The storm

It is late and I should be sleeping.  This memory, this beautiful memory haunts me.  The steamy summer storm raged outside.  We had the windows to the porch open wide to let in the thunder.  We loved storms. The angrier the better.  We sat on the couch, your hands on my belly, waiting to feel the life inside reach out to you.  Only a few more weeks.  I was terrified, and you were impatient to meet your first.  The sirens went off.  The sound sending us outside in mad anticipation.  I couldn't get my body to leave the porch.  I stood there in bare feet.  The rain whipping about me, the wind pulling at my sundress, as you ran to the street to see if it would come.  The rain falling so hard I could barely see you just a few dozen feet away.

I wanted to go too.  I was paralyzed by my biology.  Then I heard it.  The familiar freight train roar growing louder that meant it WAS coming.  And I yelled to you, "we have to go to the basement" but you didn't hear me. I could barely see you. Panick set in. I had only experienced curiosity, wonderment, and excitement in times like these, but now I wanted to run away from the noise.  Then came the so-loud snapping of the oaks in the park on the other side of the narrow street. I yelled a yell that hurt, "we have to go inside, right now!" And you yelled back, "no, I won't, but you probably should".  I thought I might puke.  I could feel the fingers of it clawing at the inside of my raw throat.  

Some readers will judge me for what I said next.  My wet sun dress clung to my swollen belly, as I screamed, "I am NOT raising this baby without you!  If you won't go in neither will I."  So I stood on that porch drenched, being beaten by pellets of rain, that might have stung if I could have felt them, as the sound of trees snapping traveled down the park, now made invisible by the rain. The sound traveled parallel to our row of houses and into the distance.  The park lost over 50 trees that day, but I learned something about us.

I would rather stand with you in any storm then stand alone in safety.  I would rather enter the fray with you than be without you.  This life, this military life, of forced separations is hard because you enter storms and I cannot come.  I have to stay behind.  But even so, know that when you think you don't see me there standing next to you in the rain, I am.  I am definitely there.  I made up my mind on a hot steamy summer day long ago that no matter what, I was weathering every storm WITH you.

Time is relative

I have been holding back in posting more about our gift baby.  He needs lots of care and attention.  Plus, I wanted to give myself and my family lots of time and space to make an authentic, spirit-led, decision about adoption, to stop knocking on the doors to Casey's heart, to step back, get out of the way, and give them room to open. You see, when you are thrown a curve ball it is easy to duck.  When our expectations aren't met, when we think we are aligned with God's will and then we are surprised unexpectedly it is easy to say "no", this isn't how it was supposed to go.  This isn't what God wants for me.  This is when prayerful reflection is needed most. 

We became foster-adoptive parents to adopt a girl between the ages of 10-14.  We had a neat little plan to build our family without adding "parenting years" onto our marriage.  Wow, typing that I realize how selfish that sounds.  Trust me, we had great intentions.  We also truly and honestly wanted an older child because they are so much less likely to be adopted.  We wanted a girl because we don't have one.  Casey wanted a daughter to walk down the aisle, and I wanted a daughter with whom I could journey motherhood.  We wanted to be witness to the life of a daughter.  We still hope for that.  Our problem was in thinking that we had it all figured out. 

Isn't that how it happens?  Just when you think you have it all figured out, "the joke's on you".  In late April 2013, when we said "yes" to fostering gift baby we thought he was passing through our lives.  We all prepared not to take ownership of him.  He wasn't ours.  I have said "no" to plenty of foster placements for various reasons, but this time I just couldn't do it.  I couldn't.  I convinced myself, "I will love him well, and then he will move on." It happened slowly, the way dusk creeps in on children at play.  There is a huge, yet subtle difference between loving and caring for a child, and loving and taking ownership of them as your own.  It felt intrusive to take ownership of a child whose mother I hoped would heal for him.  I wouldn't do that to either of them.  I couldn't do that.  But he pried my heart open and crawled inside.  Over time I died to my plan, and accepted this as God's plan, at least for now.  What a beautiful plan too!  I get to love and be loved by a beautiful soul I wouldn't know had I said, "no" on the grounds that he was not a girl between the ages of 10-14.

As time wore on, both of our boys began to refer to him as their, "little brother".  First, during introductions.  Then, when they were playing with him.  As the days slipped from one to another it was as if he had always been a part of our family, as if he were meant for us.  His personality is a blend of the older two boys.  He shares their love of music, their sense of humor, even some of their quirks from when they were babies!  The similarities are uncanny.  Eventually, holding him ceased to be a duty and became a privilege.  He ceased to exist out side of myself, but became an extension of me.  His coos would come to me like enchanted notes carried on a warm breeze from a distant violin.  They began to make me revel with joy for his existence, and every morning and afternoon I waited with anticipation for him wake up.   

Casey agreed to adopt him, in writing.  He was still nervous about all those plans he hadn't yet let die.  I wasn't.  A new plan, more beautiful than any we could plan, had unfurled before me day by day.  The time came to change gift baby's placement goal.  Fostercare adoption isn't linear.  It isn't easy.  In one instant they are going to be yours forever, and the next the could be ripped from your arms.  This caused us to deny the depth of our feelings for him, but it was something we naively thought we might avoid. When this possibility reared its ugly head at us things really changed.  That's when we had to be really honest with ourselves.  Until that point it had been easy for both of us to pretend that we could go back to "normal" if baby boy left us.  Facing this reality caused us to realize that things were never going to be the same.  The boys and I especially, would grieve a lost child if he were to go.  The idea caused my heart to twist and palpitate in my chest. 

We sat on seat edge for two weeks waiting to find out if he would be staying or going.  During that time, I tried to distance my heart from his and couldn't.  Instead he became even more a part of me.  I was sleepless, praying in my bed, as shadows washed over me, for the strength to follow His plan.  Questioning Him, "why would you do this to us? I don't understand why."  Then the day came when I found out what was really happening (can't wait to tell you all some day).  The social worker gave me a speech on timing, the time line, and the legalities currently being adhered too.  As the social worker explained to me what was going on, and what her goals for him were I realized I could have slept well if I had a little more faith.  Not because she was telling me what I had longed to hear, "he is absolutely yours."  No.  I realized, who am I to question "the Plan"?  His timing is perfect, it isn't my timing.  I don't get what I want when I want it.  I get what I need when I need it.  We needed to have that epiphany right now.  We needed a reality check.  We needed to come together.  I needed to understand that I am not in control.  That I need to let go and trust God to do his thing.  That is HUGE for me!  I grew from knowledge to understanding through experience.  It is a dangerous thing indeed to mistake knowledge for understanding, and humbling to realize that is exactly what you have done. 

We love him.  He is ours (for sure right now, but I hope forever).  We love him.  I literally feel as if he has been birthed through me these last few weeks.  Hearing his voice cause me to swell to bursting with joy.  Witnessing him experience life makes me feel so lucky, so blessed.  It is a privilege, I am proud of him, and proud to be thought of as his mother.  I can't explain how this bond builds just yet.  It as strong as my bond with the other boys.  He will always be a part of us, and us a part of him.  No matter what.  I am thankful.  I am so incredibly thankful.  The last few months have humbled me beyond measure, and taught me that in my darkest moments I have the most to be thankful for.  I have experienced that in darkness God truly is working the most in me and for me.  I had knowledge of that truth before this, but I did not understand.  I have experienced that God really is good all the time.  I have experienced God.  Again.  This time more beautifully and fully than I could imagine.  I am but a speck, and yet he carefully tends my every need.  He often does this in spite of my moaning and lack of gratitude.     

It has also taught me that I need to listen more carefully to that still small voice inside of me when it shares the good as well as the bad.  How many times do we look in on possibilities, as if we are standing in the doorway to a room filled with joyful strangers, horrified to step in, but desperately longing to?  That little voice that says, "you can do this.  This would be good for you." often gets ignored while we listen to all the reasons we can't or shouldn't.  How long have we spend languishing in doorways?  Don't listen to that negative voice (unless you are planning to take a barrel of Niagara Falls, then listen to it) telling you why you can't.  Take the step, and trust in God's timing. 

http://youtu.be/SXaSWUvTb8w

Prayer for my dark night

Just as I took baby boy's brokenness into the sanctuary of my heart, so too does Christ take my brokenness into His Sacred Heart.  Just as baby boy screamed panicked screams when I went out of his sight, so do I now scream for You.  I held him there, in my heart, loving him.  It wasn't until he exhaled and emptied himself of his apprehension that my love could help him.  Just as You hold me in your Sacred Heart, Jesus, and wait for me to exhale and empty myself so you can fill me with the breath of your love.  Forgive me for fighting Your love, for trying to do it all myself.  I can do nothing without You, Jesus.  Jesus, help me pray, "Jesus, I trust in you" with sincerity.  Let me collapse into your arms already wrapped around me.  Help me realize how weak I am, and that just like baby boy, I cannot do anything for myself.  Take my brokenness, my anger, my frustration and with your love transform me into love.  In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen

I am NOT Job.

I was relieved to head home with baby boy.  I gingerly placed his delicate little body in his car seat.  He reached down and grabbed the stuffed caterpillar Cooper had given him.  He held it up to me and smiled!  It was the first self-prompted smile I had seen from him in the month I had known him.  He knew he was going home.  Home.  What does that mean to him?  Does he know who Cooper is?  Does he remember?  It has only been 5 days, but so much has happened.  We came home to a very interesting "Welcome Home" sign handmade by Will.  It

Over the next few weeks Casey and I got into a routine.  We talked a few times a day.  He was living his life "over there".  I was living mine here.  He wasn't interested in hearing about the baby's eyes filling up with life, or his incision healing.  I was crushed.  He tolerated my ramblings and ventings, but he was NOT invested.  He was listening to appease me.  I couldn't blame him.  This little guy had stolen all of my attention those last weeks, and was now dominating our conversations.  It hurt to have so much inside that I wouldn't say for fear that it would be met with passivity.  It hurts to have your passions met with passivity.  It hurts a lot.  I couldn't help but feel rejected. 

Then I got my Court Summons, and affidavit.  I learned everything there was to know about baby boys past.  It made me angry!  For his protection I won't go anymore in depth than that.  It was infuriating.  Everything made sense now.  All of his apprehensions were completely rational.  He didn't trust me, because he had learned that caregivers couldn't be trusted.  Who does that to a baby?  He was lucky to be a live, and I was delighted that he was.

Court day came.  I ventured alone to the court house, a heavy, windowless building with a single door entry that looks dwarfed by the concrete surrounding it.  I parked in front of the jail, walked into this seemingly tiny door, and tried not to feel completely insignificant.  After passing the inspections of the metal detector and security guards I climbed the stairs to the 4th floor.  Black marble everywhere, and nothing else.  No benches, no trash cans, nothing.  Just a large, empty room covered in black marble.  I stood in front of a door that said "enter quietly" for a while trying to decide if it opened to a court room or a waiting room, and feeling a bit like I did on the first day of second grade when my mom let me find my room, on my own (at my request).  I felt myself shrink at the idea that I would enter a courtroom to pairs of eyes with crinkled brows trained on me.  I wished Casey was here.  I waited until someone else, braver than myself, passed through it.  I entered to find a tribe of people there for the hearing, but none of them was his mom.  The air felt stagnant, and the room was covered in a film of dirt, traces of the others who had waited here.

While I was waiting, I was approached about adopting him, legally if it came to that.  Of course I would.  The guardian et litum said he had talked to Casey before Casey left and Casey had also said yes.  I was curious, but elated.  I couldn't wait to tell Casey.

After 5 or 6 hours I headed home, and When Casey called I told him.  He was not just angry.  He felt violated.  He was far away dealing with his aching for the boys and I.  There were no extra rooms in his heart at the moment.  This is when the rabbit hole opened up inside of me.  The moment I realized that no matter what would happen, my heart would be broken unless Casey's opened up.  Casey's wouldn't open until he came home, and that was months away, and months after the final answer on the adoption was due.  I had already lost so much in these few weeks.  This seemed like an impossible situation.  If only he had been there to hold my had in the waiting room.  If only he had been there to be my courage in court.  Then he would understand.  Then his heart would be open. But he wasn't there, and I couldn't muster a single atom of anger toward him in my entire body.  It wasn't his fault.   

How many months must I endure this slow breaking, this dark night?  I didn't know what God had in store, but I was starting to think I was being asked to make impossible sacrifices.  "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Really, "I can do nothing without Christ" is more accurate, though no more of a consolation.  I am weak and selfish.  I want my way.  I breathed the air into this life by giving it my own air.  I have watched the emptiness inside of him fill with love of life.  We have been brought together and that will never be undone.  Even if he leaves, he will be forever a part of me that is fractured and broken.  I will wonder about him, pray for him, worry about him, and miss him (somewhere deep inside of me a little voice reminds me that those feelings are inevitable because all children leave home).  Why can't my husband just find the same investment in life.  The same understanding that there is no higher calling in life than to breathe your air into another.  The joy and peace my faith brought to me seem far from me now.  I wonder at the aching inside of me, that won't go away with prayer or scripture, why? 

The answers can come easily, "God is working on building your virtues...your faith... your humility".  Knowledge, wisdom, understanding, and acceptance are not synonyms.  This is a process, a very painful process.  I will make it through, God's will be done (please).  I am still angry.  Angry that this process must take place when so much that I depend on is gone.  I have read St. John of the Cross.  I know that God calls us to depend only on him through circumstances exactly like this.  I can't help to see this cross he has given me as Simon of Cyrene saw the Cross of Christ at first, as an unjust burden.  Lord, help me to have a grateful heart.  This anger brings me only darkness, and keeps me far from your peace.  Amen.

The lie

When we believe in a false narrative then everything else we tell ourselves about the topic is contrived so as to convince ourselves that we haven't been lied to.

I used to think I was pretty smart.  Then I applied myself to seeking only the truth, and that's when it happened.  That's when I realized I bought into a lie.  I believed the my body my choice rhetoric.  That contraceptives empowered me to make decisions about my body, and future.  I couldn't wait to move out of my parents house, go to planned parenthood, get on the pill so I could "get some".

I was naive.  I thought I was empowering myself, exercising my feminist rights taking the reigns of my sexuality, but I hadn't stopped to think about sexuality itself.  I didn't stop to think that I might be selling myself short by buying into the belief that I must be sexual to be viable, that I must be sexualized to be loved.  I hadn't listened when my parents told me I should be loved for who I am.

Planned parenthood certainly wasn't going to tell me this.  Media, movies, pop culture definitely conveys feminine power and sexualization go hand in hand (basic instinct, Madonna, etc.).  I didn't stop to think that woman has power outside of her sexual prowess, that was counter-intuitive, and counter-cultural. I should have realized to be valued intellectually had nothing at to do with sexuality. My self perception was definitely wrapped up in other people's perception of my sexual viability. How sick is that!

Exhibit A: planned parenthood's facebook cover photo for the election last fall... Notice it simultaneously sexualized women, while implying that our main political concern is limited to Pro-life/Pro-choice issues, not the economy, not foreign policy, not education. I am more than my private parts believe it or not. This might be excusable if it was a one time "mistake", but sadly this is status quo marketing (sexualizing, and marginalizing women).

I took my birth control religiously, more religiously than I received communion during this time in my life. I had a lot to lose! After 4 years I saw signs that my body had adjusted to the dose, namely break through bleeding, so I called Planned Parenthood, scheduled an appointment. They told me it was impossible to adjust to the dosage (mind you I had grown 1.5 inches, and gained and lost 20 pounds while on it). That I could continue as usual with no issues. 5 months later I found out I was 3 months pregnant... Their solution... An abortion. They were not at all worried about my well being, or they would have listened to me 5 months earlier. They treated me with a predatory attitude. I believed the lie that P.P. was looking out for me. I believed the lie that sex on demand made me independent, intellectual, and valued. In reality, i was still fulfilling the wishes, and roles of a male dominated culture for fear of rejection. What is a freedom that simply repackages your oppression and hands it back to you? Had I really been this blind? The entire premise of birth control is that I must be sexual to be viable. This is not true. I can be valuable, intellectual, and quite variable WITHOUT being sexual. Since this is true, if I would have followed this logic when I was younger I wouldn't have had to rely on Planned Parenthood. Contraceptives wouldn't have been necessary. I could have been healthier, as most women are(check cancer rates and contraceptives) without them, i just didn't know better. There are many lies out there about women's health. Even if I had known, I am not sure if I would have had the courage live out the truth.

The moral of this story girls is this, your body, your choice. The narrative of love, and sexuality has been so twisted, and our definition of Choice contrived, that you must seek the truth. Choice isn't what is sold to you by Jersey Shore, or the Kardashians, or Planned Parenthood. Choice is choosing to love yourself, and to demand without fear, to be loved for who you are, not what services you have to offer. This is scary, I know. Guys are used to getting sex on demand, and will likely move on to someone more willing to give them what they want. Let them. You are worth More respect than that. You do have a choice. When it comes to your body, honor it, and seek UNADULTERATED truth before you make choices about it, or what you put in it, (pun intended). Demand that the men in your life respect it also. Research! Btw please visit this link, it holds the truth about human sexuality, and I wish I would have known about it long, long ago... http://www.theologyofthebody.net/. Take courage, and know the truth is out there waiting for you to discover it and rewrite your narrative.