My Mess

My life is messy.  And by messy, I mean really messy.  

Before the mess I had two pretty normal teenage kids and comfortable, quiet house.  My husband and I could go out for a lunch or a dinner and be alone anytime we wanted.   We were in a good place.  Life was predictable.  I could go to lunch with my friends.  Have a pedicure now and then.  Exercise by myself every morning.  And I gave it all up and invited mess into my life.

In the past 6 months, the police have been to my house 4 times because a child ran away.  I have had to leave a public place more than once because a child was about to have a meltdown.  I have counted to 100 over and over to remain calm.  I have held a child sobbing the words “Why is this my life?  What did I do to deserve this?”.  And I had no answer.  I have had things thrown at me.  I have been snotted on, cried on, spit on held on, and hugged on.  I have sat with a child in a Bible class when none of the other children would sit next to her.  I have read stories, said prayers, answered hard questions and probably did it all wrong.  I have been exhausted emotionally, physically, and lost the ability to string words together.  

 I have questioned over and over again if this is really where God wants me.  Because this is messy.  I am not good at it.  I feel inadequate. 

 And that is where God meets me.  That is when a calm I have never had finds me.  I realize I am not enough but God is.  Somehow words inexplicably come and I have no idea where from.  And answers to the tough questions show up from nowhere.

Parenting is a tough job—ask any parent.  Parenting a child that has lost the ability to trust, has been hurt beyond what you can imagine, has gone days without food, has fought to maintain a human dignity because everything has been stolen from them is a special kind of tough.  Parenting that child is messy.  

But that makes the rewards so much more significant.  The little things.  She called me mom. He climbs in my husband’s lap and asks him to read a book.  A spontaneous hug.  Whispered words of hope—making a plan for tomorrow or even beyond tomorrow because a sense of a future is creeping in.  

The heartbreaks are real.  But the healing is profound.  The doubt is overwhelming.  But the steps towards trust are exciting.  Parenting a hurt child is messy.  But God can take a mess and turn it into a beautiful life.  And as a foster parent, you get to be the tool God uses to redeem His child.  Jesus specializes in cleaning up messes.  And he can use you to do it.

 

‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’  Matthew 25:40

She called me Mom today

She called me mom today.  I know it slipped out—we were all playing in the pool and in the middle of the games, she yelled “Let’s get Mom!”.  And a few minutes later, it came out again—“Momma”.  I know that our relationship is new and she has had many moms in her world.  And Aunts.   And Dads.  She tried to count the foster homes and the relative’s homes and places her mom took her to hide from her dad.  The list was long and her memories are at times intense and then the next second vague—flashes of a good memory and a sparkle in her eyes, then in an instant the happy thought is chased away by a bad memory that floods in.

It is hard to be around sad children.  Especially sad children that really have a reason to be sad.  Not the sadness that comes from going through the tough lessons of life like being grounded, a friend moving, or getting a bad grade.  I am talking about a deep sadness that comes from places most of us have never gone to and never will.  Abuse.  Parents that walk away.  Losing your siblings.  Trying to hide bruises and scars.  Kids that are living some horrible version of PTSD where there are no safe places…….

But she called me mom today.  That doesn’t mean that sadness is gone or that I am her mom or that her world is perfect now.  It may mean nothing at all.  But I choose hope.  I believe that her calling me mom might mean that she feels safe. It might mean that there is a kernel of trust growing between us.  It might mean that she feels hope.  And for me, that is an answered prayer.  I have prayed that she would feel like she was a part of our family.  That she would feel safe.  That she would feel wanted.  That she would feel loved.  And one day she would call us both Mom and Dad and mean it…….