggered, so we will spend hours snuggling, affirming, and watching to see her through whatever is going on in her mind and body that she can't articulate yet.

I have to make myself not cry whenever I go to the doctor with them.  It is overwhelming for me.  I love them. Even with a wildly successful visit as this, the tears threaten. I am proud of their bravery and growth. I grieve the gaps in my knowledge. I grieve the brokenness still evident.  And I am hopeful and thankful that we can do this with the help of a team.

I trust God is never surprised by any of this and is always present.  I go through this life ignorant of so much. But I know a God who knows.  He is enough.  I'm thankful that even though I am failing and stumbling, God is bigger than it all--including my flaws and stubbornness.

Grief

Grief is a horrible honor. The horror is pretty evident and requires little explanation.  To live without someone who filled the space in your life and heart is agony.  The honor may be more mysterious but beats steadily beneath the keening. I got to know wonderful people who decided to fill my life and heart with themselves.  I would choose to miss them over never having known them.  I outrightly pity those who can’t grieve the people I’ve lost because they never got to know them.

I have been ‘honored’ several times now.  I lost my dad’s mom when I was 14.  We lost a baby we named Alex before birth.  Then my mom’s mom died when my son was 7 months old.  That was hard and I actively miss her each day.  We lived with her for over five years, and she was like a second mom to me.  My son is named after her.  While my kids never knew her, they all know about her.  I keep her alive with stories, photos, and furniture. 

After that my cousin was brutally murdered and his killer has never been found.  I pray for his parents and brother all the time because I know grief never leaves.

The next ‘honor’ that changed my life was when my big sister died just before her 45^th birthday.  We are coming up on the 10^th anniversary of her passing.  I hate it. I positively, 100%, hate living without her in the world.  It’s wrong and definitively grievous. My life has changed so drastically since she left, and I don’t know how to process that I have lived in homes and loved children without her.  It’s anathema.

Her loss initiated a string of more losses, starting with her husband who followed her 19 months later. We also lost our first foster daughter whom we had hoped to adopt.  She is alive but lost to us. Her leaving changed our family.  My children are markedly scarred, and my husband and I cannot make it better.

So, I know grief.  I know the waves that hit from nowhere.  I know the anniversaries that loom large and fill me with dread.  I know how some anniversaries shock me with how mildly they pass.  And other instances when there is no perceivable reason, but I am laid flat.  I know the sweet remembrances, the tortuous what-ifs, and the ridiculous deals I make with myself or God.  I know the sense of isolation and the wondering how everyone else seems so very fine today while I sit having to will each painful breath into my lungs.

I also know that God wastes nothing.  My grief matters—and so does yours. I know He sees and feels it all with us. Every tear is captured in a bottle, and there is a promise that one day every tear will be dried.  All grief will be gone.  This pain is temporary, but still not a waste.  Not merely something to be endured. 

One good thing is that my experiences help me love my three little girls effectively.  In fact, they help me love my whole family meaningfully. Further? They help me love everyone I encounter.  I am more compassionate since experiencing loss.  I know what I can and cannot fix.  I know that there are times when the best thing to do is sit—like Job’s friends BEFORE they opened their big dumb mouths.  Sometimes, we are called to merely witness.  We don’t always have to do; sometimes we need to be still and abide without words or actions and witness the horrible honor of grief.

My Baby is turning Four

This is the second time I get to experience the “My Baby” things.  Two decades ago, we thought our first daughter was the baby, our last.  Since the three girls moved in when our baby was 22 and already living on her own, she genuinely was the baby. 

And I felt all the things when ‘my baby’ started walking at eight months and never stopped pushing.  She had this paranoia that one day her big brother would tire of her for being too young. There was no reason to fear; he’s a marvelous brother and adores her.  Nevertheless, my ‘baby’ has been growing up with fierce determination and I have watched with that poignant cocktail of pride, delight, horror, and grief.

My point is that I have done this before. I am familiar with the flood of images of all that has come before: nursing, first teeth, her little legs only coming to ‘here’ on my body.  I have seen the firsts and the lasts and marked them in my momma heart. I felt them in their totality.  I didn’t miss anything in the feelings department.

But now, I have discovered another level. Watching your baby leave a stage with finality is touching. But lacking the experiences of the earliest years is far worse than being inundated with their memories.  It is such a closed door. I will never nurse her.  I never saw her without teeth. I never got to see her work to roll over, lift her head, laugh, crawl, cruise, eat, take her first step… A birthday carries a new grief I’ve not known before. 

It is exciting to see her grow.  That’s what it’s all about.  I want her to mature, learn, and develop into an honest, capable, and loving young lady. But my momma heart is feeling new losses as this birthday approaches.

Both And

 I hope it is obvious that I love my crazy big family. I could write books about each member and not comprehensively convey the exquisite beauty and value I see. God made and ordained this family to be. All in His perfect timing—which often felt too slow to me—He fit each person together to create something that I pray radiates through time and space with His love.

However, the paradoxical truth is that, if everything were perfect, three of my kids wouldn’t be mine.  I wouldn’t even know them.  While I am confident that God is pro-adoption and that something holy happens at these unions—fusions—adoption is nearly always preceded by brokenness. 

When trying to help our girls understand what was happening to them—and we must always be mindful that their lives thus far have really happened AT them—I used an analogy of boats. 

Imagine every family being a boat.  Sometimes these boats run into trouble.  The trouble could range in range and magnitude from a scrape on the hull to decimation.  When the boats leave people in the water, people from other boats can pull them up. 

This analogy models all the complexities of real life.  Which boats can take on new passengers?  Are all the people in the water rescued, or are some left behind?  What if people from one boat end up in a whole bunch of other boats?

Sometimes the degree of separation the analogy gives brings relief and clarity.  Other times the separation can’t be perceived, because reality is oppressively painful. Then I must set aside any attempts to explain or assuage and just sit and grieve with the ache and unanswered questions.

Adoption is wonderful.  It is often a saving grace, a second chance, and a glimmer of hope.  But just as frequently, it is mixed with grief; a capsized vessel; and shivering, wary new passengers who’ve survived the unspeakable.

I love my family.  My girls are mine, wholly.  I love raising them.  I get to share my days with delightful little sparks of joy. And if their lives were perfect, we wouldn’t even know one another.