Hold On. Let Go.

I'm not really sure why I fight the things that I need the most. Like my Levi fighting sleep during nap time, or the way my sweet nephew Jude struggles and bucks in his mama's arms when she tries to get medicine into his little mouth. Lately that's me. Twisted up and gato-rolling rather than dealing with the stuff. I wonder what will happen if I slow down enough to examine it all. Will I ever be able to pick up this pace again? The need is real; to wade through the mess to weed out what's junk and what's treasure. I need to do the work. But I'm so tired. I've been trying to get a blog out Tuesday mornings. I couldn't make myself do it last week. I fought it- the medicine I needed- to dive down the rabbit hole of thoughts and words. Everything that came to mind seemed like a bummer, so heavy and deep, and that's not exactly accurate when you hold it up to the picture of what our life is like right now. I feel like we've been trudging in shoe-sucking mud. Progress is being made, but it's slow and messy, exhausting and taxing on the body/mind/spirit/heart. The triumphs are fluorescent- shining with victory. Defiantly hopeful in the face of it all. Even so, I'm leaving the unpacking for another time.

What would make my soul soar right now would be this; to just take minute and relish the sweetness of Levi William at 3 years and 9 months old. Y'all. He's a dream come true. His lashes have mamas on the playground patting me on the back- whether they're congratulatory or consolatory I'm not sure. His daddy wants us to grow out his mop of thick, rich brown hair longer for the winter months. We're well on our way. It's starting to curl up on the ends. That smile of his- charm and innocence and mischief all co-mingling leaving me a puddle on the floor. Mike and I just delight in the way he winds up his whole body as he runs, and the way he uses inflection and tone just stunning us with his intrinsic sense of humor.

He's been sleeping on a pallet in our room pretty often lately, needing some respite at the end of the day and a place to be still and quiet. There have a been some nights that the pallet just won't do. I love it. He cuddles up close and whispers 'I love you' as he turns over in his sleep. After I saw the girls off to school one morning last week I got back under the covers just to take in some more time with him before the day ran away and stole more of his toddler-hood. He was awake and I said, "Levi, you make me so happy." He quickly responded, "Aw! You make me happy too, mom!" with the cutest grin and his eyes all squinty. Delicious. He's just scrumptious.

Lately we've discovered that our Tank is an introvert. It makes sense that we wouldn't have noticed before- his older siblings are willing to play when he wants to, and leave him be when he doesn't. Now that he's got a buddy 24/7, we've had to make some adjustments based on what's best for him. He likes being alone. Not all the time, not even half the time. Sometimes. He looks at me with a strained expression and asks if I'll please let him upstairs alone to play. Up he goes and I close the gate behind him. A while later, he comes down with some pep in his step and ready to play.

Some of our favorite Tank-isms:

"Is that funny? Yes or no!"
"I yubt you!" (I love you)
"Dad! There's water in my peepee!" (Needs to go potty!)
Me: You're my favorite! Levi: Yes. I am!
"In just a minute?"
"I am your favorite."
When we answer a question for him and he GASPS.
Um! Nope.
I awake now!! Hey mom and dad! I awake now!
I need breakfast!
Can I hab a snack?
Do we hab toot-ties? (cookies!)
I need my docket (rocket) backpack!

There's so much more. The slice of time we get to enjoy them in this whimsical state- our babies straddling the arduous responsibility that accompanies each birthday and the buoyant brilliance they arrive with as they devour the world with their wonder and awe? It's a meager slice, slipping through our greedy fingers, lost in the hustle of finding shoes and wiping noses, doling out one more snack and digging deep for that self-control to be consistent through one more tantrum. I'm taking my best shot at finding my footing on the balance beam we all walk as parents- cherishing each remnant of their baby-hood even as we cheer their strides in independence.

Use Your Voice

Kherington doesn't like to rock the boat at school. When she's at home with the people she knows best, she is assertive and opinionated. When she's in her classroom she flies under the radar when it comes to conflict.

The last couple of weeks have been opportunities for growth for our girl. When she told us through tears that two little boys called her ugly and then a few days later a little girl slapped her arm and tugged her roughly, I fluctuated between heartbreak and outrage. Neither were helpful to my sweetheart, so I got it under control while I held her and exchanged meaningful, venomous looks with Mike. When we all calmed down we talked.

We talked about value. Value she carries- not because of the things she does, or how she looks. Not the sort of value that depends on variables that she could manipulate, but the kind of value that belongs to her because of whose she is. We reminded her that the King of the World holds her in high regard. That she is a daughter of the King (gal 3:26). His word says that 'He is with you, Kherington- your warrior, mighty to save. He delights in YOU! He will quiet you with His love, and He will rejoice over you with singing.' (zeph 3:17). You are fearfully and wonderfully made (ps 139) and you are so valuable. Value- because you are His.

We talked about truth. And how lies can hurt, especially when they're given the weight of belief. Being able to discern truth from lies, fact from opinion, the productive nature of constructive criticism from the destructive force of words meant to harm- it's a skill that is in an unfortunate necessity. One that tears callously at the cloak of her innocence while we work furiously to teach her to patch the holes with the armor of God.

We think she's amazing. Captivating dark eyes and a winning smile. She actually looks just like my mom with Mike's family's dimpled chin, it makes me smile every day. Kher is a problem solver that takes the initiative in all sorts of scenarios. Planning comes second nature to her. She like rules and clearly defined parameters. Just like her daddy. She is kind, courageous, compassionate. My sweet, helpful shadow. We know who she is. She needs to know who she is.

One of the weighty duties we have as her parents is to speak truth into her life. This is where the consistency we laid as foundation in her toddler-hood bears fruit- she trusts us. She trusts implicitly that what we tell her is the truth. When she was a tiny thing it was: if you do this the consequence will be that. Now that she's older, we're gratefully reaping the rewards of consistent parenting. She believes what we say.

The best and most beautiful result of her trust is that because she trusts us, we can point her to Jesus. We can show her how we, Mike and I, are trusting Him to meet our needs, be a salve to our wounds, a restful and comforting embrace when we are weary and tender. Laying that foundation when she was little led us here. Trusting us leads to trusting him. Believing in our words and our love for her, blends beautifully- like watercolors- into trusting His words and His truths. Kherington understanding that we set rules and boundaries for her benefit and because we love her helps her to understand the value of the guardrails that the Father lovingly put in her life.

A hope I harbor for my children is that by knowing the value they carry because of Jesus, their view of others would be changed. That labels put on them or people around them would just fall off, having no where to grip because lies find no grip on God's perfect truth. I hope that they are skillful advocates for themselves and for those the tug at their hearts, guided by what's real and empowered by a sense of worth rooted deep in the soil of their souls.

Our Right Thing

I must have been two or three years old. It was after Halloween and I'd been told not to eat my candy. Even then though, the chocolate called to me. Tiny Mandy found a cloak of invisibility (also known as a threadbare towel) and plopped in the middle of the floor to devour her treasure with gusto. Not two candies in and I was busted. The crackling of the wrappers were the giveaway. I know this now. Ha! Every time we get to talking about memories or stories, the kids request that one. They always laugh and so do I.

Last weekend on our way to Jace's scrimmage (Go Jace!) this story came up. Something clicked. I don't know why it did, maybe it was to commemorate the 87 thousandth time this story had been rehashed. Whatever the reason, I'll take it. Between doling out snacks and reciting the towel story, Mike and I were discussing what our month would look like, in particular, an upcoming event where we will have the privilege of sharing our experience with foster care alongside the Foster Home Developer from our agency. We hope we'll be able to shed some light on the 'unknown' aspect of foster care. Letting people into our family bubble is something we love to do. Since the beginning of our journey though, we've run into something a bit uncomfortable for us- accolades.

People are so kind and sincere when they tell us we're 'amazing!', or that I'm 'supermom', or that what we're doing is 'so awesome!', and our responses tend to miss the mark at expressing how we feel when we hear these things.

What we'd like to say is that we are just doing our Right Thing. Foster care is not everyone's Right Thing and that's ok, but it is our Right Thing. We don't feel extraordinary. We're not. Mostly we feel stretched and pulled- achy from the combination of joy and uncertainty that we're living. The truth of it is that on the eve we were issued our facility number  I almost pulled the plug. I was confronted with the reality of the brokenness we would encounter, and I wanted to run. Wanted desperately not to care. Asked God if maybe I'd misunderstood the thing we were supposed to do. After some time, the conviction I felt and the trust I was extending that He would know the best way to navigate the storms ahead was enough to move forward. Barely.

The sobering conclusion I came to was that knowing about the plight just beyond the horizon of my comfort zone and making a conscious decision to put my head back in the sand was the wrong thing. It was irresponsible. Unbeknownst to me, our sweet LG was being born that very same night. Had I decided that my fears outweighed my faith, she would still have been born. CPS would have *hopefully* quickly found a home for her, and she would have *hopefully* been just fine. Shielding my eyes from the sharp glare of the world of foster care wouldn't have meant that it was gone, only that I was choosing not to look at it. For me that was unacceptable.

You'll find no evidence of a hero complex here. We're not out to save anyone. Jesus has that covered and He's good at His job. We are just living out our Right Thing. My desire is to have hands that hold the broken and legs that leave a lasting legacy by the miles that they walk. We deserve no veneration, expect no accolades. Our desire? For our children to know who we are by the things we do and not by the words we say. Our hope? That doing our best to normalize foster care would one day lead to a county where being a foster family is the rule rather than the exception. 

The danger that hides within words meant to encourage is that setting our family apart as 'amazing' or 'incredible' implies that there's something different from "them" and "us". It creates a chasm that leaves potential foster families far from those that have gone before. There are children right now who are waiting for a home-  these Littles don't need 'incredible'. They're not looking for 'amazing'. A safe place, with arms that hug, and a heart that's willing will do just fine.

Building bridges out of knowledge that may lead to an abundance of safe and loving nests for kids to land in? That's incredible. That's amazing. That's what we need. That's what we want to be a part of.

Here's where I tell you what I meant when I said "things clicked". In my story from earlier I reasoned with my toddler wisdom that if I just covered myself up really well, no one would see me. I could hide beneath this flimsy piece of fabric and it would shield me from consequences and responsibility. I think sometimes it's easy to be that toddler, covering ourselves with our words, our motives, our shoulda, coulda, woulda's. But people see who we are by our actions. The towel could have been a tent and I would have still been found out because I was in the middle of the room! My words can wrap around me, but they're invisible. I'll still be seen- because it's my actions that will tell my story. I want my children to find their Right Thing, have the courage to step out of their bubble and into the adventure that comes with 'yes'.