The Things that Were Taken

It was bedtime, and our Girl wouldn't put down her toys.  She wouldn't put them away, so they were taken away, downstairs with the other toys for the night.  I rubbed the cocoa butter lotion on her skin and helped her dress in the pink and white pajamas and wrapped her hair in her purple scarf and covered her with her blankets.  But she wasn't happy about it.  "Mommy," she said, "I want the things back that were taken from me."  I know she meant the Monster toys that were downstairs, so I said, "In the morning, you can play with them again.  Now its time to sleep."  But as I walked across the hall to my own quiet room, her words echoed with me, and I heard a new meaning.  I thought about all the things that were taken from her, and I knew that the rising sun wouldn't begin to help restore those Things.

We are born into families, homes, cities that are varied and much of our early years is determined by the things we are given by our parents, what is culturally acceptable, what choices the big people around us make.  When I had my first baby, I had a job, a college degree, a loving husband, a home in a two-bedroom duplex on a quiet street in the suburbs.  I had a car and parents nearby who were excited to be grandparents for the first time.  I had a room full of gifts from friends and family, a brand-new crib, a dresser full of clothes, gender-neutral blankets, diapers and wipes that would last for five months.  All of this affected how James was raised, how he was loved and cared for and what he learned about family and his place in this world.  Even when, a few years later, we learned that he was different, that he would face challenges we had never known, it didn't change the fact that he was precious to us, that he was safe and loved. (Really it helped, because it gave us a better idea of how to love him, how to structure things to make life easier for him.)  But this Girl?  Even though she was born in the same city, she didn't have much of that.  For her, and too many other children in our country, in our world, she didn't learn from day one that she was precious.  She didn't see healthy, appropriate adult relationships.  Her development and interests were not the number one priority of her primary caregivers.  And when it was determined that she was a little different, that she would face challenges her mother had never known, it only made things harder.  She wasn't given the care she needed to thrive, and ultimately the state had to get involved.

What happened next...another Thing.  She was taken.  Sitting in a police car watching her mom yell and protest, and then someone brought her to our house.  New people, new rules, different food, different schedule.  Those first weeks with us, she asked so many questions.  She didn't understand how we related to each other.  One time, when she was in time-out for hitting one of the boys, she said, "My mom just whoops me."  Even the punishments are different here.  I don't know if she has figured it out yet, that even though she is one of four here, that her health and her safety are the number one priority.  That she is precious and loved, not because of what she does or how cute she is, but because she exists.  Because she is a child.  And I don't know how to explain that some things she will never get back.  She can never unsee those things.  She can never unfeel those hurts.  She can never get back these months that she has been apart from her Mama.  I know.  I've tried to pretend that I was someone else, someone who didn't lose her innocence too young.  But it happened, and I can't get it back.  How do I tell her that she has other things now, that life will replace those Things that were taken, that, although she is now marked by the system, that doesn't have to be a bad Thing?  That, hopefully, this experience has changed the home she came from into a safe place for her to live; that someday, when she's ready, she can talk about everything that has happened and find peace; that her heart has been shaped to break when she hears about other children just like her.  That she doesn't have to repeat the life of her mother or father, that she can find something new.

I wish I could wave my Foster Mom wand over her while she sleeps and make her understand these things when she wakes up.  But I don't have a wand, all I have is a warm bed for her tonight, hugs and kisses in the morning, and a mouth to pray for her future.  Won't you join me?

On Dreaming

A few years ago, as our Family Village was beginning and we were getting to know our leaders, Joe and Mandy, better, I began to read her blog.  It was a great way to learn more about her and her family, because she writes about funny things her kids say, her relationships, the crazy things she does at home (like throwing water on her husband or wearing underwear on her head), and most frequently, about following Jesus.  I remember one post in particular, in which she said that she and Joe were up late dreaming big dreams.  This post struck me because I realized I've lost the ability to dream.  I don't stay up late talking about my dreams because I don't have any.  When did that stop?  When did limits and shortcomings replace the "We Girls Can Do Anything Like Barbie" mentality that I was raised on?

I think its that I used to dream for me, my imagination running wild with what I would do, where I would go, how I would matter.  And some of those dreams came true, and some didn't, and I learned that I can't do everything.  I will never win American Idol or pilot a plane around the world (although I did fly one for about 15 minutes).  Some of my dreams were cast aside to make room for a new reality, and at this point in my life, I'm happy to be the mom of three beautiful boys instead of US Ambassador to France.  But there were no new dreams, no goals to reach.  I didn't think much of the future beyond what the weather would be like the next day or if we would be able to afford a vacation the next summer.  My life and my focus became so...narrow.  When I heard terms like "vision-casting", I just rolled my eyes and cynically thought, If it hasn't happened before, its not likely to happen now either.  Feeding the hungry, eradicating poverty, changing the world...it sounded like a children's story, with an ending wrapped in a nice little bow.

At this same time, as I was losing faith in myself and life became monotonous, a new hope was also taking root in my heart.  A hope in Someone greater than myself.  A Someone who wasn't limited by time, space, or ability.  And its that same Someone who enables Joe and Mandy to dream big about their mission, the people they lead and the way they live.  And I was reminded this past weekend at the IF: Gathering that following God (the One True God, the God of the Universe, the Alpha and Omega) means living with a purpose, a calling that is from Him.  "Your calling is where your talents and your burden collide," Rebecca Lyons declared.

Last night, I lay in bed with my husband, and we dreamed big dreams.  We talked about our burdens, the people that are never far from our thoughts, the ones we are broken-hearted for.  We talked about actually doing something, acting soon (immediately even) to reach them.  We talked about real things we can do by the end of this month to follow through.  And maybe those small steps, those quiet little Yes's will grow and blossom and become formal programs or big events.  But when we ask God to show us where we fit in His plan, instead of trying to get Him to show up in the ways we think best, it doesn't matter.  We dream, and He turns it into a beautiful reality.

In the Wilderness

A few weeks ago, I sent this message to the women of my Village, inviting them to join me at our IF: Local this weekend....

"Lately, I've been reading the gospels, and for the first time, I've been identifying with John the Baptist.  (Usually I am put off by the eating-locusts-living-in-the-wilderness-crazy-eyes part of his story)  He is described as "a voice shouting in the wilderness, 'Prepare the way for the Lord's coming!'" (Luke 3:4)  And this made me think, we are still living in the wilderness.  There are predators and dangers all around us, and some of us go for such a long time without a proper spiritual meal, existing on whatever we can find along the way.  God has been working on my heart to come out of the wilderness, to eat and drink from his word and to stop walking that fine line between good and evil.  And I want other women to experience this refuge that I've found, which is why IF has become so important to me.  I see the same heart for women in the speakers and planners of this event, and that's why I hope you'll find some time to join me.  If you can only come for one session, please do.  Even three hours of encouragement and community can go a long way in the wilderness of our souls."

Friday night, the conference began.  We were ready.  We came in, not knowing what to expect, hoping for the best.  And the women in Austin DELIVERED.  One after another, they spoke, they shared, they preached.  When Christine Caine came on the stage, I thought surely there is no way she can top what has already come.  I didn't know anything about her.  But she began to speak, and she directed us to Joshua 5, to the story about Joshua circumcising all the men because a generation had DIED in the wilderness, and the new generation had to rise up to take their place.  The previous generation had been delivered from slavery, but never made it to the full life, the freedom promised, the land flowing with milk and honey.  "Why settle for deliverance when we could be free?" Christine asked.  And so the next generation entered the Promised Land when all their parents had died.  Even Moses died in the wilderness; Joshua took over and finished the journey.  I'm not going down like that.  I AM NOT DYING IN THE WILDERNESS.  I am ready for something new, in my life, in my church, in this world.  I'm grabbing freedom, because free people free people.  "Let go of the weights and sin that entangle you," she said.  "Usher in the Second Coming," she proclaimed.

We weren't meant to wander in the wilderness, and we weren't meant to stay up on the mountain.  Those places are glimpses that we are to take with us into real life, into the endless cycle of laundry and dishes and hugs and crying eyes and REAL PEOPLE.  Come out and come down, but not the same.  Bring a changed heart and a new life to the world.  Abide in the truth of God's word, because the Truth sets you free.

If God is real, then what?
Then I believe.  I believe that I have a unique place in his Body, that I'm not redundant or unnecessary, like an appendix or a male nipple.