I Can Do Hard Things

 "I need you to tell me that I can do hard things. I keep telling her that she can, I need someone to tell me that I can, too."

These were the words I cried to my mom on Tuesday morning as I drove back to the hospital. I had slept for 2 hours that night after spending 12 hours in the emergency room holding the frail body of a little one who had been severely neglected. We had only met 72 hours earlier and somehow she was supposed to trust me to walk her through one of the lowest moments of her little life. The responsibility was overwhelming. The stakes high. I had never seen this stuff anywhere but on TV, yet there I sat, rocking my sweet girl back and forth, trying to calm both of our nervous systems for what was to come. Then, it was time, one Reece's Piece at a time, we made it through each test, picture, x-ray, and lab. It was awful. I will never forget it. I pray that she does. But she did it. Bravely, she did really hard things.

Over the next two days, with the support her first foster mom and God send, Miss

Tricia

, I met with every doctor, therapist, dietitian, investigator, and social worker on her floor. I listened, I argued, and I advocated for my girl. She had been silenced and needed her voice back. This girl, my girl, was going to get the best. She would know that she was safe, protected, and loved. We blew a million bubbles, made hundreds of playdoh figures, ate too many french fries, and negotiated every temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen level. One minute at a time, one reece piece at a time, we made it through the days. We finally went home. We did it. Together, we did really hard things.

Today, I woke up to her joyful giggle as she played with the kids. She was safe. She was happy. When her tiny, frail body slowly came down the stairs, she sweetly yet proudly said, "Good Morning, Mom! I love you! I like being home." Not quite yet, baby girl. I have to do a really hard thing.

This afternoon, I packed up her things and brought her to her final destination. Family that will love, care, and protect her. I gave them every detail, every tip, and every phone number. I gave her a kiss, told her that I loved her, and that I was so proud of her. I said goodbye. Hiding my tears with my sunglasses, I smiled, waved, and drove away. As confidently as I could, I did a really hard thing.

Now, the hard things are done and it is time to rest. Unfortunately, another will come and there will be more mountains to conquer. But that's okay, I'm ready, I know I can do hard things...

"Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human." -HENRI NOUWEN

To the Moon and Back

 Dear Paul, Catherine, Claire, Mary-Grace, and Margaret,

One year ago today was not a special day. In fact, it was a typical day with school, Miss Dana, and general life. None of us knew that the next day would change in a way that we would never be the same.

Kiddos, when dad and I signed up to be foster parents, you were signed up, too. We tried our best to explain everything and prepare you for what was to come, but honestly, we didn't even know. But you trusted us. You believed in what we wanted to do, especially once Claire realized that she wasn't going to be the foster kid moving to the new home.

And then the next day happened and our family changed. It was not a smooth transition. It hurt a lot. For a long time.

Guys, you have been the most courageous, compassionate, and perseverant kids I've ever met. You have laughed, cried, and experienced joy and pain that most adults will never experience. You had the courage to speak up when it was too much, took great joy in his victories, and recognized the tragedy in his struggle. But most importantly, at your young age, you believed in our purpose as a foster family; that kids should be with their family. There were several times that we had to console you as you tried to understand how kids could be separated from their mom or when we had to discuss the possibility that he would never go home. You were crushed at even the possibility for him and his mom. I will never forget that discussion, we told you that we weren't sure what was going to happen but if it came about that reunification wasn't possible, what did you think about adoption. All of you spoke up quickly and without hesitation, "I don't want him to leave, but I want him to be with his mom. I want him to go where it's best for him". We were blown away. You were wanting to sacrifice for the greater good of your brother and his mother, if that was possible.

Paul, Catherine, Claire, Mary-Grace, and Margaret, daddy and I are so proud of you. When I look back one year, my initial reaction is slightly miss what was, but quickly thereafter, I am overwhelmed with the pride and joy of what is and I wouldn't trade this year for anything. Thank you for trusting us and for believing in your purpose as a foster sibling. Thank you for teaching me more than you can imagine. But thank you the most for choosing to love our little man with everything you have even though it often didn't look or feel like what you knew love to be. What you chose is a self sacrificing, compassionate, humbling, and joyful love. That kind of love, real love, takes incredible courage.

I love you to the moon and back.

-Mom

Saving Babies...One Mom At A Time

 When my son's mom found out she was pregnant, she was a mentally ill drug addict living under a bridge. Her pregnancy was unplanned, inconvenient, and, quite frankly, unsafe. She was a safety threat to him and he was a safety threat to her. My son was an abortion waiting to happen. Not because she was evil or because she didn't love him, because neither could be further from the truth, but because the odds seemed insurmountable. He checked every single box.

As I read about all of the discussion about abortions this week, from the March on Washington to the horrifying news from New York, I can't help but think that we, as the pro-life movement, are missing it. We talk about the baby, the murder, the injustice. We make and share meme's of ultrasound pictures, baby pictures, and eye catching phrases. But holy moly, friends, do you think our shared social media posts or cries to the government to suddenly be moral are going to end abortion? If we are going to protect these babies, we must first protect their moms.

The idea of saving the innocent is such a sweet and clean concept. But, let me be the first to tell you, it's messy, it's ugly, and it is so uncomfortable it will make you want to run. Ask any foster/adoptive mother, pro-life pregnancy center volunteer, mother/baby house worker, women's shelter employee and they will all tell you the same thing. It's the most grueling work with the most incredible reward. Protecting the innocent starts with each and every person actually putting themselves out there to get involved to help these mother's, children, and families.

You aren't too busy. You are enough. You can do this.

There are so many possibilities to put your good intentions into action. But I think it's about time the pro-life movement becomes less about words and more about action. The only way to drown out the manipulative fear-mongering of the devil is by flooding the same hearts with the unbridled and tangible love of Christ through a neighbor.

I, for one, have seen what can happen when this olive branch is extended. The dedication of many workers and volunteers at an amazing mother/baby house provided my son's mother with the love, support, and security she needed to give Nicholas life. And for that, I will be forever indebted.

"There is no place for selfishness and no place for fear! Do not be afraid, then, when love makes demands. Do not be afraid when love requires sacrifice."

-St. John Paul II

Mother's Day

 I find it ironic that on the one day of the year where Mother's are celebrated, pictures portray matching outfitted smiling children, and beautiful words are flowing freely, I am utterly worn out, exhausted, and not really interested. If I'm honest, it was all I could do to open my gifts and read my hand made cards with a genuine smile. Our toddlers had meltdown and attitudes like crazy all day. I took a two hours "nap" this afternoon that mostly consisted of half dozing while I dreamt of the 20 things on my mind. All day I have had to manually shift my heart and brain away from my son's biological mother who's heart is likely aching something fierce. I did a pretty crappy job 'showing up' for Mother's Day. I tried. I really did. But I just couldn't pull it together.

I am so grateful that I get to be the mom of these six crazy kids, but gosh, sometimes we have to sit back and call a spade a spade.
Motherhood is HARD. It is EXHAUSTING. And sometimes, it is just too much.

But, really, I am a thousand times more grateful that tomorrow is a new day and that children have the innate ability to love anyways. Despite my lack of enthusiasm for the day, every single one of my kids offered their prayers for me tonight, kissed me, and told me I was the best mom God ever made. Somehow these kids are able to see through my weakness and love on the greatness that they know that I can be. For that, I am grateful.

Happy Mother's Day to my own mama, my mother-in-law, my sisters-in-laws, aunts, and all of my mom friends. I have learned so much from you and am grateful that I get to walk this crazy road with you.

Offering Ourselves to the Broken

 A couple of days ago, a fellow adoptive mom and I were trading stories about how bad we are at this whole "adoptive mom" thing. It's so hard. It has the highest highs but it also has the lowest lows...that usually have NOTHING to do with you. As we laughed in release at our shortcomings, all the sudden I just blurted out, "we aren't SUPPOSED to be good at this. Foster care, adoption, these things weren't supposed to exist! Kids are intended to be with their parents. Sin caused this. We aren't supposed to be good at this!"

It kind of shocked me when it came out of my mouth because I had never thought about it like that before. But, gosh, it's so frustratingly accurate. My brokenness, your brokenness, all of the brokenness, it wasn't supposed to be. God had a much better plan.

I have continued to think about this. It has continued to frustrate, yet comfort me, all at the same time. So how are we supposed to "succeed" if we were never even intended to perform such a task?!? I see what Nick deal's with, I see what we experience, I see what his biological family endures, and it all makes me so sad because it just didn't have to be.

Yesterday morning, on a completely unrelated note, the kids and I had a sit down. I'm cracking down on quite a few things and I needed to post the warning. I explained exactly where I was tightening up and how things would be handled. I then told them my absolute favorite quote by St. Catherine of Sienna, "If you are who you should be, you will set the world ablaze!" and explained that it is my job, as their mom, to help them learn who they were CREATED to be because it is only there that they will truly know the the gifts that they were given to give to others.

And there it was. My answer. No, the brokenness of our world, in ourselves, was never intended to be but it is in knowing who we are in the One who created us that we can help carry that load and help another see that they were also intentionally, lovingly, and perfectly created and intended for greatness. The success doesn't come in fixing the brokenness, it comes in offering ourselves to it so the brokenness can see it's beauty.

Bam.

He Loves Me!

 

This little dude has put our relationship to the test for the last 4 months. By no fault of his own, his understanding of a mommy is a bit out of whack and it comes with A LOT of big emotions. That box got unlocked after a trauma response in December and we've been riding the crazy attachment ride ever since. He shifted Paul into the safe seat and put me...well, under the left wheel of the car. It's been humbling to say the least. And frustrating, very frustrating.

So, this morning, when he walked in my room at 6:03AM and asked to "lay wif mommy", you bet I scooted over and took a picture to remind myself next time I'm about to pull my hair out. I had no idea that this picture would say so much more. Thank you, Jesus, for this Holy Week gift!

#HeLovesMe #HeReallyReallyLovesMe #HeSureHasAFunnyWayOfShowingIt #AdoptionIsALotHarderThanItLooks #ButWorthIt

6 Months

 February 22, 2017.

The phone rang around 2:45pm. It was our foster agency.

"Hi Jeanne. I have a two year old boy who might be coming into care this afternoon."

The silence was deafening. I knew she was waiting for an answer but my head was spinning. This was our ninth call but for some reason it felt like the first.

I asked a few more questions to which she replied,

"Jeanne, all we know is that he is a Caucasian 2 year old boy. What do you think?"

I texted Paul as fast as I could while trying to keep her on the line. He beeped in, I popped over and said,

"Paul, she's on the other line! I need an answer! Two year old boy, nothing else. What do you think?"

"That's fine!", he said.

I was shocked. He was set on babies but for some reason he said yes. I clicked back over and said,

"Yes! We'll do it."

She said, "Okay, if he comes into care, I'll call you."

And then I waited. I had waited for many hours on previous calls so I had learned not to get pumped up or start anticipating anything. So far we were 0/8.

The phone rang at 3:45pm. I expected to hear her say, "He isn't coming into care! Thank you so much! Talk to you next time!" But she didn't say that.

She said, "Hi Jeanne. When can you get here? He is on the way to social services now."

Stupidly, I said, "Wait, WHAT!? So, he came into care?"

"Yes. His name is [Little Dude]"

"Oh, okay. Well, Paul isn't home and I have six kids at the house right now. Let me make some calls."

I proceeded to call every person I had ever met in Charlottesville, ZERO of which picked up the phone. Z-E-R-O. Panicking, I called Paul and he told me to load everybody up, including the neighbor who was playing at our house, and head for social services. He was 45 minutes out, he would meet me there and we would switch cars. Okay. I can do this. I calmly gathered the kids, sat them down and said,

"Okay, so, here's the deal. There is a 2 year old boy who needs a home, we are going to go pick him up. I need everybody to get your shoes and get in the car, please. We will talk in the car."

In true Mary-Grace fashion, she exclaimed, "A FOSTER KID! WE'RE GETTING A FOSTER KID!!!"

"Yes, Mary-Grace, get in the car!"

I quickly tried to remember what they had taught me in my classes. I gathered snacks, a sippy cup, and a book. As I did this, one by one, the kids brought me a stuffed animal, a toy car, a book, etc. Kids, they get it. Off we went.

On my way, we said a prayer for little dude, his family, and us, I answered a few more questions from the kids, went over the plan for meeting up with Paul, and some etiquette for not overwhelming the poor child when he met all five of them.

Then I called my mom. She and my dad did their best to calm me (and themselves) and wished me luck.

After finally meeting up with Paul, switching vehicles, and one carseat, I walked into social services. I had no clue what to expect. Honestly, it was an experience I will never forget. So many adults crowded around the belongings of a baby. Everybody awkwardly smiled at me. I spoke to a couple of social workers/case managers, signed a lot of paperwork, and then they said,

"Okay, that's all! Do you have any questions? He's right across the hall!"

That's when it happened. I opened the door to the playroom and there he was, our little dude, absolutely adorable, smiling, and laughing as he zoomed his cars on the table. I walked closer and squatted down.

"Hi buddy! Do you want to go play at my house?"

I put my hands out and he came right to me. That was it. We walked out. That's where our story began. It was 5:45pm and I was walking down the sidewalk holding a toddler who felt very foreign but yet he was trusting me to love and protect him for as long as necessary.

That night was full of a lot of smiles, a lot of toys, and a lot of nervous excitement. We had no idea what was to come. We had no idea what his past contained or what his future held. We just smiled, played, and decided to worry about that tomorrow.

6 months. 6 months ago, tonight. Only God knows the outcome of his story, but for now, I am ever grateful to be a mom of six.

51Georg-Anne Duval, Erica Meyers Shortridge and 49 others

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