Since "Precious" left 3 and a half weeks ago, we've had one more placement come and go (newborns are HARD, y'all!!), and have adjusted back to a child-free life. It wasn't easy, in fact it's been downright hard some days. I will admit, there have been temper-tantrums that probably made my husband feel like there was a child in the house. I felt like I lost the one thing I was really good at. I felt like I lost the social circles and opportunities that come with having a little on your hip. I miss her, but I also just miss being a mom. And I miss my own littles more for it. But we're trying to make the most out of time without kids, and I'm grateful to find that, by God's grace, I'm doing a decent job of it, because I haven't always.
A few months after the first miscarriage, my best friend asked if I wanted to come up to Chicago and go to Six Flags Great America with her because she had free tickets for an upcoming weekend. It just so happened that it was "Confederate Memorial Day" down here in the deep south (yeah, I never knew that was a thing either) and I had a long weekend, so I was able to go! I told a small group I was part of about this trip, to which one of the women responded "it's nice to be able to just go and do that since you don't have kids."
Ouch.
She didn't know. It wasn't her fault, but that sentence cut deep because I was already afraid that I was dishonoring my child by going and doing something I wouldn't have been able to if he or she was still alive. I lived with this mindset for a long time, and I made myself miserable because of it. I was no good to anyone because of it, and I didn't honor God because I wanted to blame someone else for how miserable I was. So, I blamed him, though I would never have admitted it at the time.
I've since learned that the Lord gives joy and blessing even in the hardest of circumstances. We are not wrong to enjoy those things which we would not otherwise have been allowed. He also allows us to use our circumstances to love others and love him in ways we wouldn't have been able to in other circumstances.
In the last few weeks without kids, we've: babysat other fosters, and gone on a spontaneous camping trip, and stayed up late, and slept through the night (praise the Lord...), and spent an entire Sunday afternoon playing a board game, and attended a foster-care training/support group, and had friends over, and had 5 adults sleep in our two bedroom/one bathroom apartment one night, and made goals for ourselves to get healthier and more self-disciplined, and re-organized our entire apartment, and I've been more focused at work, and we've missed our foster-love, and we've missed our babies, and we've seen again that the Lord is good, and that sorrow and joy can mingle. That they don't cancel each other out, but make each other more wholesome in a way. We've fully understood what we've lost, and yet the good things are even sweeter when they are a balm to the soul.
In all of this, I'm reminded that the greatest tragedy in history was also my greatest good; when our very creator suffered and agonized and died, we were granted freedom and access to him that we never had before. I've been excused from condemnation for my sin and clothed in righteousness because an innocent man, the Son of God, was condemned to die on my behalf. "Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?" God redeems a broken world. He redeemed his own betrayal, humiliation and death for his glory and our good. He redeems our lives that have been mangled by our sin and by the effects of sin on the physical world; he gives beauty and joy in the midst of loss and confusion and he gives mercy and grace and healthy conviction in the midst of temper-tantrums and bad attitudes and pity parties. He is patient, he is kind, and he is good.
Saturday, July 27, 2019
Friday, July 5, 2019
Sovereignty and the "Should have Been"
We're visiting Matt's family this week. We thought we'd have foster love with us, but it's okay that we don't. She never should have been ours in the first place. What's hard is having had a child in our home, how easy it is now to imagine what it would be like with our own kids. When I close my eyes as I sit on the deck, I can see the kiddie pool and the sprinkler with my blonde haired, blue eyed 23 month old Brighton laughing with auntie Sarah, playing with daddy, snuggling with grandma, being teased by grandpa and saying "mommy look!" as I rest my drink on my growing baby belly and chat about our plans for Brighton's second birthday party later this month or next. I can smell the sunscreen, hear the water, feel the sticky fingers covered in melted popsicle....
But none of that is real. None of that is the lord's plan. However beautiful it might have been, his plan is even better, even if it's harder; even if I don't see it right now. At the same time, our family is not together, and that's a result of the sin in this world and the fallen nature of even our own bodies. I rest in God's sovereignty while I mourn our babies and the life that could have been; that even in some ways should have been.
The hollowness of losing children may fade into the background most days, but there are times their absence is still felt as strongly as their presence would have been; when I feel like if I listened hard enough, I could almost hear my toddler laughing and playing in the backyard. And my heart longs for the day we can all be together. But today, I must choose to live in reality, and not get lost in the could have been. To believe in God's goodness, and not in my own wisdom, and to remember that the best beautiful sunny day with family still pales in comparison with my children's reality: the presence of their heavenly father, and their savior and co-heir and brother, Jesus Christ. He cares for us, he cares for them, and he will set all things right. Praise the Lord.
But none of that is real. None of that is the lord's plan. However beautiful it might have been, his plan is even better, even if it's harder; even if I don't see it right now. At the same time, our family is not together, and that's a result of the sin in this world and the fallen nature of even our own bodies. I rest in God's sovereignty while I mourn our babies and the life that could have been; that even in some ways should have been.
The hollowness of losing children may fade into the background most days, but there are times their absence is still felt as strongly as their presence would have been; when I feel like if I listened hard enough, I could almost hear my toddler laughing and playing in the backyard. And my heart longs for the day we can all be together. But today, I must choose to live in reality, and not get lost in the could have been. To believe in God's goodness, and not in my own wisdom, and to remember that the best beautiful sunny day with family still pales in comparison with my children's reality: the presence of their heavenly father, and their savior and co-heir and brother, Jesus Christ. He cares for us, he cares for them, and he will set all things right. Praise the Lord.
Monday, July 1, 2019
Signing up for Goodbye
We didn't sign up to foster because we don't have our own kids (though we love having a full home).
We didn't sign up to foster to make ourselves happy (though we find great pleasure in it).
We didn't sign up to foster as a way to adopt (though if a child needed a forever home, we'd say yes).
We did sign up up to foster to love and care for children who need someone to show them love and care until their own people are able to again. We signed up to say goodbye.
And now I'm sitting here in the post-goodbye. Putting off packing up the toys and clothes and bottles that didn't go with her, and remembering that when we signed up for the giggles and snuggles, we signed up for the heartache.
It's not natural for parenthood to come and go. It's not natural for kids to have to live away from their families. Nothing about foster care is "right." It exists because of brokenness, and that brokenness brings uniquely hard things and heartaches.
It means forming deep attachments even when you know it can all be over tomorrow. For the past two and half months we loved fiercely and fully without holding back, knowing we would say goodbye, but not letting that keep us from giving her every bit of love we could.
It means uncertainty. We've known from day two that goodbye was the plan. We've known for a week and half that it was coming soon. But it came quick and out of the blue today, one day before we were set to leave on vacation. Within 4 hours of the first call today, we'd said our goodbyes to our first longer-term foster love. She was gone as quickly as she'd come.
It means being thankful for things others take for granted. We are grateful that we can be 100% confident that she is loved and cared for; something that isn't always the case in fostering, but is true for most parents.
It means remembering that our children are not our own. Whether they are biological, foster or adopted, they are never ours. They belong first and foremost to God, whom we trust to love them and care for them even more than we do. And, in the case of fostering, it means remembering that even though we may be parents to these little ones today, we aren't their only parents, and we aren't their true parents and we aren't their only family. They belong to someone else, we're just filling in.
It means that "not fair" only applies to kids, not foster parents. Today was fast and hard, but it was fair. No one in this system is obligated to take our feelings into account. The only thing that matters is the child and their family, and that's fair. We waived our right to "not fair" when we signed up. What's not fair is to keep a child from their people longer than is necessary.
It means remembering that just because we signed up doesn't mean it's easy. There is appropriate grief to be found, but it must not overshadow what is right for the child. Yes, it was hard. But we've done what we set out to do, and we handed off a happy, healthy child to her people; we've loved hard, and we've hurt hard, and she's better off for it. Please, let it be hard for us, but please know that it's fair, and that hard is good. We signed up for this, and we wouldn't have it any other way.
With only one guaranteed year left here, we haven't decided if we'll continue to foster now or wait until we've settled in wherever Matt finds a job. But doubtless, there will be more children in need of a loving home for any amount of time, and we look forward to welcoming the next one, making them safe and loved and happy and healthy, and saying goodbye again and again and again. Because someone's got to do it, and I'm happy for it to be me, even in the goodbyes.
We didn't sign up to foster to make ourselves happy (though we find great pleasure in it).
We didn't sign up to foster as a way to adopt (though if a child needed a forever home, we'd say yes).
We did sign up up to foster to love and care for children who need someone to show them love and care until their own people are able to again. We signed up to say goodbye.
And now I'm sitting here in the post-goodbye. Putting off packing up the toys and clothes and bottles that didn't go with her, and remembering that when we signed up for the giggles and snuggles, we signed up for the heartache.
It's not natural for parenthood to come and go. It's not natural for kids to have to live away from their families. Nothing about foster care is "right." It exists because of brokenness, and that brokenness brings uniquely hard things and heartaches.
It means forming deep attachments even when you know it can all be over tomorrow. For the past two and half months we loved fiercely and fully without holding back, knowing we would say goodbye, but not letting that keep us from giving her every bit of love we could.
It means uncertainty. We've known from day two that goodbye was the plan. We've known for a week and half that it was coming soon. But it came quick and out of the blue today, one day before we were set to leave on vacation. Within 4 hours of the first call today, we'd said our goodbyes to our first longer-term foster love. She was gone as quickly as she'd come.
It means being thankful for things others take for granted. We are grateful that we can be 100% confident that she is loved and cared for; something that isn't always the case in fostering, but is true for most parents.
It means remembering that our children are not our own. Whether they are biological, foster or adopted, they are never ours. They belong first and foremost to God, whom we trust to love them and care for them even more than we do. And, in the case of fostering, it means remembering that even though we may be parents to these little ones today, we aren't their only parents, and we aren't their true parents and we aren't their only family. They belong to someone else, we're just filling in.
It means that "not fair" only applies to kids, not foster parents. Today was fast and hard, but it was fair. No one in this system is obligated to take our feelings into account. The only thing that matters is the child and their family, and that's fair. We waived our right to "not fair" when we signed up. What's not fair is to keep a child from their people longer than is necessary.
It means remembering that just because we signed up doesn't mean it's easy. There is appropriate grief to be found, but it must not overshadow what is right for the child. Yes, it was hard. But we've done what we set out to do, and we handed off a happy, healthy child to her people; we've loved hard, and we've hurt hard, and she's better off for it. Please, let it be hard for us, but please know that it's fair, and that hard is good. We signed up for this, and we wouldn't have it any other way.
With only one guaranteed year left here, we haven't decided if we'll continue to foster now or wait until we've settled in wherever Matt finds a job. But doubtless, there will be more children in need of a loving home for any amount of time, and we look forward to welcoming the next one, making them safe and loved and happy and healthy, and saying goodbye again and again and again. Because someone's got to do it, and I'm happy for it to be me, even in the goodbyes.
Friday, May 31, 2019
Another Name
Keelan: Little, Fair. This precious, tiny, fragile baby was and is loved so deeply, and I know that the depth of my love for this little one is little in comparison with the Lord's love for both me and my children.
Sabbath: Rest. Eternal glory is a sabbath rest, and this little one has entered that rest. The Lord has also given us rest from our grief with this assurance and comfort.
Pinckard: A part of our family forever, and a hole in our hearts until we join that Sabbath rest.
Keelan and Brighton's blurry ultrasounds hang on our living room wall with their names and birthdates written underneath the only pictures we have of them. Together, the names, pictures, dates, and the hollow space in our lives are the only things we have of them this side of heaven. Their names are so precious to us because they allow us to name that feeling of something missing that never quite goes away, even in the happiest of times. They allow us to honor them as image bearers and children of God. Their names remind us that though they are far away, they are no less real. Though they were small, they are not small in the mind and the plan of the Lord, and they are not small in our minds and hearts either. In fact, they are a huge part of our everyday lives. They remind us that one day, we will meet them face to face, and in their presence, we will call them the names that we have given them in their absence. Together, we will worship the Lord who holds us all in his hands. Our children are not our own, "but belong body and soul, in life and in death, to our faithful savior Jesus Christ." We praise him for Brighton and Keelan's lives and that he cares for them, that he cares for us, and that we are not left without hope as we grieve, but rest in his sacrifice that has granted us eternal life and the great comfort and joy that we have because of it.
Saturday, May 18, 2019
When Sorrows Like Sea Billows Roll
We lost another baby this week.
"When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say 'it is well, it is well with my soul.'"
After 5 weeks of beautiful, joyous peace like a river, the sea billows are rolling. Two years and 5 months after losing our first baby, and after 16 months of infertility, we found out we were finally, miraculously, pregnant again with no medical intervention. It was hard at first to think of it as anything definite, but slowly we were able to have faith that this time, everything would (maybe) be okay. The morning sickness came like a beast along with all the other classic symptoms, and we thought "great, proof that all is well!" We told friends and family quickly, because, after going through it once, we're still firm believers in celebrating new life with our loved ones, and having their support if tragedy strikes. We finally went for the first ultrasound at 9 weeks, knowing in the back of our minds that there isn't always a happy ending, but excited and optimistic nonetheless. And then we discovered that it seems our baby stopped growing 3 weeks earlier, and if his or her heart ever beat, it wasn't now, and we never heard it, and we never will in this life.
In this life.
In this second great loss, I rest upon two and a half years worth of God's grace through which I struggled with the why and the what and the how and the what now.
I rest in the words of the Canon of Dort that my brother sent me yesterday:
"We must judge concerning the will of God
from his Word, which declares that the
children of believers are holy, not by
nature but in virtue of the covenant of
grace, in which they are included with their
parents. Therefore, God-fearing parents
ought not to doubt the election and
salvation of their children whom God calls
out of this life in their infancy."
And then I rest upon the knowledge that each and every day with our savior is immeasurably better than the best day that I could have ever given my child here with me. I rest in the knowledge that God loves our children even more than we do, and that even when his plan is hard, his plan is good. He is good. I rest upon this firm, beautiful conviction and comfort that I finally came to so recently while I struggled to find joy and contentment in the midst of infertility: if I never get pregnant again, God is good. If I have 10 miscarriages, God is good, and if we have living children, God is good. His goodness and love are not dependent on my circumstances, for He has loved me from everlasting. He has given his Son for me, and if he would do that, then there is no shadow of a doubt about his love and goodness towards me and my children.
The loss of my own children reminds me of the difficulty of God giving up his own son for unworthy sinners. Jesus' anguish in the garden and on the cross reminds me that he went through worse than these, the deepest, most painful and terrible experiences of my life, in order that I and my children might have the gift of righteousness and eternal life.
And I find comfort that the Lord has brought me so far since the word miscarriage first entered our everyday lives two and half years ago. I praise God that the bitterness and anger that I allowed to hold me hostage for so long have no place in my heart and mind today as I face the same tragedy again. I am grateful for the incredible co-workers, bosses, friends and church family who have created an incredible support network, and for a husband who feels the loss and grief as much as I do, and for family who knows and grieves that they too have lost a grandchild/niece/nephew; I am so grateful that this time, I am not alone. I am grateful for the little princess that lives with us right now who fills me with joy and makes me smile on the darkest days. I am grateful that instead of anger towards the Lord, today he is sweeter than ever to me, for I know that he loves and cares for me and for my children, and that he is here and he is good; even when it is unbearably hard, he is SO good to me.
These blessings and the truths that have carried me through the last couple years are held close like a buoy in these sea billows, and I can say through the tears and the agony that, through no effort of my own, but by God's grace and mercy, "it is well, it is well with my soul." Praise the Lord.
Saturday, March 16, 2019
My One Day as a Foster Parent
We got our first foster-baby a couple of weeks ago! Here's how it went down:
Wednesday: I was at a conference in Atlanta with some ladies from presbytery and a friend. When we had been deciding how to arrange our transportation I figured that my friend and I should probably drive separately from the rest of the group in case I needed to leave early for foster-care, but that night at the hotel I prayed "Lord, if there is a child who isn't safe where they, please bring them to our home, but just maybe not this weekend!" Little did I know....
Thursday: In the afternoon we gathered for the first session of the conference, and as I silenced my phone I joked to the person next to me that I always keep my phone on obnoxiously loud in case CPS ever decided to call me. We sang a few songs and sat down, and when I looked at my phone I saw that I had missed a call from my social worker. I freaked out entirely silently and ran out of the room to the hallway where I texted and then called my social worker until she answered me because I was afraid she would call the next person on her list since she hadn't gotten a hold of me! After a couple tries she answered and told me they were going to have an 8 month old in need of a foster home within the next few days and asked if we would be willing. "Uh, YESS!!! I've only been waiting THREE MONTHS FOR YOU TO CALL ME!" is what I thought in my head. Really I just said "YES! But I'm in Atlanta, how soon do I need to be home?!?!" And she said to sit tight while she got in touch with the baby's case worker. So I called Matt and my parents and his parents, and then waited ANXIOUSLY the rest of the day, and in typical government fashion, I didn't hear anything back. After so long, and it being so difficult to get a child in our home, I quickly began to think that something had changed, and they wouldn't need us anymore. I was so excited to finally be really doing this, but the tragedy wasn't lost on me. Something has to go terribly wrong for a child to be put into foster-care. But I was glad that the Lord (and CPS) had chosen us to be there for this child during this time.
Friday: She got back in touch, and towards the end of the day and we were told that he would be coming on Saturday. So Rachel and I packed up, said goodbye to the presbytery ladies, and headed back to Jackson! I got home around 11pm, and Matt and I pulled out clothes and bedding and made lists and got ready in whatever ways we could!
Saturday: We got up, ran to Walmart to try to get everything we needed and just generally kill time until we were contacted by peanut's social worker. Finally, we were told that we wouldn't be needed until Monday.
Monday: This is the point where I can't give out any details since it now involves personal details about peanut's situation. But, we finally walked through our door with him in our arms! Many snuggles were had, and he fell asleep in my arms and slept through the night in his crib! (Hallelujah!)
Tuesday: I took peanut to walmart at 7:30am cuz we'd already been up for two hours and he needed things. It was a categorical disaster which I was thankfully able to laugh at even as it was happening. Then, almost exactly 24 hours after peanut came, he was able to leave. Again, we can't give much detail, but we can say that we are confident that the situation was worked out in his best interest!
When it was all said and done, we spent way longer getting ourselves and our home ready for him than he spent with us! However, we are so grateful that we were able to be there for a child who needed a safe and loving place to land, even if it was just for a day! After all of our struggles with the system, we were able to see it work as it was intended, which was such an encouragement! I know that it won't always be a joy to see a foster-child leave our home, but this time it was, and we are so grateful for that. Everyone seemed surprised at how okay I was, myself included to some extent. But I didn't sign up to be a foster parent so I could pretend that I'm the best place for every child who comes through my door; I signed up to help children and families in need for as long as they need it. This time it was one day. Next time it may be longer, someday it may even be forever. Now we just wait for the next call to come so we can say "YES! We will care for this child as long as they need us, and we will love and pray for them forever!"
Wednesday: I was at a conference in Atlanta with some ladies from presbytery and a friend. When we had been deciding how to arrange our transportation I figured that my friend and I should probably drive separately from the rest of the group in case I needed to leave early for foster-care, but that night at the hotel I prayed "Lord, if there is a child who isn't safe where they, please bring them to our home, but just maybe not this weekend!" Little did I know....
Thursday: In the afternoon we gathered for the first session of the conference, and as I silenced my phone I joked to the person next to me that I always keep my phone on obnoxiously loud in case CPS ever decided to call me. We sang a few songs and sat down, and when I looked at my phone I saw that I had missed a call from my social worker. I freaked out entirely silently and ran out of the room to the hallway where I texted and then called my social worker until she answered me because I was afraid she would call the next person on her list since she hadn't gotten a hold of me! After a couple tries she answered and told me they were going to have an 8 month old in need of a foster home within the next few days and asked if we would be willing. "Uh, YESS!!! I've only been waiting THREE MONTHS FOR YOU TO CALL ME!" is what I thought in my head. Really I just said "YES! But I'm in Atlanta, how soon do I need to be home?!?!" And she said to sit tight while she got in touch with the baby's case worker. So I called Matt and my parents and his parents, and then waited ANXIOUSLY the rest of the day, and in typical government fashion, I didn't hear anything back. After so long, and it being so difficult to get a child in our home, I quickly began to think that something had changed, and they wouldn't need us anymore. I was so excited to finally be really doing this, but the tragedy wasn't lost on me. Something has to go terribly wrong for a child to be put into foster-care. But I was glad that the Lord (and CPS) had chosen us to be there for this child during this time.
Friday: She got back in touch, and towards the end of the day and we were told that he would be coming on Saturday. So Rachel and I packed up, said goodbye to the presbytery ladies, and headed back to Jackson! I got home around 11pm, and Matt and I pulled out clothes and bedding and made lists and got ready in whatever ways we could!
Saturday: We got up, ran to Walmart to try to get everything we needed and just generally kill time until we were contacted by peanut's social worker. Finally, we were told that we wouldn't be needed until Monday.
Monday: This is the point where I can't give out any details since it now involves personal details about peanut's situation. But, we finally walked through our door with him in our arms! Many snuggles were had, and he fell asleep in my arms and slept through the night in his crib! (Hallelujah!)
Tuesday: I took peanut to walmart at 7:30am cuz we'd already been up for two hours and he needed things. It was a categorical disaster which I was thankfully able to laugh at even as it was happening. Then, almost exactly 24 hours after peanut came, he was able to leave. Again, we can't give much detail, but we can say that we are confident that the situation was worked out in his best interest!
When it was all said and done, we spent way longer getting ourselves and our home ready for him than he spent with us! However, we are so grateful that we were able to be there for a child who needed a safe and loving place to land, even if it was just for a day! After all of our struggles with the system, we were able to see it work as it was intended, which was such an encouragement! I know that it won't always be a joy to see a foster-child leave our home, but this time it was, and we are so grateful for that. Everyone seemed surprised at how okay I was, myself included to some extent. But I didn't sign up to be a foster parent so I could pretend that I'm the best place for every child who comes through my door; I signed up to help children and families in need for as long as they need it. This time it was one day. Next time it may be longer, someday it may even be forever. Now we just wait for the next call to come so we can say "YES! We will care for this child as long as they need us, and we will love and pray for them forever!"
Monday, February 25, 2019
Sleep Tight, Little One
Tonight my house is messy, my arms are full, and the hole in my heart is smaller than it's been in 26 months because this precious little human being just crawled into my lap and fell sound asleep on my chest. Praising Jesus for this little life and for putting it in mine for whatever time he's chosen to.
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