Our Adventure

Back so many years ago (okay, like 9 years), as I was preparing to marry my love, I read the John Eldridge book Wild At Heart.  Say what you will, but that man can energize with his words.  I was bouncing up and down, ready to take on the world with Chris.  I remember excitedly talking about the book with him, about our future together, and ready to dream big.  "What is our adventure going to be?" I asked.  Chris gave me the dubious look I have come to know and love and sometimes resent.  He said our adventure for the time being would have to be living on a single income, as he was still looking for real, full-time work after dropping out of college.  Not the answer I was hoping for.  But we got married, he did find a good job to help pay the bills, and life started happening.  Within two years we were expecting our first child, Chris was going back to school, I was thinking about quitting my job to be a stay at home mom.  It seemed like adventure was on its way in the form of midnight feedings and exploding diapers.  We bought a house and settled in, getting used to being parents and a family of three.  Chris kept at the work and school, I tried to figure out what I was doing with my baby.  When the first year passed and we had kept our little guy alive, we started thinking about another baby, and shortly after James turned two, we welcomed Winston.  Chris finally finished school and we were a family of four, just your typical suburban dream.  But still I longed for Adventure.

It started small, a yellow highlighter through the books I was reading, a whisper as I scanned newspaper headlines.  When I look back now, I see a bright ribbon woven through my life from the very beginning, a ribbon that leads to children.  Children who are hurting, children who have been abandoned.  And the voice whispering, "They need good people to help them.  They need parents who will heal them."  And the realization: We are good people.  Chris and I are good parents.  They need us.  Slowly, timidly, we talked about foster care.  Slowly, timidly, we looked into the reality.  Slowly, timidly, we went to a local children's home for the weekend.  And that was when we said the bold YES.  Yes, we will do this.  Yes, we will be the parents who help children heal.  Yes, there are many reasons to hold off and wait, but there is one reason (one way more important reason) to say yes now.  Because they need us.  Now.

We began our training classes in March.  In fact, we spent our sixth wedding anniversary learning about attachment disorders with Miss Jan.  At one point, as we left another totally depressing class, Chris turned to me and said, "I don't think I can do this.  Its too much, the hurt and the brokenness."  I nodded.  He was absolutely right.  Our hearts broke each day as we learned about what happens to kids who are abused, neglected, abandoned.  Then I said, "There are always going to be kids in foster care.  The abuse isn't going to stop.  And knowing what we know now, I can't just go back home and pretend like its not happening.  We have the opportunity to help."  And the doubt was gone.  We were full-steam ahead through all the paperwork and interviews and inspections, and in eight months time, we were licensed foster parents.  They called us to take baby Michael after a month of waiting.  That placement became an adoption and now we are the happy parents of three amazing boys.  So we became open again.  We waited five months for a call, and were so excited on the day one finally came.  But within 15 minutes the circumstances had changed and there was no placement.  We waited some more.  The next week, a call came to provide respite.  This is a short-term placement wherein one foster family watches the foster kids of another family while they are out of town, medically unable to care for the kids, overwhelmed, whatever.  Only one thing gave me pause.  There were two kids needing beds, a brother and sister.  If you're doing the math, that would mean five days with five kids in the house.  Maxed out for space in the car and the beds.  Food disappearing from the fridge at an even faster rate.  I looked at the phone for a beat, and then said yes.  This is our adventure.  This is our calling.  This is our heart.  (And not to brag or anything, but we totally nailed it.  It was exhausting, it was challenging.  But we did it.)

While we were hosting these two spunky siblings, I read the story about Davion and his plea for parents.  I cried at how many children are still waiting for that placement, stuck in group homes or an endless parade of placements because there aren't enough good people willing to become foster parents.  I remember how scary it seemed to open our home to an unknown child with unknown issues.  I know its different from the Hallmark picture of giving birth in a halo of light to a child who will be yours and yours alone forever.  But if you are reading this, nodding your head and agreeing, Yes, they need parents!  They deserve parents! Please.  PLEASE.  Consider what you can do, right now, to change the life of a child in foster care.  Because as long as there are people looking for a way out of their present reality through drugs or alcohol or World of Warcraft, there will be dealers and enablers, and the children will suffer the most.  As long as there are cycles of abuse and poverty, with no one to intervene with education and healing, children will be at risk.  They are the most vulnerable people in the world, and they need someone to stand up, to speak out, to give them a safe place to grow.  Its my adventure, and it might be yours too.

For local folks: www.starkadoptfoster.com
For the US: www.heartgalleryofamerica.org

In the Leaves

Today was a good day, the kind of good that reaches deep and fills me with joy.  Not like yesterday, when an interrupted nap caused me to cry along with Michael, when I unsuccessfully tried to referee a fight with the rear-view mirror and ended up throwing a baseball glove back to get the boys' attention.  Today, we had nowhere to go.  We had no appointments or meetings to hurry for, no one waiting for us to arrive or depending on my ability to get shoes on small, wiggly feet.  This morning, perhaps for the first time ever, Winston willingly shared his cars with Michael, and as they played peacefully, I was able to get my shower.  Once we were all dressed for the day, the boys insisted we play outside, and thanks to this beautiful weather, a week of sunshine and falling leaves, we found ourselves in the backyard jumping around in piles of crackling leaves.  I took pictures to capture the moment, to share it with my husband busy at work and relatives who only experience our family via social networking.  The joy of the moment is caught on my children's smiling faces, but the pictures hide my internal struggle.

Last night, I read Matt Walsh's blog about At Home Moms, and I realized that a war is raging within me all day.  First I am a woman, a list-maker and do-er, someone who derives identity and worth from what she can accomplish.  That woman was a great student and employee, always doing more and more.  She set goals and made things happen.  But that woman became a mother.  A mother is a nurturer and giver, whose time is best spent being: being with her children, being present in the moments that come unbidden and without warning, the first steps and the first words and the questions and the requests to read the book again, play the game again, make me another meal, change another diaper.  Being alert to the nonverbal signals that a child is tired, hungry, wet, scared, needs his mama.  And if you haven't already figured it out, doing and being come into conflict over and over.

The woman in me says leaves should be raked and collected and gotten rid of.
The mom in me says leaves are meant to be raked into a pile over and over so children can jump and throw and kick and laugh.
The woman in me says an hour playing outside with no accomplished task is a waste of time.
The mom in me says playing outside means setting aside the list of things to do and enjoying with the kids.
The woman in me sees the grass stains and dirty pants and panics that they won't come out in the wash.
The mom in me sees the grass stains and dirt as a measure of how much fun is being had.
The woman in me looks for a way to make this time productive, like teaching ABCs or learning to identify the trees.
The mom in me looks at happy faces and thinks her children are teaching her something.

Sometimes I need Winston to dump out my bag of leaves and shout, "I want a BIG PILE!" to remember that moms don't need to have the nicest lawn or the cleanest house.  They need to have secure children who know they are loved and valued.  And they need to stop doing, and just be.  So the mom in me is glad that I made that decision many years ago to stop working at a job and make motherhood my job.  That my husband supports us and supports me in who I am.  That lists are fine and good and have a place, but don't contain my worth as a person.