I Get A Little More Brave Every Year

These are bittersweet days I'm living through right now. I know, it doesn't look it, but it is. They are filled with both sides of the coin.

There are plenty of hours like the past one that I've knocked around my house both distracted and in prayer. I'm busy getting things ready and still at the same time waiting for nothing to happen.

These are the days of the what ifs.

They are days of potential visits for Little Miss.

They are days that tear at my heart.

I want her to go. It's sick, I know. But still, I want her to go. I want her to have every last chance possible to see her birth family. I want this to end in the way that is best for her in the long run. I want what is least harmful to her. I want to have happen whatever needs to happen to give her birth family the means to make the decisions they need to make.

I want to maintain my position that my mission in foster parenting is to see families get back together.

I want her to never again leave my arms. It's true. I want it both ways.

I want to never send her on another visit again as long as she lives. I want to never again have to deal with all the self destructive and self injurious things she does in the weeks after spending just a few hours with her birth family.

For almost two years now, I have rocked this baby to sleep in my arms almost daily for a nap or bed time. For me, that is a precious time. I rocked all my babies to sleep, and well past when a mama should let them be putting themselves to sleep. I rocked The Littlest Mr. until he was too big for me to carry up the stairs to his bed. He was past 3. The Mr. even gave in and helped for a few weeks, letting me rock him to sleep and then carrying the boy up for me. With Little Miss, I've cheated time and brought the rocking chair to her room.

Part way into her care, she began a new habit. She has always had a rough time with sleep and all that goes along with it, but then she started to call out. It was then that I realized she thinks of me as her mom. I realized that when she cries out in the night for mom, she is expecting me to be the woman that walks through the door.


This never-never land I'm living in these days on the cusp of foster care and adoption is hard at best. I live a life with parts blocked out. There are moments in time that I know are out there and yet I will not allow myself to see inside my mind.

Sort of like the unthinkable. Until the very last second there is always the potential that her forever home will not be with us. Seeing her leave our home is not a moment in time that I can picture inside my mind.

I can on the other hand, picture the moments after that. In fact, I've been playing all the different scenes over and over in my mind for months.

I can see myself in all the different settings of my regular life, having the conversations and giving the responses. In my mind, I'm rehearsing the lines, the expressions, my smile, my stance. I'm learning the lines that speak the words of mercy and grace, humbleness and forgiveness and peace.

You see, I believe those words and thoughts, I do. I really, really do. But I also know that those moments will be brimming with pain unspeakable that there just aren't live, personal outlets for. The people in my everyday world that are close enough to me to be able to receive the brunt of that violence of emotion are few and far away.

I also know that most of this, is not about me. My walk through this life of foster care and all it's ugly trials is a walk to show my small circles the life of a Christian.

No one wants to hang with someone who is all gloom and doom, rules and trials and struggles and hardships. I want to be a light in the midst of hard things. I want to be a Christian that goes through hard things with smiles, good attitudes and hope. Not in a fake way, saying that as a Christian I have no pains, not at all. But rather, as a Christian, I have a special ability to endure in hope.

And so it goes, another day, another visit. It was with a lump in my throat this morning that I took her out to the van of a stranger and strapped her into an unknown car seat. I looked into her eyes and saw all the fear and hurt and anger as I shut the door and sent her away from me.

For the morning now, I will worry and pray. In the afternoon I will receive back a child filled with rage and pain. For the next few weeks I will try to put the pieces of her little heart back together.

For Christ, I will try to live my part of this life with my heart hanging out. I will try to live the way He is asking me to live. I will try to be as open and transparent as I can be with all this life entails. I am coming to realize that is part of this journey. God is asking me to do for everyone what I do for her. He is asking me to pour myself out completely, heart and soul, not being mindful of my own pain, not protecting my own heart from the world, but simply handing it over as I've done for her. You see, she has my heart so completely, it is beyond what I can explain. I see that God wants me to do that. With everyone, with every casual acquaintance, pal and coffee shop friend. With every semi-close friend, not just with those I have chosen as the closest few.

That is a path that is almost unthinkable to me. I do not want to bare my soul, myself in that way to all those casual people in my life. I like living out the dream that I have it all pulled together, that my rough edges can be smoothed over with some mascara and coffee. I like living a life that others look and and think wow, how does she do that. Well, it's time, I guess, to do it a little differently. I'm sure it will be so subtle as to not be noticeable to anyone but me, but that's OK too. It's time to live it out so that you all are still saying wow, how does she live that life, but the focus will be on a faith unspeakable.