Connection above correction

Yesterday I spoke to a group of children's ministry leaders. The topic? Trauma.

I was given 20-30 minutes.

So I titled my talk, "The Foundation for a  Trauma-Informed Ministry", gave them a definition of trauma, reminded them that trauma is a ministry and it's not going away, and then shared 4 paradigm shifts in responding to children who have experienced trauma. Actually, I told them, I'm giving you the four most important things I'd want you to know if I were dropping off Victor in one of your programs.

Because the church should be the place where persons acting out due to trauma should be most accepted. Where connection always comes before correction. My four points yesterday? See the child not the behavior. Negative behavior is not to be controlled; it is communication to be deciphered. It's not that the child won't behave; the child can't behave...yet. Children are not attention-seeking; they are connection-seeking.

The question came up, as it always does, "But if I'm doing these things for the children acting up, won't the 'good' kids feel left out?"

Maybe. So if a "good" kid needs to take a backpack of papers to the hall monitor for a break from the room and a chat one-on-one with someone who cares, then let him. Maybe the "good" kid just wants to see what happens when "that kid" gets to leave the room each Sunday or maybe the "good" kid is having a bad day and needs the connection that usually goes to the kid who needs it most. Either way, what's wrong with that?

This morning I was reminded of a time when I, the proverbial rule-following "good kid" could have used connection instead of correction.

I was in eighth grade. A rough age for many and I was no exception. The internal struggle was real and that day a peer said something that exposed a weak and vulnerable place and I was hurt. The next class was with a teacher that knew me and my family well. I remember putting my head on my desk and checking out. I so desperately wanted that teacher to see me, to ask what was wrong, to connect with my broken heart. Instead, she came over and yelled at me to open my book and engage in the discussion. No questions. No conversation. No connection.  So I stuffed my feelings and did as I was told. I was, after all, one of the good kids.

When I speak about trauma, I often share a story involving one of my children. As a young teen, she was serving in children's ministry at the church. She entered a large group session and noticed a girl sitting alone with feet on the chair, coat on, zipped up over her knees and body, and hood over her head. While my children may never foster or adopt because they know the chaos it causes in the home, they are certainly prepared for trauma in the real world and God is going to use that just as He did that day in that room with a child who was communicating something. Was it a child of trauma communicating big feelings of hardship or a "good" kid communicating a hurt? Who knows? We don't need to know.

My daughter told me how she went over and just sat next to the girl. She made some small talk, trying to start a conversation. The hidden girl wasn't feeling much like talking but that was okay. My daughter knew that her job wasn't to have a conversation (unless that's what the child wanted). It wasn't her job to correct. It was her job to connect. She was willing to sit there for the rest of the session if necessary. However, an adult swooped in, told the girl to take off her coat, sit up, and join the group. The girl complied but to what expense? Connection was broken.

Either we spend time meeting children's emotional needs by filling their cup with love or we spend time dealing with the behaviors caused from their unmet needs. Either way we spend the time.
-Pam Leo

Jesus spent the time. He stopped. He looked. He was moved to compassion and He loved. He connected before He corrected.

Connection always trumps correction. Always.

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.

In this way, love is made complete among us 

so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment,

because in this world we are like Him.

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear,

because fear has to do with punishment.

The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

We love because He first loved us.

1 John 4:16b-19

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Overheard

I have said many times, and likely even in this very place, that I am extremely thankful to have been a new parent before social media. The pressure to live up to another's carefully selected public persona would have been too much for my sensitive psyche. My lower-than-low self-esteem would have plummeted. And the first hint of public shaming online would have done me in.

Thankfully God has had me on a healing journey of redeeming that orphan spirit and revealing my true identity. And thankfully that journey was well on its way before I joined the social media arena.

But that's not to say that I have perfected the art of letting negative experiences roll off of my back. For me, it's good old-fashioned out-and-about-in-the-public overt condemnation, or even perceived judgement, that can send me reeling.

This past week we were on vacation. This is usually the place where I can relax the easiest, where God and I take walks together and have long talks, and where I find the most healing in this thing called life. Last year at this time, our beach vacation started in chaos as one of our own struggled with effects of past trauma and mental illness. This year promised to be different.  However, chaos still reigned but this time with another child.

Victor struggles with change and transition. Factor in less sleep, more-than-usual constant movement and sensory overload and it's a perfect storm. It's one things to ride out his rages in the privacy of our own home but another to do so for all to see on a public beach or crowded boardwalk. The beach is his favorite place but splashing in the ocean isn't always fun for the adult who gets too close. Jumping on the beach means that others might get sprayed by sand and when it's time to transition from fun to beach house for clean up, a loud tantrum is guaranteed. One particular grandmother with the privilege of sitting too near our group should have taken a picture; it would have lasted longer.

So by the last evening, I was well beyond my shame capacity. Try as I might to put it into perspective (ie. It doesn't matter what others think...They don't know what Victor's dealing with...They don't have any idea what our life is like...My identity doesn't lie in what some grandmother that I'll never see again thinks of me and my parenting...Blah, blah, blah...), I was failing miserably.

With a lot of pre-talk and role playing, we managed the transition from rides to this-is-the-last-ride to the-tickets-are-gone with just a small blip in emotional regulation. We decided to stop for ice cream before heading to the van. All was going well until Victor found that his chair was best used as a drum with hands for drum sticks. The people around us, whose ears have probably not been exposed to excessive drumming for the past five years, didn't need this extraneous noise so the Good Doctor asked him to stop. To the inexperienced, it probably sounded more like John had asked him to remove all of his fingers.

I was done. I scooped up what was left of my sundae and just walked toward the van as fast as I could. The Good Doctor remained with the raging six year old who was intent on telling the whole state of New Jersey exactly how he felt about the injustice of not drumming on chairs in public places.

As I speed walked, the tirade continued...

"I hate you!"

And then, another voice from right behind me, "If that was my child, I'd smack him upside the head."

"You're a dummy!"

"My kids knew they could never talk to me like that!"

"You're so stupid!"

"I know how to handle kids like that..."

There were many things I wanted to say to that woman, none of which were very nice so I kept walking. I considered saying nothing, and kept walking. I didn't want to turn my shame into shaming her. And if I were perfectly honest, a long time ago I would have been thinking the exact same things. (Oh, how much I "knew" as a new teacher with no children of her own!)

Finally, when I felt like my heart was in the right place, wanting simply to bring awareness rather than attack, belittle, or lash out, I slowed and turned around to face the couple. As quietly and as gently as I could, I said, "Except this child has special needs and none of those things would work. In fact, they would just make his rages worse." And then none of us knew what to say so I turned back on my way and they fell in a few steps behind again.

I share this story not for people to condemn the woman I overheard, or to feel guilty themselves for judging in the past,  or to think that I am in some way a better person for speaking up. The retelling of this experience is to first and foremost remind all of us, including myself, that every person is fighting some kind of battle; we should strive to always choose grace and compassion instead of judgement. Secondly, I share to suggest a better response. What if they had instead gone to John and asked if they could have helped? There was probably nothing they could have done but that simple act would have spoken volumes. Or, as a friend related to me, the woman could have turned, smiled, and said, "Good job, Dad." Maybe even, "I'm sorry." Sure, there are parents who make poor choices (Guilty!) but even if that is what you are witnessing, an encouraging word or offer of help could sure go a long way to changing the course of future parent-child interactions.

 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, 

but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 

Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. 

But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 

I press on toward the goal to win the prize 

for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

Phil. 3:12-14

Offense

"Of one thing I am sure. Complaining is self-perpetuating and counterproductive. 

Whenever I express my complaints in the hope of evoking pity and 

receiving the satisfaction I so much desire, the result is always the opposite of what I tried to get. 

A complainer is hard to live with, and very few people know how to respond to the complaints 

made by a self-rejecting person. The tragedy is that, often, the complaint, once expressed, 

leads to that which is most feared: further rejection.... Joy and resentment cannot coexist." 

Henri Nouwen, ‪The Return of the Prodigal

A few years ago, the kids and I were studying the life of Joseph. I remember asking the children to think about why Joseph received favor wherever he went - with Potiphar, with the guards in prison, with fellow prisoners, and with Pharaoh. We talked about Joseph's character in spite of suffering and hardship. Clearly, we determined, he could not have allowed life's circumstances to make him bitter and angry. If so, he would not have been the kind of person that others held in such high esteem despite his position as a slave and prisoner. And, I'll admit, at the time, I meant the conversation to be a (hopefully) learning experience for a child or two, a lesson about good attitudes and respectful interactions.

This morning, the lesson was for me. I was reading about Joseph in Genesis and something in chapter 45 jumped out at me: Joseph gave his brothers brand-new clothes, money, food, everything they would need for their trip home, and more. Not only did this man of integrity find favor with everyone he worked under, he was able to lavish gifts on the same men who had been the cause of his suffering all those years.

And the only comment recorded that references their actions toward him years before? "Take it easy on the journey; try to get along with each other." (MSG) Get along with each other? Not, "Make sure you don't kill each other along the way?" or "Hey, don't lie to Dad this time. I'm alive. I wasn't eaten by a wild animal?" or even, "Good luck explaining this one to the man you've been lying to all these years. Hope you can get yourself out of this mess!"

There is no place I have had to work harder on forgiveness than with the most difficult children in my home. And there is no place I have had to work harder at taming my tongue than with these same children. My human nature bends toward offense, bitterness, anger, and revenge. My hardened heart says, "You hurt me and you can't get away with that. I'm going to remind you of this until you repent and change!"

But Jesus steps in and says, "I was hurt, too. In fact, every time a child rejects you, that child is rejecting me more than you. You know who you are, Cindy, and whose you are. Face this child with my love and you'll lead your child to see me as a good, good Father, too."

Joseph is a fruitful bough a fruitful bough by a well (spring or fountain), 

whose branches run over the wall. Skilled archers have bitterly attacked and sorely worried him; 

they have shot at him and persecuted him. But his bow remained strong and steady and rested in the Strength that does not fail him, for the arms of his hands were made strong and active by the hands of the Mighty God of Jacob, by the name of the Shepherd, the Rock of Israel. 

Genesis 49:24 (AMP)

Bleeding

I have seen this quote, different backgrounds, different sites, different focus groups, several times in the past six months or so.

It hits me hard each time. Sometimes because I'm the one being bled upon. Sometimes it's just a trickle, other times it's gushing and can't be quickly stopped. And sometimes, I realize, I am the one doing the bleeding.

We all have wounds. Some go deep. Some are generational. Wounds inflicted on us by others, some we cause ourselves.

But all wounds can be healed. Every. Single. One.

I'm not saying that healing is easy. It's not. Often times it's more comfortable to keep our wounds. At least a few. They give us a false sense of entitlement to be bitter, angry, hurt, sad, impatient....

The more I've pondered this quote, the more I think about my own healing. I recognize that if I don't continue the healing process (and continue it until the day I die), not only will I continue to bleed on people who didn't cut me but when bled upon, I won't be in a position to help. Instead, feeling wounded myself, I'll open my own wounds which will begin to bleed.

Henri Nouwen and others have used the term "wounded healers" to describe those who can withstand being bled upon by another. Again, I've pondered this phrase and how we get there. I've decided that we have three choices in life. We can be...

• Wounded Wounders - We all start here, I think. Before we recognize that we are wounded and before we start to heal. There's no shame in being a wounded wounder, unless we are unwilling to move beyond. This is where we bleed all over people, sometimes without realizing it. We don't understand why and how we leave such a mess in our wake.
• Healing Wounders - We find safe places to work on our "stuff", with friends, clergy, counselors, psychiatrists, and Jesus. As wounds come to the surface, we face them and find healing. We now see our own bleeding as a sign that it's time to face the healing process again. However, when others bleed on us, we either can't, or won't, face it. We are not willing or able to allow other wounded people to bleed on us because we fear that their bleeding will open old wounds in us.
• Wounded Healers - We have done a lot of difficult work to heal our own wounds. New wounds come to the surface at times but we now have an arsenal of healing measures and we know where to go and how to get there for healing. The healing process hasn't necessarily gotten easier but we are ready for it. We have our Heavenly Father and a community of Wounded Healers to walk with us. Now, when others bleed on us, their blood cannot penetrate our old, healed wounds. Instead, we can allow their blood to flow without fear of being affected ourselves. We don't run from the flow; we allow it to connect us to the wounded one. We often find that it is our own healed wounds that draw others to us. By offering the safety of our healing presence, we can point others to the One who  holds the answers to all of our wounds. We see purpose in our healed wounds.

If we believe that we are to live as Christ, running "to the mess", bringing hope and love to those who desperately need it, then we are going to be bled upon. We need to constantly ask ourselves, "What do I need to be healed from so that another's bleeding does not open my own wounds?" Our wounds may or may not have been our fault. Moving from a Wounded Wounder to a Wounded Healer is, however, our responsibility.

"Nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people, whether physically, 

emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not, 'How can we hide our wounds?' 

so we don't have to be embarrassed, but 'How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?' When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, 

we have become wounded healers."

Henri Nouwen

No surprises, problems, or mistakes

There are a few inspirational writers that I follow on social media. Ruth Simmons Chou is one. Christine Caine is another. Jason Johnson. Jen Hatmaker. And Ann Voskamp.

Yesterday, she wrote these simple, yet beautiful-to-me words:

As some of our friends and family know, we are walking through some very tough situations with two of our children. There always seems to be something. And that's okay. I've come so far and learned so much. I've learned to sit with my friend, Jesus, who also calls me friend, and to give it all to Him and I'm learning to give up control. Funny, the lyrics on my lips as I woke up this morning were,

God You don't need me

But somehow You want me

Oh, how You love me

Somehow that frees me

To take my hands off of my life

And the way it should go.

(Tenth Avenue North, Control)

There are so many things I would not have learned about myself, about this journey of life, about others, and about God, if I had not surrendered my life to whatever God asks of me. Control, it's not mine really. Results, they aren't about me. Success, the definition isn't mine.

A good friend, another special needs momma, showed me how personalizing Voskamp's statements can be an excellent reminder on the rough days and in the tough times. Maybe you have a child or situation you need to give to God today. You can't control your child, you can't choose the results, and God's definition of success is a whole lot better than yours. I promise you!

Try it for yourself...

*Child's name* is not a surprise to God!

*Child's name* is not a problem to God!

*Child's name* is not a mistake by God!

Anything is possible for *child's name* with God!

They were never ours from the beginning. They have always been God's and they do not surprise Him, they are not a problem to Him, they are not mistakes by Him, and in His great plan everything is possible for them!

Train up your child in the way he should go. She's not a surprise.  He's not a problem. She's not a mistake. Remember that the results are in God's hand and in Him nothing is impossible.

Proverbs 22:6. Kind of.

Shepherding

In early 2000, the Good Doctor and I worked with a local pregnancy center, in their "shepherding program." As a shepherding home, we opened our doors to single mothers-to-be. They lived with us while pregnant and for a few months afterward, until they transitioned to their next home.

The first young mother came to our home when I was pregnant with Isaac. We not only talked about pregnancy and babies together but I taught her to cook (when she came she thought that being able to macaroni and cheese out of a box was the epitome of meal prep) and tried to prepare her for life as a single parent. As we spent more time with her it became apparent that she was suffering from significant mental illness and likely would not be able to parent on her own. In the end, she transitioned to a group home where she could live with her daughter and have more supervision than if she had found her own apartment. She continued to spend time with us on birthdays and holidays. We stayed in touch for several years and know that she did eventually live on her own and had at least two more children. Along the way we lost contact with her.

The second mother, though younger than the first, definitely had a better skill-set for life on her own. I was able to accompany her through delivery and to witness the birth of her son. We have also lost contact with her but last we heard, she was living on her own with her son and successfully attending community college.

I  often wonder about these two women and their children who would be teens themselves now. I pray that they are in communities where they are loved and where their children have come to know the Lord. We never know what seeds we plant or how our lives have impacted another. I recently ran across the beautiful letter that the second mother gave us when she moved out...

"To: John, Cindy, Andrew, Jesse, Mariana, and Isaac -

I appreciate all that you have done for m. You all will be blessed and then some.

Please be careful of who you allow in because this world is getting more and more vicious. Everyone isn't who they claim to be and I would hate to see something ba happen to you guys. Many good things will come your way. Thank you for allowing me to have roof over my head and food to eat. My son will definitely be told about you all when he gets older.

To all the kids:  Be grateful of your parents. They are the best thing that happened to you. You all are very fortunate to have parents who care about others besides themselves. When you get old enough to understand what I'm saying then you too will realize what beautiful people you have in your lives.

Mariana, I know you always wanted a sister. Be patient and you just might get what you wish. If not, you can always call on me. As of right now, your mom is the closest you'll get to a wonderful, caring and trusting sister.

To all the kids: When all else fails, you can always turn to your family and God. You can never go wrong there.

Cindy, Thank you for coming to the hospital with me. If you weren't there, I would have fainted by now. It was a crazy experience, but I got a beautiful son out of it all. Thank you for all the tips.

John, You keep being the great preacher and parent that you are now and you will have all you need. Believe that!

To all the boys, Be good for your mother and father. Always protect your little sister. She is precious to you all. Keep your head in those books and continue to be excellent with the violin.

There aren't enough words for me to say to you all about how much I appreciate what you have done for me."

Birthmother's day

In some circles, this day (the day before Mother's Day) is known as Birthmother's Day.

I understand why some wanted to create a day alone for birthmothers but I'm not sure it's a day to be celebrated. No woman ever chooses to be in a situation where she cannot raise her own child. No one grows up looking forward to choosing another family for her child.  No woman chooses to be an "orphan" herself, with no one to encourage or support her as she raises her child.

So while I am all about celebrating the courageous women who labor not only to bring a child into this world but to selflessly labor in choosing what she deems to be the best future for her child, I'm not sure it's a day to be celebrated.

There is always grief involved in foster care and adoption. For all parties. There is always a separation. Often times, there are life-long struggles for the birth family, child, and new family.

To C--, I--, T--, and B--, today is not a day to send you flowers or cards. No, today is a day to tell you that we celebrate you each and every day. We honor you in our home.  We hope that we have not added to your pain but that in some way, we have been able to lead you to the One who can bring you comfort and healing. We hope that you have felt our love and acceptance of you as individuals and as the first mothers to each of our children. We know you were not perfect but neither are we. We ask for grace as we, with God's help, strive to raise your children in a way that would make you proud. We love your children and we love you.

No matter what

In the face of yet another school tragedy, where kids are killing kids, social media has lit up once again with pie-in-the-sky, more-divisive-than-uniting answers to what I think we all know, deep down, are systemic issues with many roots.

I usually stay out of the conversation. I'm not a Rhodes Scholar, I have few letters behind my name, I have no intentions of ever being a doctoral candidate, and I parent enough trauma in my own home that sometimes I just can't deal with the trauma outside. And for that I am sorry.

But of course, as the story unraveled yesterday, there were themes from this young man's story that jumped out at me, themes that the media barely touched on - adoption, death of parents, expulsion from school (yes, even this one). Why? Because in my world, all of these themes shout trauma, rejection, separation - heaped one upon the other in what must have felt to this young man like love would never be stable, never be close enough to reach, and never for him.

No, not every child from a place of trauma is going to take a gun into a school. Not every child is going to take his inner turmoil out in such a public way. Some children have more resilience than others and as of yet, we have not figured out how to determine the amount of resilience a child has. Are there some children who suffer extreme trauma yet miraculously heal? Yes! Do some children, teens, and adults walk the difficult path of recovery and come out not just healed, but healers, on the other side? Yes!

This we do know. If there is going to be healing, it takes the unconditional love of at least one caring adult. Someone who says, "I'm here for you through thick and thin. Pull out everything you've got. Show me your worst. I'm not leaving." Past trauma makes it difficult to connect, to attach, to receive and give love. That shouldn't matter. Each child deserves at least one person in their corner. Sometimes it's a parent. Sometimes it can't be. That's where the rest of us need to step in.

There's a meme that pops up each time there's tragedy inflicted by a juvenile and it says something like, "We need to care less about whether our children are academically gifted and more about whether they sit with the lonely kid in the cafeteria." I agree. But it's not that simple. We can't assume that we can send our kids to school and they're going to learn to sit with the lonely. Similarly, we can't expect to talk with our kids about sitting with the lonely and have it happen just like that. At best, we'll raise kids who are great at telling everyone how they should care for the outcast. At worst, we'll raise kids who don't care at all. Why? Because, as we all know deep down, our kids are watching more than they're listening. And they all reach that magic age where their hypocrisy meters are fully charged. We can't possibly expect to tell them what to do if we aren't doing the same.

I'll be the first to admit that loving those who can't or don't love back is not easy. It's easy to love those who love back. It's easy to bless those who are already blessed. But what about those who react to our love and blessing with anger and hate?

I fail at this. Too often. But I try. And not just because I feel like I need to show my kids what to do. But because I know it's what Jesus does for me. If I'm not inviting the stranger, the outcast, the lonely into our home, then I'm not living like Jesus and I can't expect my children to do so. If I am not friendly or kind to those I deem unworthy because they won't reciprocate, then I can't expect my children to do so. If I'm not willing to meet people in their place of sorrow and hurt, then my children won't, either. At the same time, if I'm not modeling boundaries so that I don't succumb to compassion fatigue or burnout, how will my children learn to set their own healthy boundaries? If I'm not walking my own healing journey, being saved from my own stumbling blocks, how will my children know they need to do the same? Wounded people may wound people but healed people can heal people!

I'm not naive enough to think that there's one easy solution for the systemic issues surrounding violence, but I do know that there are a lot of people who need unconditional love. And I'm trying to do my part to love when it's not easy, to step into another's "stuff", and to model this so my children do the same.

Yet

Yet this I call to mind

and therefore I have hope:

Because of the Lord's great love

we are not consumed,

for His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3: 21 - 23

"His mercies are new every morning," began running through my head last night, in the midst of the most recent chaos. Over and over again, "His mercies are new every morning." I prayed this over several of my children.

And then I woke this morning with the same song on my lips.

I opened up my Bible to read the whole passage and something else jumped out at me...

YET

I was looking through Psalms, thinking that was where I would find this passage. Sounds like David, right?

I still think it sounds like David but this morning it meant so much more to me right in the middle of Lamentations. David was a great lamenter, especially as he searched inward. The author of lamentations looks not just inward, but also to the collective sins and chaos and captivity of his people. We lament, we grieve, we confess, and we cry out. But in the midst of it we can declare,

YET! 

Because I remember Your faithfulness,
I have hope.
Because You love me with extravagant love,
I am not consumed by fear or doubt or anxiety.
Because Your compassion and mercy never fail me,
Every morning I can wake
renewed and choosing to walk in Your faithfulness.

Because...YET!

Four flat tires

I remember the day I first saw the inside of a baseball. My brother had a ball with stitches coming out. He decided to take the whole thing apart. I never imagined that it would be tightly wound yarn over a round cork. I was amazed. That wasn't what I had imagined being inside a baseball. I don't know what I thought was under the leather, but that certainly wasn't it.

Just the other day I was given another surprise - the inner recesses of a simple bedroom door. I knew they were hollow. I had attempted to attach items to doors with little success but I never thought beyond their hollowness. I guess I'm easily stupefied.

Maybe, for most people, the bigger question is how a bedroom door would come to look this way.

Let me try to explain it through a short analogy a friend (another adoptive mom by the way, go figure) shared with me the other day.

For most of us, if we are driving along and one of our car's tires runs over a nail and becomes flat, our response would be to stop, fix the problem, and continue on our way. We would think it ridiculous if someone pulled over and proceeded to punch holes in the other three tires thereby rendering the car useless.

For children suffering from trauma, however, the second situation is life's reality. They aren't thinking through this, "Oh, I see I have a flat tire, I think I'll make all of my tires flat now." They can't explain what they are doing or why they are doing this. It just happens. And afterward, they look at the devastation they caused with just as much surprise as we do. Except now they add it as another layer of shame and anger and disgust. The same brain pathways that went from one flat tire to four in 10 seconds flat, will do so again in the future with the same shock and awe as the previous time. And now, they might even punch out all of the tires in the closest-parked stranger's (or, more likely, family member's) car as well.

It takes years of loving care, of never giving up, of accepting four flat tires with the same love and respect (and sometimes a blind eye) as if it were just one that had been fixed and now we can all go on our way. It takes years of healing, of attempting to heal, of messing up, and starting over. It means understanding that when you say yes to family, family is forever, no matter what. When you say yes to befriending someone, it means sticking with them forever. It means boundaries and tough decisions and it means loving and not worrying about the outcome. It means being confident of your identity in Christ so you can help someone else find theirs. A person could go through life alone, always puncturing all four tires and picking up the pieces themselves, but why should they? Jesus always went toward the mess, offering again and again to help fix all of the tires. He didn't turn His back or run away from the ugly, the imperfect, and the difficult. We need to do the same.

Look around you. If you look, you will find the people who go from one flat tire to four. Deep down, they're struggling. They feel unlovable. They're afraid; all negative behaviors are rooted in fear. They need followers of Jesus who aren't afraid to stand with them as they replace all four tires - again.

Will you walk into the mess? If trauma is the mission field of our day, are you ready to join the work?

Redemption wins

There's no pretty school today. Fall break. It's only noon and already I've been slapped twice, hard, on the back (the back that still suffers from the effects of another child's trauma), bear the signs of multiple scratchings on my arms and legs (I guess it's time to put the capris and short sleeves away in favor of longer pants and sleeves), have a bite mark on my hand, had forks and toys thrown at me, and yelled at enough to decrease my hearing. Why? Well, let's see, because I asked him to stop banging the silverware on the steps, the MP3 player needed charging, the chair wasn't in the right place, I asked him to use the potty, the drawer of my sewing table is fake and won't open, he spilled his water when trying to pour from one cup to the other, I won't let him use cleaning supplies, I asked him to wear underwear ..... It really doesn't matter. If he's upset, he's likely to become dysregulated, and I make a good target.

It's days like this when I say enough! I'm done. I can't do this anymore. Parenting trauma is too hard. Loving is too exhausting and painful.

But that's not an option. When we said yes to kids from hard places, we said yes to every single one of their coping mechanisms, all of their trauma-based behaviors, each and every fight, flight, or freeze response. Kind of like marriage - for better or worse.

Some days are better. Some days are worse. So I take a break and separate myself to pray. To claim that promise that this child would be victorious. He WILL be victorious.

And just when I think I can't take anymore he brings me his Braille alphabet book and sweetly tells me he found the letter U and the umbrella. He invites me into his space. So I will go.

But I will go with prayers for all of my friends doing hard things. Stepping into the darkness with people. Holding hands with the weary, grieving, broken. Allowing ourselves to be uncomfortable so others can be comfortable. So others can heal.

Where redemption wins.

Worn

Tenth Avenue North

I'm tired
I'm worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes to keep on breathing

I've made mistakes
I've let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world
And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

I want to know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
'Cause I'm worn

I know I need
To lift my eyes up
But I'm too weak
Life just won't let up
And I know that You can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

I want to know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
Cause I'm worn

And my prayers are wearing thin
I'm worn even before the day begins
I'm worn I've lost my will to fight
I'm worn so heaven so come and flood my eyes

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

I want to know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
Yes all that's dead inside will be reborn
Though I'm worn
Yeah I'm worn

The Lord has a will

There's an old piece of tablet paper in my Bible, with the words to a song from my camp counselor days at Bethany Birches Camp. I had copied the words down from the song leader's chart paper, never knowing it's author or source. This morning as I opened my Bible, the piece of paper caught my eye and I googled the title. Imagine my surprise to find that it is an Amy Grant song (a very young looking Amy Grant, I might add!). You might be surprised that a product of the 80s didn't know her Amy Grant but you have to remember that only hymns were true Christian songs in many of our homes. I don't think I even knew of Amy Grant until the song, Friends, came out. I guess that one was okay because it could be used for graduations at Christian schools. Along with hymns, of course.

The song? The Lord Has a Will.

I need you Lord, in all I do.

You're always there to see me through.

I can't get by unless I lean on you, Lord.

Chorus:

The Lord has a will,

and I have a need

to follow that will;

to humbly be still.

To rest in it, nest in it,

fully be blessed in it;

following my father's will.

Your law of love is in my heart.

You wrote it there, it won't depart.

It lights my way, and keeps me out of the dark.

I even found a third verse that I never knew existed:

I thank you, Lord. Your word is sown

into my life, and there it's grown.

It's roots go deep where living waters are known.

There are days I hate following His will. Days when it feels like it'd be so much easier to do my own thing, to turn my back on traumatized kids. Days when I wonder if the effects of trauma can ever be healed and a difference made. Days when I don't want to have to look at myself and at what God wants to change in me so that I can better love these kids. Days when I say biological children are hard, why do I need harder than hard? Days when I want to join so many others who simply share needs and the lack of good in the world on social media instead of getting their hands dirty doing the hard work day in and day out.

And some days I do quit. In my mind I say I'm done. I have myself a little pity party. I hide and cry out to God. I tell Him it's too hard and that I don't want this assignment anymore. I tell Him I'm tired of being rejected. I'm tired of being lied to, blatantly disobeyed, and yelled at. I'm tired of chasing after run-aways and tip-toeing around volatile emotions and tempers.

When I'm done, and the tears are gone, and there's nothing left but weariness and quietness, He steps in and speaks words of comfort and encouragement. he rends me of His promised. he brings Scripture to mind. He points me to Jesus and says, "Look, He did the hard work, too. He followed my will. He got His hands and feet dirty. He was rejected. I don't expect you to be perfect like my Son. There is plenty of grace for your mistakes. I only ask that you rest in me. Drink from my living water and keep your roots strong. Nest in me, believing that I will care for you like a mother bird cares for her hatchlings. Allow me to open your eyes to see the blessing of following my will. Yes, there is blessing in the pain. I am there. Open your eyes and see!"

The Lord has a will,

and I have a need

to follow that will;

to humbly be still.

To rest in it, nest in it,

fully be blessed in it;

following my father's will.

Speak up for foster care

May is National Foster Care Month. Proverbs 31: 8 - 9 says to

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,

for the rights of all who are destitute.

Speak up and judge fairly;

defend the rights of the poor and needy.

so I am going to do just that.

I don't have experience as a foster child and though there are few foster or former foster children who recognize that they have a voice, there are some who speak out on their behalf. For the many who can't or won't, I'll do what I can. John and I have been involved in various forms of the foster care system off and on for about 23 years. We've done cradle care (foster care for infants waiting for the adoptive parents to arrive), shepherding (pregnant teens), kinship care, and foster care. Over the years, I've come to learn that I despise bureaucracy and paperwork, that foster parents are treated more like criminals than parents, that foster parents are asked to love and sacrifice and call them our own all without any legal rights, no standing in court, and knowing that they could be taken away at any time. I decided a long time ago that I don't do this for the system; I do it for the kids. And if I think my role is difficult, it's nothing compared to that of a foster child.

As much as the system wears down the kids and burns out the foster families, there are two truths that must be known so that the rest of the world can begin to understand the plight of the foster child:

1. The American foster care system is a broken system legislated by broken people who employ broken people who are to look out for the best interests of broken children from broken families and then place those children in homes full of more broken people.  And we wonder why this results in more brokenness?

2. Foster children need and deserve the wisdom of Solomon when decisions are made on their behalf but instead they find themselves tossed around by one-size-fits-all legislation.

Many states allow children to remain in care until they are 21 but few choose to do so and leave care at 18. They have no faith in a system that has failed them over and over and in the end, failed to give them permanency. And with a still-developing teen-age brain that has experienced multiple childhood rejections and trauma, they lack the reasoning and foresight to look into a future without a support system, life skills, income potential, and housing.

And then the statistics are staggering.

Children who were promised safety, a home, and a family now find that 1 in 5 of them will be homeless, only 1 in 2 will be employed at age 24, less than 3% will earn college degrees (despite full funding for former foster children), and 7 of every 10 young women will be pregnant within 3 years of leaving care.*

And so we fight for our kids; we fight to give them a home and a hope and a future. We fight to give them a voice.

Will you fight for a child, too? Dare to be uncomfortable in this broken system so you can bring comfort to a child who often doesn't even know how to accept it?  Step up, Church.





*Jim Casey Youth Operatives Initiative

Rest, support, remember, and praise

There's something wrong with American Christianity.

Well, lots of things, not the least of which is the word American set before Christian. But those are lots of posts for lots of other days.

One of the problems that I see a lot is that when a Christian in America receives a clear, God-given call to serve the vulnerable (whether through ministry to those caught in sex trafficking, through orphan care, meeting the needs of the homeless, or any number of ways) but then faces hardship, that person is told by other Christians that he got the call wrong. Or maybe she's doing something wrong. Because, the speaker implies (or states), God wouldn't call you to a task so far out of your comfort zone, something for which you find yourself crying out to Him and others for help; He wouldn't give you a task that brings you chaos and tears.

To which I say, "Find me a hero of the Bible who didn't struggle in his calling."

A few months ago, I received two messages from two friends within a few days of each other. Each of these friends is on the front lines of ministry. Each of them heard the call, and followed it, and now finds herself and her family in chaos. And each of them said that she is afraid to share this with her friends because she knows what the response will be, "Well, maybe you shouldn't have brought so much on yourself," or "I tried to tell you this would be too much for you," or "That's what you get for thinking you can save the world."

To which I say, "Jesus started His ministry with these words, 'The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.'" (Luke 4: 18 - 19) He then spent the next 3 years modeling this for His disciples and for us and later urged us to 'God and do likewise.'"

Never, ever did He promise us that by saying yes to Him our lives would be easy. Instead, following Him means that our lives will be messed up. And it's good.

But it doesn't ever make it easy.

This morning I was reading the story of Moses and the battle with the Amalekites in Exodus 17. Joshua and his army were fighting the Amalekites as Moses had ordered. As long as Moses' held his hands up, the army was winning; if he lowered his arms, the Israelites lost ground.

I've always wondered how they figured out that this was the key to their success. Trial and error, maybe? A direct word from God?

I don't know. I also don't know if their revelation was met with comments from the peanut gallery, "Moses, that's stupid. What makes you think our success in battle is connected to you? Did God really tell you to do that? I told you before you even went into this battle that there was no way you should be doing this. It's just too much work."

What I do know is that he had two friends, Aaron and Hur, who presumably offered no argument, no admonition to give up the fight, no conversation about whether or not he was in God's will. Instead, they simply brought Moses a stone to rest upon. Their role at this point was not to question or discuss, but to find a way for Moses to rest. And they were faithful to that task. And when Moses' arms got tired, they held them up. Again, no misguided lecture about a God who wouldn't give Moses more than he could handle; they simply supported his arms. I like to think that they even shared a few good stories or jokes with Moses because we all know that laughter is God's gift to us in tough times.

And when it was all over, they wrote it down so they would never forget how God led them to victory through Joshua's obedience, Moses' faithfulness, and the life-giving rest and support from Aaron and Hur.

But they still weren't finished. Next came an altar, again to remember, but this time to remember that when the Lord goes before us, when we give rest and support to those who are obedient and faithful, that battle belongs to the Lord. Think of the many times after that, as they sat around the campfire, that someone would say, "Remember that time when..." and they could share a smile and a few laughs together, remembering the obedience to the call, the power of the Lord going ahead, the rest and support offered by the faithful friends, and the Lord's victory.

It takes a village. And everyone is called to join in the mission.

Freedom and sacrifice

"Remember that your home may be a safe place, your church may be a safe place, your community may even be a safe place, but to many people in this country, your son is always going to be seen as Trayvon Martin."

These words were spoken into the packed break-out session of an adoption conference that The Good Doctor and I attended, the title of the session being, Can Black and White Mix? While we knew many of the realities of being a transracial family, no one had ever put it so bluntly before, at least not in our presence. So far, we have not dealt with face-to-face racism due to our multi-colored family and neither have our children. We are thankful that for our son at least, he has Kenyan relatives who can speak from personal experience and can help him navigate the world in which he lives. Because we do know people who have been followed around in stores, their only crime being that a white father brought his black teen-age son. Just today a fellow adoptive mom posted an incident that happened to her at Wal-mart. The store's alarm appeared to be malfunctioning and was going off as each customer left the building. This mother, at the store with her biracial child, watched as the caucasian greeter allowed each person to leave with a wave of his hand, until it was her turn. Everything was searched from bags to pockets, hers and her daughter's. After leaving, she chose to watch for a period of time to see if she had been imagining the discrimination. To her horror, every single white customer was allowed to leave without a problem. Another mixed family was searched as well as an African American mother and son. Yes, it happens. We can't ignore it.

Today we took some of the children to Gettysburg. No matter how many times I visit Gettysburg, I am sobered not only by the reality of some of the reasons for the battles that made the town famous, of what took place there and the human lives lost, but also by the reality that if the battles had ended differently, the lives of some of my children could be drastically different.

While browsing in the bookstore at one of the museums, I came across a picture book titled, Most Loved in All the World. The story, of a slave woman who gave her child to others so that she could begin the journey to freedom, was heart-wrenching. It was the "Author's Note to Parents and Educators" that compelled me to buy the book.  It reads:

"Although it might be hard for some people to understand how a mother could send a child off into the unknown without her, it was a common fact of slavery. Even in our modern times, for so many reasons, women are forced to do the same - give up their children for adoption or put them into foster care - not because they do not love the child, but often because they simply do not live in conditions in which they can give the child the life he or she deserves. In a way, these mothers place their love and value for their children's future over their own feelings. When I wrote this story, I envisioned a woman, a spy and secret agent on the Underground Railroad, a woman who valued freedom so much that she would desire her child's more than her own. Because the lives of the enslaved were so uncertain, for this woman there could be no false hope of reuniting, although she would desperately want to. Her only concern is that her daughter grows up free and far from the bonds of slavery. Although the documented history about the Underground Railroad has been cloaked, I believe there might have been many 'secret agents' like the mother in this book who sacrificed being with their children for the greater good. I think that the hope in this story is that the little girl gets a chance at freedom knowing that her mother loved her and was unselfish enough to give her that chance even if it meant that they'd never see each other again..." Tonya Cherie Hegamin

This was a perspective I had never thought of before. I realized that this book would not only give me an avenue for helping my younger children understand the plight of slaves but that it would also give me a vehicle for talking about birth parents and the extreme sacrifice that they make. Not a day goes by that we don't think about the birth families of our children. They hurt, they grieve. They continue to live in the conditions which forced them to make the ultimate sacrifice; helping their children gain freedom.

Freedom doesn't come without sacrifice. Oh how our hearts break for the women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for their children. We pray for our birth families. We honor them. We love them.

Good, good

You and Me

Good...Good

The question has been asked of us and around us, Can white families adopt children of other races and cultures?  Just last weekend the Good Doctor and I attended an adoption conference and in one of the break-out sessions we listened to a Black adoptee talk on the topic, "Can Black and White Mix?"

Maybe for some, the jury is still out, but I can say that for my family, just as my 7 year old daughter demonstrated in her unprompted drawing, "You and me, many colors, good, good."

April 20

I'm always surprised what triggers memories. This week there have been many. And in the midst, celebrations. Last Sunday we celebrated Victor's first birthday. Today we celebrate with family as we also celebrate the anniversary of the email that started it all. We celebrate a date that Eden circled with prayer. It has not gone unnoticed by me that God chose to give us the gift of Easter on this anniversary. For without Easter, there would be no story, nothing out of the ordinary to celebrate today.  Because without Easter, not only would we not have a holiday, we would have no Victor King.

This is amazing grace
This is unfailing love
That You would take my place
That You would bear my cross
You lay down Your life
That I would be set free
Oh, Jesus, I sing for
All that You've done for me

"Oh, Jesus, I sing for all that you've done for me."  But I can't stop there. If I am truly thankful that Jesus took my sin upon Himself, if I believe He died so that I can live forever, and if I proclaim to worship that same risen Lord, then I also must give all of me to all that He asks of me.

Who brings our chaos back into order
Who makes the orphan a son and daughter
The King of Glory, the King of Glory

As I prayed in those months leading up to April 20, 2013, I had no idea the chaos that was to come. As we joined Eden in her child-like faith, praying for April 20 at 5PM, we could not know how our simple act of faith to adopt again was going to require complete trust in God's goodness. But it did, and it does. And because I've learned to trust God's heart no matter what, my finite heart is feeling, I could sing these words with joy.

How I wish for a world without orphans. How I wish that sexual brokenness didn't bring so many children to this place. How I wish mothers and fathers didn't have to make such choices. How I wish young women didn't have to make the decision to place a child into the arms of the other. How I wish there weren't so many women grieving such loss. God didn't want this, either. It was our human choice and desire for free will that brought us to this place. And it is my human choice and desire for free will that daily bring me to the feet of my Savior who died a horrific death, for me and for every single hurting person on this planet.  Because of His great sacrifice, how could I do anything but give all of myself in total surrender? How could I not trust God's heart even when circumstances don't make sense?

You stood before my failure
And carried the cross for my shame
My sin weighed upon your shoulders
My soul now to stand

So what could I say?
And what could I do?
But offer this heart, Oh God
Completely to you

I'll stand
With arms high and heart abandoned
In awe of the one who gave it all
I'll stand
My soul Lord to you surrendered
All I am is yours**

People often ask us if we're finished adopting. The honest answer is that I don't know. What I do know is this: Whatever my Father asks of me, I will do.  As long as I am able, I will continue to surrender my will in exchange for His. When people in the Bible met Jesus, they were forever and radically changed. They did crazy things like leave their occupations, walk on water, witness in languages they didn't even know, heal the sick, get imprisoned for spreading the Gospel, and even walk to their own martyrdom. And they did so because they met the Author of the book and they knew the end of the story.

So do I.

God sent his son
They called him Jesus
He came to love
Heal and forgive
He lived and died
To buy my pardon
An empty grave
Is there to prove
My Savior lives

Because he lives
I can face tomorrow
Because he lives
All fear is gone
Because I know
He holds the future
And life is worth the living
Just because he lives

How sweet to hold
A newborn baby
And feel the pride
And joy he gives
But greater still
The calm assurance
This child can face
Uncertain days
Just Because he lives

And then one day
I'll cross the river
I'll fight life's final war with pain
And then as death
Gives way to victory
I'll see the lights
Of glory and
I'll know he lives

* This Is Amazing Grace, Phil Wickham
** I'll Stand, Hillsong United
***Because He Lives, Bill and Gloria Gaither

When you take a girl shopping...

One day HopeAnne and I went on a shopping spree.  She took such great delight in roaming the aisles. She was side-tracked a few times, looking at baby boy clothes, peeking over the racks at something in her size, but ultimately she remained true to her mission, to buy pajamas.  She found the racks she was looking for and then her shopping frenzy began. She pulled off first one pair, then another, and then another, while I frantically tried to keep track of the monetary tally in my head.

Why, you might ask, did I allow my child to spend so much money on pajamas? Because the pajamas were not for her, not even one single pair.

This month we are organizing a service project to donate items to our county's Children and Youth services. These are the forgotten people in the foster care and adoption world. These are the ones who see so much "ugly" on a daily basis. These are the ones who often have to be the bearers of bad news to innocent children. They are the ones who work in a profession with such a high burn out rate. So I called them one day and asked: How can we help you? The woman on the phone said that they need backpacks and pajamas to give to children who come into foster care. She said that they need diapers for the families with very young children. And so my parenting class is collecting these items this month. When HopeAnne heard about it, she immediately wanted to participate. She had some money that she had been given for Christmas, then told she had to use for someone else. This is what she chose to do with it.

If there is anyone local who would like to join us in collecting these items, please let me know. We are collecting until April 6 and then I will deliver them on April 7. We are also collecting baked goods and treats that I can give to the social workers on that day. A little something to thank them for advocating for the least of these. If you aren't local you might consider calling your own area Children and Youth and asking them what their needs are.

And my HopeAnne, once a foster child herself, doesn't yet fully understand her connection to the children who will receive these pajamas she so lovingly picked out. She doesn't understand that a file with her name on it once sat in an office similar to the one where these pajamas will be stored, waiting for another child who so desperately needs to find hope and a future. She may not fully understand now, but as she grows and matures, I pray that she will continue to have compassion for the least of these, that she will continue to bring hope to the hopeless.