You Are Here

This year we finally made it to Candy Lane at Hershey Park. It was a cold, damp evening and we didn't know the lay of the land, but that didn't stop the kids from wanting to do everything - all at the same time, but all in different directions. We relied solely on those large arrow-shaped signs to direct us to various locations and attractions in the park.

During these past few weeks it would have been helpful to have signs and arrows to direct me through life. And yet, when I stop and process, there is a realization that my steps, my thoughts, my emotions, my actions and reactions have been guided.

Enjoying the Candy Lane experience did not happen without some hitches: rides closed due to weather, cold feet from walking through puddles that went unseen because we were busy looking at the lights, two boys without gloves but with frozen hands, an overwhelmed and over-tired baby, disagreements over who would ride which ride with whom, tears from not being tall enough (or too tall) for a certain attraction, whining to re-ride a favorite ride regardless of the wishes of the others. Eventually we made it to every location and everyone got to ride what they wanted; and at the end of the night, the kids all agreed that it was something they'd like to do again next year.

Standing at the end of this year and ready to enter the next did not go without some hitches. In fact, there were hours and days that were very hard to get through, so hard that it seemed as if the other side of Christmas might never come. Finding that Christmas spirit was difficult, going through the motions of our family traditions was tedious at times and I was just sure that the kids would miss out on the fun, as well as the deeper meaning, of Christmas.

With Baby H leaving, a big chunk of my heart was gone, too. There was a true grieving process and I waffled between wanting it to just be over - to be back to "normal" - and wanting to wallow in my sadness and feelings of loss. Having to do all the Christmas activities without him in our family (after I had imagined doing all those things with him) was painful; much like trying to enjoy Candy Lane with soaking wet, cold feet.

Signs and arrows in the form of friends - offering hugs and prayers, calling and texting to check in, giving guidance in letter-writing, encouraging and affirming my parenting skills and methods - provided direction in the midst of my floundering. 

I received direction in that: we could still advocate for the baby - we wrote a very strong letter to the Commissioner of Philadelphia, and copies to everyone we could think of, letting them know that this baby deserves better than to be tossed about the system; our home was considered a safe place - we were asked to provide respite care for a baby during the week of Christmas; God is caring for Baby H - I was able to visit him in his new foster home where there is a family who loves him and will look out for him just like we did; other children need us - two weeks after the baby moved we were called about taking another placement.

This week I was reminded that God has plans that I know nothing about, that I can't understand, but that are perfect. And like our Hershey Park adventure, in which there were many times we didn't know how to get to where we wanted to go, and the physical conditions were less than comfortable; at the end of it all, the unanimous decision was to repeat the experience next year.

Our new placement - a precious little girl - will arrive on New Year's Eve. Before getting the phone call and without knowing her or anything about her, I have been praying for her; since December 14 when I contacted the agency to say that we were ready to receive placements, I began to pray for the child that God would send.

Although this is not what I would have chosen for our family to walk through, nor where I would have imagined myself and our family to be, this is where we are. And I am sure that the God who brought us here has us right where we need to be.  

Double Blessing

A few weeks ago parents were invited to a Publishing Party in one of the third grade class rooms, and I had planned to go. It was a Friday morning, the last day of school before Christmas vacation; a morning fraught with tantrums and tears from both of the girls. Getting to the bus stop required a battle of wills and all the restraint I could muster; with one little lady wailing and crying at the top of her lungs about the unfairness of life, and the other little lady dragging her feet and muttering little girl insults at me under her breath as I pulled her by the coat hood up the driveway (we have very long driveway that seemed to be eternal that day.)

After securing both girls on the bus, I returned to the house and composed an e-mail message to their teachers as a courtesy, warning them of what they might expect to find walking into their classes that morning. I also declined the invitation to the Publishing Party as a concession to my daughter's tantrum and to spare any uncomfortable moments for her classmates should she continue to be angry with me for showing up on HER turf at school.

The teacher replied to my e-mail message later in the day and reported that our daughter had done a wonderful job reading her published piece and was able to have a good day at school. Big sigh of relief...

We moved on to the next day and Christmas vacation, tantrums and tears forgotten.

On Christmas morning Stan and I received the published piece from our girl, which she read to us:

The Perfect Gift
If I could give the perfect gift to anyone, I would give it to an orphan. I would give a family to an orphan because their parents died and they don't have a family now. They would be lonely and wouldn't have that much fun or many toys. If the orphan had a family she would have her own room and a lot of fun playing games like Monopoly. On Christmas Eve they can make a gingerbread house. On Christmas she will open gifts with her family. Maybe she will be surprised because she never got gifts or she never got gifts in a long time.
                  By Sierra Heisey
                  December 2012

Blinking back tears, embarrassed to be so emotional at such a happy, fun time - one of my boys just looked at me sympathetically because he knows I'm a cry-er, I thanked Sierra and carefully tucked the writing into my stack of gifts. Later, when no one else was around, I pulled it out and read it over again for myself.

What a blessing to know that Sierra gets it. She sees what God has called us to, she lives it - most of the time with grace and love, she understands that life is not about us, about her.

The further blessing is that Sierra was that orphan; she was without her parents. How beautiful that she who was an orphan is caring so deeply for other orphans. How amazing that she does not think of that. She is not an orphan; God has given her to us and us to her.


          

More Room

"I'm done," I sobbed to my mom and dad. It's too hard.

Too hard to have my heart shattered. To have the baby I've loved for over half his life to suddenly not be there.

Too hard to not know if I'll ever be able to see, hold, smell, hug, and kiss him again. The agency has led us down a rabbit trail: we are told we will be able to see him again, then that we can't see him at all, then that there is absolutely no reason why we can't visit with him and his new foster family the same way we visit with many of our other foster family friends, then that he can only visit at our monthly support meetings (if that family can make it.)

That sounds so whiny. This is NOT about me, or about our family. We only want what is best for the baby and will follow the directions of the agency and will respect the foster family. At this time of uncertainty, it would be helpful to get one clear answer.

Too hard to not be able to DO something. This case is being handled, mishandled, and manipulated by the baby's mother and all the attorney power she can afford. We were doing what we thought was best, what was good for the baby. Taking care of him, keeping our heads down, not asking questions, avoiding confrontation on all fronts.

We are doing something. We are contacting those in authority over this case. Letters are being drafted and crafted and sent so that this will not happen again. This baby needs and deserves stability; to not be bounced around from place to place at the whim of his mother because she is not getting her own way.

Too hard to have insults and accusations directed at me, at us; to not be able to even voice an explanation, a defense. In the short time that our case worker had to prepare for the hearing, she pulled together all varieties of documentation, but was never able to present any information. The agency that has custody of the baby did not even send a knowledgeable case worker to the hearing, and so our "side" of the story was never told.

Too hard to know whether or not the agency will consider placing children with us anymore. Several days of silence - no phone calls or e-mail messages to ask how we were doing, or to let us know that we were not going to under-go investigation. After contacting the agency, we now know that they have a full understanding of what happened - well, as much as any of us can fully understand. We are going to be considered for placements and there are no reservations, no black marks, no misgivings on their part toward us.

Too hard to think about taking another placement - another child.

My dad's response was, "No, you're not."

How is it that God causes our hearts to expand with love for every child who enters our home? How is it that he knows that we're not done? Or is it he who is not done, he who honors us by using us as a channel for his love?

It is God's love, after all, that we poured into that baby's life; that we pour into the lives of our other kids. Of the children who are yet to come to us.

As we prepare to celebrate the coming of Jesus this year, several thoughts have resonated in my heart and mind this week.

God gave us his only Son. He gave up his Son. He lost his Son. He knows how much we hurt, for he was going to hurt just as much and more.

God hurts with the grieving families in Connecticut, he cares for them, he loves them. He has prompted me to pray for them every time I feel my heart ache for the baby I have lost - but my baby is safe, happy, and healthy. God, help those heart-broken parents.

God sent his Son at at time and to place without accomodations for his birth, there was no room. God asks each of us to make a place for his Son in our lives. God has called our family to make a place for his Son in the form of "the least of these."

Last week, there was no room in my heart for another child; it was consumed by hurt and confusion.

By God's grace, he has healed and repaired and somehow added more space so that now there is more room in my heart. Room for Jesus and room for his children who need us.

One Year

Happy Birthday, little one.

Today marks one year of life for you.

In one year your life has touched so many people who love you.

Last week someone reminded me of the story of Joseph; how he was able to forgive his brothers. How he moved beyond the pain and hurt in his life and lived in the confidence that what his brothers meant for evil, God used for good.

Little baby, someone hurt you. Maybe someone who loves you, maybe it was a tragic accident. Whatever the case, we can know with confidence that God has used it for good.

Just look at all the people who have been blessed by knowing you:

The doctors at St. Christopher's who are continually amazed at your recovery. And since you can't tell them, I speak on your behalf and let them know that your healing, the miracle they see, is all from God.

While you were at Weisman Rehabilitation Center you wormed your way into the hearts of the doctors, nurses, and therapists. Because God's hand was on you, your progress was unexpected and your prognosis became more and more hopeful. Through you those people found a bit of hope in what must sometimes feel like a hopeless place.

Case workers were taken with your smile and sweet personality. One of the workers at the Bethany office remarked that when you smile, your "whole head smiles." The first time the worker from Philadelphia came to meet you, she didn't believe that the baby I was holding was you. She insisted that the file photos showed a baby who was non-responsive and severely delayed; and each month when she came to visit one of her first questions was, "What did he learn to do this month?"

A special group of moms was with me the day I first learned about you. The phone call was a little overwhelming and I wondered if I was equipped to handle your needs (of course I'm not, I'm seldom equipped to do what God asks.) Those moms stopped right then and surrounded you with prayer; and I don't think they ever really stopped - even up to today many of them are praying for you, and loving you.

Our church family couldn't get enough of you. I became a baby-holder and ceased to have my own identity; all they could see was the adorable little boy in my arms. People were asking to hold you all the time, and children wanted to play with you. Almost every week someone would ask how you were doing, and the answer always gave me a chance to brag on you - how smart, how cute, how much of a miracle and blessing you were. Nursery workers loved you, marvelled at how fast you crawled, and cheered when you began to walk.

A wonderful group of other foster families got to know you and walk through some of the joys and frustrations of your case with us. These families have seen many things, hard things.They believe that we are called to care for children, to love them, and to pray for them. I know many of them continue to pray for you.

Our extended family is an overwhelming source of love. With seventeen grandchildren on one side and eighteen on the other, there's so much going on. So many cousins to play with, to hold you, aunts and uncles who have developed special friendships with you, grandparents to dote on and spoil you.

Then there's us. The kids couldn't get enough of you. From the time one of them heard you on the monitor in the morning until I shoved them out of your bedroom at night, they wanted to be around you. Although Sierra and Samara were told not to pick you up, they just couldn't help themselves and felt the need to cuddle you, chase you around the livingroom, tickle you, and read all their books aloud - whether you were listening or not. Evan and Eli loved to lay on the floor and have you crawl over them; you became interested in finding and pulling on their ears and noses. You especially enjoyed pulling and chewing on shoelaces. The home-from-school greeting quickly became: "Is the baby up?" During the first weeks at our house, you were learning to roll over and we would all sit around you in the living room and watch and encourage and cheer; when the kids saw you begin to pull yourself across the floor, they would set up towers for you to knock over; when you began to stand, we were in awe at your strength and balance; and when you started to take steps, Sierra had to count every-single-one. When we'd come down the stairs after a nap and you'd see the school pictures of the kids hanging on the wall, you would point and smile, and then look around as if to try to find them.

The ways you have touched my life, as your temporary mommy, are so deep and precious. It's very hard to write of them now when I miss you so incredibly much and tears blur what I'm writing. For now, I want to hold those memories close to my heart and treasure them privately. But then I am fearful that I might forget, that the memories might grow dim. But perhaps that's okay because some of the pain might dim as well.

As your first birthday is celebrated today, I hope you know how much you have been loved already. I trust that God will use your life to keep touching and moving people toward hope.

Happy Birthday, little one.

Walk the Talk

The tears seem endless, the pain is bottomless, my mind won't stop spinning; there are no answers.

So now I am made to live by the words written only two days ago - was it only two days? how can so much have changed in two days? - "he's not mine anyway."

I trust that those words came to me from God, without a doubt, no question about it. He knew those were the words I would need to live by, the awful, terrible, difficult words I needed to ponder, try out, roll around in my head. Words I was reminded of several times yesterday: listening to the radio and the announcer said, "remember that nothing is going to happen today that you and God together can't handle."

God is handling this:

Baby H has been moved to another Bethany foster home, not to family members as was birth mom's goal through the court hearing.

The foster mother has already reached out to me via e-mail regarding some of the details of caring for the baby.

The same Bethany foster care case worker will remain on the case. Birth mom's attorneys went so far as to request that he be placed with another agency and tried to blame the case worker for Baby H's mistreatment while in our home.

My mom and dad were able to be here while the move took place; to say good-bye to Baby H, and to give much needed support and love.

We have been inundated with encouragement, support, and love from SO MANY friends. Each message, text, phone call, prayer that is offered is so precious. And God has spoken from many people from various perspectives: birth parent of a child we cared for briefly, former foster care workers, fellow foster moms and dads who have lived though heart-break, moms of special needs children who deal with broken systems, long-time friends, new friends, people who just loved Baby H to pieces.

About 15 minutes after the case worker left with the little guy, the phone rang and I checked caller ID and didn't recognize the number. After hesitating to pick it up, I answered the call and it was our pastor. He said he had just received our Christmas card that day and was impressed to call and thank me. He went on to say, "I know this probably isn't a good time because you are probably eating dinner..." I lost it. I explained that yes, it wasn't a good time and went on to tell a short, sobbed-though version of what had just happened. He had no idea of what our afternoon had been like. We both understood that God had prompted him to call just then.

And God will continue to handle this. He will help our family wade through our emotions and feelings of loss. He will protect Baby H, more than that, he will continue the miracle he has begun in that baby's life. He will provide the new foster family with everything they need. He will strengthen the case workers who are handling this confusing mess of a case. He will use this situation as he does everything - he will use it for his glory.

He will help me to walk the talk - live the words he gave me.

Not Mine Anyway

Just playing on the floor with Baby H this morning when the phone rang and I innocently answered it. The case worker from Bethany said, "I need to tell you something..."

Baby H is almost one year old. His growth and development have been nothing short of miraculous. Every step of the way he has met and surpassed the expected milestones. With his birthday only a week away he is able to walk, climb stairs (not that we encourage or allow it), finger-feed and kind of spoon-feed himself, say six or so words and sign for about four others, make corresponding noises for five or six animals, understand and respond to "no-no" - and just about everything else we say to him.

He also has four teeth. This is the only area of development in which he is somewhat lagging as the first two came in at around ten months old with the next two following a few weeks later. And this is where the problem starts...

As is not uncommon with babies, Baby H experienced some side effects from teething: runny nose, fussiness, diarrhea, excess drool resulting in a chapped chin and cheeks. Also common with diarrhea is a diaper rash, and at one point his became severe enough that we treated it with Neosporin in addition to the typical diaper cream; severe enough that it caused him discomfort to sit on his bottom. Admittedly, it was sore.

After about two weeks, the top teeth broke through, the diarrhea stopped and the diaper rash resolved itself. During those two weeks, Baby H visited with his parents at which time his birth mother commented on the diaper rash and was given the explanation above. Only when she had to change one of his diapers did she make the comment, "Well at least now I see for myself that he actually has diarrhea." At the suggestion of the case worker, I made an appointment with the pediatrician to have the rash examined. At the time of the appointment the doctor noted that the rash had been resolved. Documentation was passed along to the case worker and birth mother and life moved on.

About three weeks later - today - the phone call came. "I need to tell you something... the birth mother has gotten her attorneys to get an early relist for court."

Court had been scheduled for mid-January so that the judge can hear all the evidence regarding the baby's initial placement into foster care and so that Baby H will be officially entered into the foster care system (even though he's been here for seven months already.) An early relist is scheduled to introduce other information.

The other information being introduced is birth mother's concern over her baby's safety and welfare in our home due to the diaper rash he experienced; and which we treated, and had checked by a doctor. She is asking that Baby H be removed from our home and placed with relatives.

Our case worker is wonderful and took the time to explain what she had heard from the baby's advocate/attorney: that there really does not seem to be enough evidence to require his removal, and that placement with a family member is out of the question since the baby is not even legally in the system - once a child is entered into the system, a plan for permanancy is made beginning with relative resources.

However, as we all know, there are no clear answers; and just when you think you know what might happen, you are reminded that there are always surprises.

Feeling very upset and unsettled, I put Baby H down for a nap and called Stan and some friends - just needed to vent, to cry, to express my frustration. This mom is so concerned about a diaper rash, but what about the events that led to the near-death of her baby eight months ago? Why is she putting all this effort into a common baby ailment and not into figuring out what caused her child to have brain damage and broken bones?

And it bothers me that this bothers me: How dare she throw Stan and I under the bus in her desparation to get her own way. How dare she question our love and ability to care for her baby.

Somewhat drained, but still angry, frustrated, and scared, I headed to the shower - to get away from it all, to cry it out where no one would have to hear, to block out the sound of another phone call from the case worker with more news. In between the deluge of my own emotions and snippets of prayer, this is the word I received: "Dawn, he's not yours anyway."

This is something I realize, and have had to live through many times. These kids are not ours. Our "own" kids are not ours. We have given them back to God, we are only here by God's grace to help raise and love them into who God has planned for them to be and to do what he has called them to do.

While I hold tightly to my kids - all my kids - while I can, there is a bigger picture. And only when I allow God to do his perfect work in his perfect time and perfect way, am I honoring God. Baby H belongs to God, not to me.

For What?

This morning I attended an IEP meeting for Eli. In second grade Eli was tested for and labeled as 'gifted' and so the school district is required to provide him with FAPE (free and appropriate public education) and to develop an IEP (individualized educational plan) each year.

Unlike IEP meetings at the other end of the spectrum, in which we have moderate-to-intense experience, the GIEP (G=gifted) meetings are usually very pleasant and refreshingly brief. Input and ideas from the parents and student are welcomed - just this morning we were brain-storming about fitting in an independent study block, something which we stumbled upon quite by accident in an off-handed comment, but which could be an exciting opportunity for  Eli. Compliments regarding work ethic and good grades abound, and glowing comments are offered about his up-standing character. As a mom it feels really good to sit in those meetings, and it feels kind of awkward, too.

On the day in the fall of 2006 when we were told of Eli's 'gifted' label, I was at the elementary school for an IEP meeting for another one of our children; a 'typical' IEP meeting, the less-pleasant and longer variety in which input and ideas from parents are not as welcome because it usually means changes and potentially more work for the educators. There are also usually less positive comments about grades, work habits, and behavior.

As I was standing in the hallway that afternoon, waiting for the meeting to begin, the teacher who had administered the test to Eli walked by and told me the test results, explained what would happen next, and then congratulated me. During our conversation the teacher with whom I was to meet arrived, and as we entered the room she also congratulated me as did the guidance counselor who was also involved with the meeting.

I remember feeling awkward that day. While some of strange feeling was due to knowing that we'd now have to learn to navigate our way through gifted education - and I remember thinking that, that I felt very inadequate and ignorant about how do go about this new venture - as time went on, that feeling had more to do with the words of congratulations that day.

Of our five 'permanent' children, all of them have some level of intervention at school for health reasons, behavior concerns, and academic issues. Of the twenty or so school-aged children who have been placed in our home, only a few have not had some type of 'extra' services. And of all those kids and all those services which require all those meetings, only once did anyone ever congratulate me.

Eli cannot help being academically gifted any more than Evan cannot help being a terrible speller but a good friend, or than Samara can help having asthma and a nurturing spirit, than Sierra can help that she struggles with ODD (oppositional defiant disorder) and is reading well above her grade level. None of these things have anything to do with me, the mom. Why congratulate me for who my kids were created to be?

It feels awkward that the school system attributes my sons' and daughters' accomplishments to me. I don't know how to respond to the congratulations. I don't know if I am supposed to point out that my child is not perfect, or that I have other equally amazing kids. Or maybe I am just supposed to smile on the outside and on the inside ask, "For what?"

Please Don't Understand

A few weeks ago the principal from the elementary school called to report an incident involving one of the kids. Another parent confronted my child as the buses were unloading, and a staff member saw and heard the interaction. This other mother was telling my child to stop bothering and "bullying" her little girls. The principal did not think that was my child's intention and handled the situation.

One of our children is not permitted to be out of our sight; this is for safety as well as for discipline (and by that I mean teaching, not punishing) purposes. It's not always convenient or fun to live life this way, but we have found it best - at least for this season.

Even though "other kids" get to go trick-or-treating, buy costumes, participate in the school parade and classroom parties, our kids do not. It's a family decision that was made before some of them were even on the scene, so no, it's not something with which they particularly agree. However, it has been a good springboard for some interesting discussions.

Several of our children struggle with boundaries, so we have guidelines in our home to provide support: only go into your own room, hands to yourself, certain children should not be next to each other while laying on the floor watching t.v.; if problems arise the perpetrators are quickly sent their bedrooms to be alone where there are less boundaries with which to contend. If we are not at home, these boundaries and consequences are enforced in sometimes creative and strange ways.

With anger can sometimes come a lack of self-control over actions and words. To help our kids understand that our words and actions ALWAYS matter - even in a fit of rage - we listen closely, encourage restraint, and follow through even when the result feels rather harsh.

We have been blessed with many, many supportive friends. Most of them (if they answered honestly!) would admit that they have noticed things - at one time or another, not necessarily all the time - regarding our family that raise questions: why are our limits so tight? why are the consequences so hard? why are our kids always on time-out? why am I in constant communication with teachers? why don't our kids have more freedom? And those are all very valid questions, because when I sit and look at us from the outside, those are questions I have; questions that make me question myself and our parenting choices.
 
To the general public, those who see us - or fractions of us - in the grocery store, at restaurants, at the park, the doctor's office, at school, yes, even at church... we appear as a true oddity at times. And then if we should happen to have some sort of behavior flare-up, well, we've turned our share of heads.

Sometimes I want to say to those who get to stand by and watch, "This is us. This is our life. Please don't try to give advice (not right now anyway, maybe later.) We are doing the best we can. And please don't feel the need to understand us. We just need you to love us the way we are."

Hello again

Hands down the hardest part of foster parenting is saying good-bye.

Some days it seems like it might be harder to deal with: a broken system, a case worker who doesn't follow through, attorneys who don't file paperwork, missed visits with birth parents - or visits that actually happen, but are filled with anger and resentment, frustration over finding health care providers who have not "filled their quota", jumping through all sorts of hoops with the school system to get a child sufficient services, or a distraught, sad, angry child who had no choice in any of this mess.

But saying good-bye is tough.

Even when a child is moving toward permanency, it's difficult. Whether a child has been in our home a few days, weeks, or many months a void is left behind when they move on. Even when a child (or the parents, or the situation, or the system) has been frustrating throughout the placement, it is sort of a let-down to think that our time of advocating and fighting for the best outcome, is over.

Some good-byes are harder than others.

The younger the child, the more dependent they are and so babies are hard to let go. Especially babies who have come from and may be returning to situations that are less than ideal.

The longer a child has been with us, the harder it is to see them move on. So many memories: birthday parties (some of our kids have never had one), holidays with extended family (it can be overwhelming to be loved by so many people), success in school, laughter and freedom to just be a kid.

The more challenging a child's behavior, the more investment we've made, the more time, love, and energy we pour into a child's life - the harder it is to think about them moving away from that consistency and stability that we've worked so hard to establish. There have been a few placements that I was just SURE I would be relieved to have end. And when they did I was completely caught off guard by how sad I was after they had gone.

Hello-agains are so sweet.

Last night we got a surprise phone call from our foster son who left eight months ago. His placement of eighteen months ended when he was placed with a pre-adoptive family. During his placement we worked diligently at teaching boundaries and respect, responsibility and honesty. All that work and discipline did not always equal warm fuzzy feelings and so it seemed that very little bonding had occurred; sad, but not unexpected. So to have this young man take the initiative to call meant quite a bit, and to have my kids want to talk to him also warmed my heart.

Other hello-agains have been just as sweet.

Three sisters, two of whom were with us for almost a year, were reunified with their mom - a situation that we were all rooting for. I shed so many tears just thinking about them leaving, and when the day came, oh how my heart was breaking. Thankfully, through the miracle of Facebook, we've been able to reconnect with them.

A baby girl was reunified with her daddy - a very happy ending - and he agreed to allow us to visit them after the reunification. We were able to keep in touch up until the family relocated several years later, but what a blessing to know that she was growing up to be happy and healthy.

In 2008 we were asked to care for twin babies for about a month. Through another miracle, we were able to see these children again three years later as we learned that a Bethany family was planning to adopt them. We now get to see these precious children - who are thriving in a wonderful, loving home - on a regular basis.

A few years ago we had a teen-age girl stay with us. She was very unhappy at being so far away from her family, friends, and school; and after a few months, she ran away. No good-bye, no call afterward to say she was okay. Thankfully another Bethany foster parent had connected with this young lady, formed a wonderful supportive relationship, and continues to help and guide her. About a year ago this foster mom brought the girl along to a meeting at our house and I was able to first say, "good-bye", and then "hello again."

And then there was Angel, whose story I told previously, who challenged and taxed our parenting capabilities while she was here, but who continued to reach out to us after she left - up until the week before she died.

The next time I see Angel, it will be one of the sweetest "Hello-agains."

Now Can I?

This is a question that we hear fairly frequently in our house, and it's good because our kids know that they need to ask permission for certain privileges. Lately it's been on my mind for a different reason and has brought to my thinking an advertising slogan that is no longer current: "Have it your way."

How is it that my kids and their peers, who were born after this jingle had played out of the marketing scene, have adopted this mindset? It is bothersome to me that pop culture encourages us to chase the American Dream, grab all we can, have the best of everything, and expect to always have what we think we have a right to.

As much as I would like to think that we have programmed and protected our kids, the truth is that no one is immune. We can do and teach and practice at home to better prepare them to battle against the lies of entitlement, but until they wrestle with and reconcile what they see and hear with what they know to be true, my children are still at the mercy of society and the media.

Recently one of the kids went through a season of selfishness regarding computer usage. Somewhere, somehow my sweetie fell under the false assumption that their perceived need to be at the computer trumped the needs of all other family members as well as the need to respect the screen-time time limits. When reminded of said limits this child compounded the issue by arguing.

The outcome of a week's worth of this situation was the development of a special record-keeping notebook. Where as previously this child would have one "free" hour of screen-time each day, the new protocol gives no "free" screen-time and any "earned" screen-time must be recorded: clock-in/clock-out. The number of minutes spent on an approved activity (instrument practice, exercise, extra chores, extra studying) equals the number of minutes of screen-time earned.

Entitlement has also been spotted in some other actions and attitudes that sometimes surface in our home. Entitlement says it's okay to: annoy my sibling, call my sibling a name if they are annoying me, tattle on a sibling who has called me a name, go into a brother's room because he has something I want to look at, boss my sibling around because they are there or because they are doing something that I think they shouldn't be doing.

To counteract unhelpful attitudes we have instituted a system of community service (for which idea I owe thanks to a fellow foster mom.) Should a child commit an act of entitlement that affects a sibling, a chore is completed to make restitution for the offense. Just last week a brother was cleaning the bathroom counter for his sister and the dining room got a long overdue dusting.

Back to the bigger picture, beyond our family and our home, to the world into which I am preparing to launch my children.

How does the American Dream coincide with the Kingdom of God? Does it at all? Does God's Kingdom ask us to have a nice car (or two, or three), a big enough house, the latest cell phone, a larger television, yearly vacations? God provides us with all we need and many wants out of His great love; He wants to give us good gifts. Perversion of these blessings turns into entitlement. Gradually we come to the conclusion that all those gifts are ours by rights, that we are being treated unfairly should we have less than our neighbor.

Am I truly grateful for what God has provided? Do I take the time to recognize those blessings? Am I teaching my children to be thankful? Not enough, not nearly enough. But to turn the question on it's head: Now I can.

Are You Positive?

Five weeks into the school year and the phone call came. Sadly, it is no longer unexpected. "Hi, Mrs. Heisey did (insert child's name here) tell you I'd be calling this afternoon?" As the child was sitting right at the table with me I answered, "No, she didn't tell me." (So now you know it's one of my darling daughters.)

"She's not the only student in the class who is struggling..." THAT right there is one of my pet peeves. Should it matter to me if the whole class is struggling? My child is the only student in the class that concerns me. To be fair, I understand that statement (we probably hear it more than most which is why it's a touchy issue with me); the teacher didn't want it to appear that our little girl is way out of the range of typical and is within the limits of manageable classroom behavior, and for these things I truly am thankful.

The teacher went on to describe the problematic behaviors and what strategies she had put into place to address them. Apparently the behavior modification method was only somewhat effective with our girl, and so Mrs. D was calling for some parental input. And you know, I'm not shy at all about giving input - it's just nice when the teachers actually request it. This teacher is wonderful, she was the teacher for one of our other children and so we are somewhat familiar with the "feel" of her classroom, and know that she only asks for suggestions because she will listen attentively and implement carefully.

Unsure of how much history this teacher had, I caught her up on why I wasn't surprised to get her phone call. About this time each year, as our daughter has had sufficient time to "get comfortable" in her new surroundings and discern how far is too far in the realm of disruptive behaviors, teachers will be somewhat caught off guard as this sweet little thing becomes a defiant and disobedient not-so-sweet student.

Shortly after this unveiling of some of her true colors, a behavior modification program is put into place: sticker charts, smiley faces, little rewards for a job well done (keeping the pencil on the desk, feet on the floor, hands to herself.) We use those strategies at home, many parents do and find a measure of success.

Mrs. D explained the current program which included giving verbal and visual warnings, the opportunity to earn privileges, and the threat of a phone call home if the warnings go unheeded. She also used positive reinforcement by pointing out when one of the students (especially the struggling ones) made good behavior choices. She related that when she tried this with our sweet girl, the response was a sort of scowl and a regression back to not-so-good behavior choices.

This part of the conversation was also not new to me, but is still equally as confounding each time. Where students usually are motivated to make right choices by earning stickers and smileys, our daughter seems to abhor rewards. It has been this way for her since preschool when instead of earning a sticker for picking up the toys, she seemed to revel in throwing the toys, watching other kids get stickers, and then being sent to time-out. Much the same happens at home so that thanking her for being helpful could just as well errupt into a temper tantrum as in correcting her behavior. Being positive just doesn't elicit the positive results as expected.

What to do, then, in the classroom or at home? The only input I have to offer is to draw as little attention as possible - positive or negative. Quickly and quietly address the bad stuff and let the good stuff roll like it is normal (which it hopefully should be anyway.)

At the root of all this, and this is just my mom psychology take on things, is that our smart and sweet daughter does not like to feel manipulated. She is very bright and clearly understands right and wrong and the consequences that ensue from choices (right and wrong) that she makes. Being extremely strong-willed, she KNOWS without a doubt what she should do - and most of the time she WANTS to do right. So anyone who thinks they need to direct, tell, correct, or reward her for what she already knows is insulting her. And who wants to feel insulted?

It is interesting, and yes challenging, to figure out the best way to guide, help, and love this child as she grows; it is also a wonderful honor to think that God thinks we are worthy of this challenge. Of this I am positive.

A Letter

Dear Birth Mom,

While I have every intention of writing this letter as a means of encouragement, there is every possibility that my own raw emotions will be obvious and so the affect may be less encouraging than I hope.

The fact of this matter is that we are on the same team, the same side, advocating for the welfare of the same little one. Why is it then that you feel it necessary to fight against the very individuals who are trying to untangle this complicated, messy story?

Look, I'm a mom, too. And if my children were removed from my care, I can only think that I would jump through every single hoop put in front of me. I'd probably be begging for the next hoop, preparing to jump, getting my act together.

It is difficult to understand your priorities. You say that you care for this child, that you want this child returned to you, yet you refuse to work with those who have the power to make it happen. Phone calls are not returned, questions are left unanswered, threats are made, complaints are lobbied, meetings go unattended. Besides showing up for scheduled visits, what have you done that has been required of you?

And beyond the things left undone, time is instead spent creating issues and drama where there really is none. Accusing me of not caring for your baby is an uncalled-for insult. By remarking that your baby's head is flat in back because "they probably never pick him up" or that the dry skin on his face (which the pediatrician has confirmed is dry skin on his face) "looks like he's been burned", you are essentially assuming that we care little for this child. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Despite your estimation of this white momma - who has cared for and even raised a non-white baby or two - your baby's hair and skin are being well-cared for with the proper lotions and conditioners. Not too many baths, regular fingernail and toenail trimming, hair care and combing are all part of the routine.

Have you ever commented about how he hasn't come to a visit with any broken bones? Seriously, you are concerned about a skin rash when he has sustained head trauma? When does the nonsense end?

Apparently not yet because now, even though you have done nothing toward meeting the goals set out for you by the case workers, visitation is increased. And somehow you are entitled to that. Somehow doing nothing is rewarded. Somehow you have the power to call the shots. And even when schedules are changed and twisted to accomodate this court-ordered demand, you have the audacity to complain and threaten (yet again) to involve your attorneys - not one, but two attorneys (why two? you need extra defense? defense from what? from the truth? would an innocent person need so much defense?)

Meanwhile, in case you haven't noticed, your baby continues to grow and develop into an amazing little person. Do you notice, or are you so busy fighting - fighting for what? fighting against who? - that you've missed it? Well, I'm not missing it; I am soaking in every smile and babble, enjoying every laugh and song, in awe at the incredible healing that God has done in his body.

Babies belong with their parents. I believe that - even in this case, I believe that. But I also believe that God calls parents to a very high standard - at the very least to keep their babies safe. And since we've lived through the horror of losing a child (who was old enough to speak for herself) who was entrusted into the care and safety of her birth mom, this issue strikes a deep chord in my heart.

So until the time comes for you to be charged with that privilege, I am very pleased to be the stand-in mommy for your little one and I promise to do my very best to care for him the way you would care for him yourself.

Even though the tone of this letter may not give the impression of support, please know that my support is here for you, if only you would allow us to be on the same team.

Sincerely,
Foster Mom

Can't Sleep

Today is court for Baby H's case; he will be adjudicated - officially entered into the foster care system. He's BEEN in the foster care system for over four months. Usually children are adjudicated before or several days after they are placed into a foster home. So why is this just happening now?

Those of us who live foster care have a little mantra: "And just when you think you've seen it all..."

We've not been involved in a case in which a parent has a private attorney, this birth mom does. We've not experienced a case in which both parents have stable housing, both birth parents do. It's rare that any parents are employed, birth mom is and birth dad is actively seeking. Usually there's some sort of substance abuse issue, none in this case. Sometimes birth family visits are sporadic or inconsistent, in this case hardly a visit is missed (and if it is a legitimate reason has been given) and some visits have five or more family members visiting to support the parents.

Clearly, we haven't seen it all.

While the fact that a private attorney has been retained could be a benefit to the birth family, it has actually proven to be one of the big hold-ups in moving this case along. Initially, each time Baby H had a visit with his mother there would be a reason to contact the attorney: dry skin and hair, a patch of diaper rash (which to me and a case worker appeared to be slightly irritated pink skin), bumpy dry skin on the baby's face (birth parent remarked that it looked like he had been burned), a runny nose. Every concern and contact to the attorney required a phone call to the attorney for Philadelphia DHS, who would call the case worker, who would finally call us to let us know that the parents raised whatever concern.

So while time that should be spent on investigating the cause of Baby H's injuries is rather spent on these somewhat exaggerated concerns by the parents, this baby continues in the system. Now I'm not complaining, we LOVE having him as part of our family. And despite what grievances the birth family has against us (and from what I gather, it's largely that we are not the right color to be taking care of their baby), it would be more constructive and comfortable if the parents were open to working as a team. We've had some great experiences in getting to know and support birth families.

There have been so many twists and turns and players in this story, that as I tried to sleep last night my mind jumped from scenario to scenario - who-said-what-to-whom-and-who-was-there-to-hear-it kinds of things. Both parents have been at some of the follow-up doctor's appointments, but neither seem willing to admit that a traumatic event occurred that resulted in these appointments. Sometimes when a parent can't make it to a doctor visit, an obscure, loosely connected random person shows up. Supposedly the baby is to be covered by mom's private insurance - she has forcibly vocalized and insisted on this more than once - but the coverage is not active. Dad says he has a full-time job, and then weeks later has to miss a visit to interview for a job since he's "not employed."

Despite investigations by both DHS and SVU, there is still no conclusion and little cooperation. How can this be? How can someone be covering up for the injuries caused to this baby? How can they value lies and deceit and the 'protection' of a guilty person above their own child?

By day's end we should hear from our case worker about the outcome of court today. All indications are that Baby H will simply be adjudicated and that another hearing will be scheduled for six months from now. But until I get that phone call, I can't sleep.

Is It Enough?

This struggle is probably more common among parents than I am aware. After all, we live in a time different from when I grew up - more options and opportunities, more competition. It seems to me that our kids are adequately involved in school and social activities, and then the realization that some of their friends are much more involved, more busy, more productive (at least by some measure) begins to nag at me. Do I do enough to encourage our kids to take every opportunity, to get out there and be the best, to not let life pass them by? Anyone else feel the pressure?

This is a pressure that my kids should not feel. Kids are kids - as my older neighbor reminded me this morning when she commented that our kids are "good workers" and I pish-poshed that away by saying that at times they REALLY need to be prompted to be good workers. And I want there to be time in our family's life to teach them the importance of being a quality worker; to be dependable to our family, friends, and community and to not get wrapped up in our own activities and pursuits.

But while we have been focused on this, other children have been focusing on sports so that our ten year old cannot get into a competitive baseball league - are there any non-competitive leagues anymore? - because he hasn't been playing tee-ball since he was four. Or our eight year old is placed in a gymnastics class with pre-schoolers who have been tumbling before they could walk. Granted, these situations seem to cause more of an issue with me than my kids.

Add to this the animal of being a foster family who also deals with some special needs. This only makes our family slightly different from other families - not better, not worse, only different. The needs of some of our children makes it difficult to enroll them in "typical" activities for "typical" kids; it is also sometimes difficult to get our own "typical" kids to their activities due to the need to juggle transportation with six children - four of whom always need to tag along. Then there's the possibility of having to spend some time disciplining and processing through: who can stay home and who can't, who will sit beside whom in the car, whether or not they can bring toys and books in the car (depends on the length of the ride and the behavior of any given child), when and what they may have for a snack, and now we've got a baby's nap schedule thrown in there for good measure.

So having each of the kids involved in one extra activity keeps us busy, but as they grow and there are more options for experiences - good learning and growing experiences - the stretch becomes more pronounced. Because as they grow it also becomes more imperative that we instill those "good worker" values.

This thought all began with a comment from one of our kids. A Sunday school teacher asked the students what they liked most about their families. The answer our child gave was something like, "I like that we are a foster family because I always have new brothers and sisters."

And that's when I know that it IS enough.

The Real Deal

No school Monday. Some of us slept in. Sat around in pajamas. Kids got breakfast on their own. Television was on. Lazy day schedule.

We did have a morning date with our neighbor, a dear lady who is just about ninety years young and loves our family - God bless her. The six of us (Stan was at work, and Fred was at school) strolled up the driveway and over to Miss L's back porch where she met us and insisted that we did not have to take off our wet sneakers (from walking through the dewy front yard) - see how much she loves us! We made our way into her living room where everything is 'just so' and she kept reminding me that she loves having children in her house and that my kids were okay to be touching her photos and knick-knacks; so I relaxed and put Baby H on the floor where he crawled around with Eli keeping a close eye on him.

It was at that point that I noticed Sierra: not sitting, bopping around the room picking up one keepsake after another, rolling on the floor, slithering under the glass-topped coffee table, getting up close and personal with the grand-father clock and then asking incessant questions about it. And it all clicked: the kids got breakfast on their own and I wasn't there to administer her morning medication.

Sierra has been diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficient Hyperactivity Disorder) as well as ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). I prefer the label ES for Extra Spunky, but as of yet that is not a recognized medical condition. At any rate, medication is prescribed to help her learn to manage her hyperactive behaviors, and it works for her. While the idea of children on medication is not my ideal, when it is proven helpful to my kids I am in favor of it.

Back to our neighborly visit where after covering every inch of the living room on her belly, Sierra found a length of lavender ribbon. After her excitement abated somewhat, she was able to nicely ask our friend if she might keep the ribbon scrap; and of course she was able to do so. For the next ten minutes Sierra twirled in circles around the room with that ribbon, making up dances and stories, and then wrapped it around her fingers and arm. Our visit was soon over and the girls and Baby H and I went from there on a walk.

While Samara and I strolled along with the baby, Sierra ran ahead jumping to reach branches hanging low and stopping to look for acorns on the sidewalk. With each of her finds, she would run back to the stroller and share and then take off again. The estimated distance that we walked was about 1.5 miles, the estimated distance that Sierra ran was about 3 miles.

By the time we returned to the house to put Baby H down for a nap, it was getting close to lunch time and while I considered having Sierra take her medicine then, I reconsidered since we had no where else to go and she seemed to be managing okay without it. Knowing that she would be extra spunky required me to be aware that extra grace might possibly need to be extended to her as we went through the day.

As Stan and I have noticed, Sierra is not extremely distracted, but is VERY distracting to others around her. This was the case as the five of us sat down to lunch. It seemed that no matter what any of us did, or didn't do, or said Sierra had a comment to make. And her comments apparently needed to be made while she was standing up or climbing on her chair with a mouth full of food. At one point she was excused from the table and then invited back when the rest of us had finished so that she could complete her meal in peace.

After lunch she and Samara wanted to watch television, but even before the first commercial break Sierra was turning somersaults across the floor and back again. That sort of play is encouraged to happen in the downstairs play room, so she was sent packing. She reappeared for a snack and then decided to practice her multiplication facts.

From the other room she could be heard singing through all thirty-five of those facts; and it seemed as though there was little thought going on - just a lot of "singing." But she did stick with it and then came and asked me to quiz her. Baby H and I were on the floor playing - not a situation that induced focus and concentration, but Sierra was able to answer twenty-five of the math facts correctly - that was an improvement from the day before. So we celebrated a bit and then I asked Sierra to put the math cards away.

Apparently the burst of focus it took to work through the math facts took all of her energy. Watching her struggle to gather the math cards - while being side-tracked with what Baby H was playing with on the floor, then find the baggie in which they are kept - while crawling around on the floor under the kitchen table to find it and some stray craft items her sister had dropped, then put the cards - some of them had dropped along the way from the living room to the kitchen in her journey and she needed to retrace her steps - in the baggie, and finally close up the baggie and put it back on the kitchen counter - while arguing with her brother about whether or not he had homework to do - it became evident that this was the real Sierra. The Sierra without her medication. The manifestation of what it's like to live with ADHD - the Real Deal.

Here's What's Growing On

The beginning of the school year in our family is similar to many other families: time to dig out the lunchboxes and backpacks, shop for school supplies, shove the stained and ripped "play clothes" to the back of the drawers, make sure everyone has sneakers that fit...

And as we journey through the first few weeks of school and everything starts to shake out and shape up, it becomes obvious that these third, sixth, eighth, and tenth graders are not the same kids I sent out the door last September. Somehow as we spend so much time together all summer, these changes are less noticeable, but this week as we've walked and talked together I can't help but be aware of how my kids are growing up.

Samara has been making concerted efforts to find ways to be helpful. Often when I'm working in the kitchen cleaning up or preparing for dinner she'll wander in and offer to help and is happy to complete even the most mundane of tasks: taking cans to the recycle box, sweeping crumbs up off the floor, putting rolls in a basket. More often than not, if there's laundry to be folded, she is eager to do that for me. In another respect, my girl's growth is equally noticeable - she now wears a size 6 shoe, she's in third grade! The good news is that we'll soon be able to borrow each other's shoes.

My other growing-like-the-proverbial-weed child is Eli. His growth spurt started last year when he grew six inches and gained fifteen pounds (it's okay to mention the weight gain of your young son, isn't it?) and it's not over yet. Finding jeans the with the right inseam and waist measurements is maddening; even more maddening is that in just two months those pants won't fit anymore anyway. We haven't officially measured recently, but I'm fairly certain that he is only about an inch or two shy of looking me eyeball-to-eyeball. This young man is still a deep thinker and very analytical, but it is good to hear him talk about his friends at school. Early on, like in preschool, Eli was so quiet and cautious that talking about friends was not something that happened frequently; it does my mother's heart good to know that he is growing inwardly and outwardly as well as upwardly.

Every serious bone in Evan's body, however, ended up in his brother's body. Every year at his annual physical I beg the doctor for a prescription for maturity pills; this son of mine loves to laugh, joke, pester, and instigate. He seems happiest when he's getting a rise out of someone. So where's the growth with him? It's certainly not up, he's about the same size as last year - at least he saves us money on clothes - and his shoes are a size smaller than Samara's. Evan's growth is evident when it needs to be: completing his homework on time without being reminded, remembering which days he needs his gym bag and violin on his own, being on time for violin lessons at school and then making sure he makes up any work he missed during the lesson time, he keeps his room picked up and orderly - and I hear from the teachers each year that he is also very organized at school. So when it REALLY matters, Evan comes through.

This year Fred has some new responsibilities at school: he has an on-campus job as well as an off-campus job at a local restaurant. The pride that he takes in doing these jobs well is wonderful to see. All reports so far are that he is a conscientious and respectful worker. For Fred it is often incremental steps that cause us joy - these jobs are huge steps that he is handling in a mature way - much joy!

Sierra has a wonderful spirited way of embracing all of life; she doesn't want to miss a thing and wants to make sure that no one else misses anything either - so she replays and broadcasts everything all the time. Gaining some self-control over her exuberance has been a priority and lately she has been rising to the challenge. This year when she gets off the bus after school, she allows her brother or sister to share something instead of talking the fastest and the loudest; when she's corrected and disciplined she will sometimes choose to walk away without an outburst. Another sign of her growing up is that during the summer she was able to practice getting her hair to look the way she wanted it to each day, so now she independently does her hair before school. Both on the outside and the inside my littlest is getting bigger.

For the first two weeks of school, that's a lot of growing going on.

Dinner Invitation

Maybe it's just me getting old, forgetful, nostalgic... but somehow with the beginning of the school year my mind is filled with visions of calm, cozy family dinners; smiles all around, peaceful and uplifting conversation, compliments on the delicious dinner...

There is also the realization that these lofty imaginings are unfair to my family.

So here's how it really went down earlier this week, Tuesday I think.

To my left, Baby H sits, bounces, bops around in his exersaucer where I feed him a continuous stream of Cheerios so that he remains placated enough not to notice that no one is entertaining him by being directly-in-his-face. To his left is Daughter 1 - the main culprit of being directly-in-the-baby's-face (but ah well, that is how the random drawing for seating at the dinner table came out this month.) And Daughter 2, for better or worse, is seated beside her sister. Then comes Stan at the other end of the table. The three boys are all along the other side of the table opposite their sisters.

So we sing our prayer and begin to pass the various serving bowls with both girls reminding and re-reminding us that they are able to help themselves AND pass the bowls along. Son 1 feels the need to remark, quite snidely most of the time, on every shortcoming of his little sisters - not bearing in mind his own utter lack of proper table manners. After a few sharp reprimands from Stan and me (I know, I know, we shouldn't LET it take a few reprimands because he should respond immediately - that's another one of those lofty visions of mine) Son 1 pulls it together and gives a half-hearted "sorry" - which only means he's sorry that he didn't wait until his parents were out of hearing range before antagonizing his sisters.

Once all the food has been passed Son 2, who for medical reasons has to finish a glass of water before beginning to eat dinner and for other reasons cannot have the actual food on his actual plate before that, requests that all the dinner items be passed to him. By this time we have begun our tradition of each person sharing "something good about my day." We have done our best to teach our kids to stop shoveling food into their own mouth long enough to pass a serving plate down the table. So eventually everyone has been served and now Baby H realizes that he is the only one eating Cheerios and so voices his displeasure at being left out, so I give him a small piece of cooked carrot to mash on.

About that time Daughter 2 decides that what she has to say is far more urgent and important than what everyone else is discussing; she escalates her volume level and with food in her mouth (the table manner she struggles with most) lets us all know ... something, it was difficult to understand around her mouthful of dinner. She is told to close her mouth, put her fork down, swallow, and with an empty mouth and quiet voice share her thoughts (sounds so peaceful when I write it out, I'm sure it didn't come across that way at the time.) In a fashion true to her personality, Daughter 2 slams down her fork, crosses her arms, and grunts at me in defiance. True to my form, I give a warning for her "talking back" attitude which only serves to fuel the fire of defiance.

Conversation continues and is interspersed with Daugther 1 over-reacting because the baby has spit the piece of carrot out, Son 1 wiping his greasy fingers and face on his shirt, and Baby H hollering from his post at floor level where he can see little of the action. Soon Daughter 2 finishes her mouthful of food and is asked to repeat what she wanted to share - more defiance as she now refuses to speak at all.

It's at this point that Son 3 jumps in and analyzes the situation, "When you are supposed to be quiet you want to talk and now that Mommy is telling you to talk you will only be quiet." A clear and concise assessment, but not one that is likely to pull his sister from her defiant funk.

At some point plates are empty and the table is cleared, wiped, and dust-busted under. Stan and I clean up the dinner dishes and the kitchen and the kids go their ways to play, do homework, or practice violin; someone entertains Baby H in the livingroom and it's a pleasant, peaceful evening. Just like I imagined.

Radical

Each summer our family attends camp meeting at Roxbury Holiness Camp. The theme of the camp this summer was simply: "Radical"; various speakers focused their messages on how God has demonstrated the radical way he works in the world and in the lives of his children. There were several opportunities for individuals to give testimony to the radical movement of God in their lives.

One morning a lady shared a testimony regarding how she watched God move in amazing ways in the life of her aging father as he battled Alzheimer's, and that got me to thinking... here was someone giving witness to the manifestation of God's radical-ness in the life of a man near the end of his life, and in our care we have a man at the beginning of his life who has experienced that same touch. Since Baby H is not able to speak for himself, I felt led to share part of what we had witnessed as God has moved radically in this baby's life.  

Only after being placed with us for a few weeks did we become fully aware of what Baby H had suffered. The report from the hospital emergency room described him as a "near fatality." That alone caused goosebumps on my arms and tears in my eyes. Upon admission to and an assessment at St. Christopher's Hospital, his injuries were determined to be the result of "non-accidental trauma" and suspected to be a case of shaken baby syndrome.

Initially he was non-responsive and not able to breathe on his own and so was intubated and on a feeding tube. In addition to fractures to his ribs, there was also evidence of previously healed fractures in his ribs and wrists. Bleeding and bruising in his brain damaged the nerves that affected his vision, hearing, and use of his arms and hands, the brain damage also resulted in seizures. I am sharing this information as a way to understand the severity of Baby H's condition and as a reference point as we move forward.

When he came (to our) home on May 18 at five months old, he was taking about 5 ounces of formula by bottle - which would take about 30 minutes due to the pacing technique we needed to use to help him relearn and strengthen the breathe-suck-swallow reflex. He was not able to roll over at all, and could not push up on his arms while laying on his belly - his arms would automatically swing back along his sides - and his hands were often fisted instead of open so that he was not able to grab at toys. Sitting up with support seemed to exhaust him and so was not very tolerable. There was continued concern of hearing loss as he seemed somewhat unresponsive to noises.

During the first few weeks there were follow up visits to the opthamologist and the neurologist to monitor the effects of the injuries and any progress or problems. At the opthamology appointment the doctor remarked that all the blood had reabsorbed into the brain as would be expected and that there appeared to be no long-term damage: return in six months - which we just did last week. This time - a different doctor - examined Baby H and reported, "No need for glasses." To which I replied, "I didn't know that was a concern." After checking the chart the doctor commented that she wasn't aware of the details of his case and didn't know what she should be looking for since there was no evidence of any previous injuries. Return in one year. That's radical.

At the follow-up visit to the neurologist, we were escorted to an examination room to wait for the doctor. Baby H was sitting on the lap of the case worker being his pleasant self. As soon as the doctor entered the room he looked at Baby H and said, "That is NOT the same baby. This is a miracle." He related the details from the first time he had seen the baby several weeks previously, thoroughly checked him over and told us to return in a year. That's radical.

Tomorrow Baby H will be evaluated by a team of professionals from Early Intervention to assess his needs for special services due to his delays. A child must present with a twenty-five percent delay in order to receive services; so at age eight months, Baby H will need to have a skill set at or below the developmental age of six months.

By the time he was six months old he was able to roll over, both back-to-front and front-to-back, sit up unassisted, do 'push-ups' by extending his arms while on his belly.

At seven months he was creeping along the floor forwards and backwards on his belly and then crawling on his hand and knees.

At eight months old he is pulling to stand at furniture, standing supported with one hand, beginning to walk along while holding onto the sofa; he is able to finger-feed himself bite-sized pieces of food (with no teeth - what an adorable toothless grin he has!) and uses a sippy cup, waves bye-bye and plays "patta cake" and "so big." He is able to babble all the vowel sounds and says "dada", "mama", "baba" - although none of those sounds means anything yet. He recognizes and favors Stan and I and our kids over friends of ours.

It would appear to this unprofessional - but well-seasoned mom - that the team of professionals will be hard pressed to find ANY delay with Baby H.

This journey that we are honored to travel, to witness, is nothing short of radical.

For Today

Today: May 2, 2012. While attending a support group for mom's of children with special needs, I took a call from our foster care agency regarding a possible placement. A four month old baby boy was going to be released from St. Christopher's Hospital later in the day, but before his discharge I would need to go to the hospital for training about using his NG feeding tube. The case worker also read through a list of the baby's injuries: fractured ribs, brain damage and hemorrhaging, seizures (being controlled by medication), possible hearing and sight loss. This placement was beyond the scope of my medical capabilities, but trusting that God had chosen our home for this baby as a safe place to land, I agreed to schedule the training upon her return call to confirm the placement. After I completed the phone call and relayed that information to the dear women at the support group meeting, they lifted Baby H in prayer. For that 'today', God placed me in just the right spot to receive that phone call.

Today: May 3, 2012. The case worker called early the next day (after an anxiety filled afternoon the day before) to report that Baby H had been moved from St. Christopher's Hospital to Weisman Children's Rehabilitation Center in Marlton, New Jersey since he was showing early signs of progress and improvement. I didn't hesitate to tell her that I wasn't shocked to hear of this progress since there were people praying for his healing (in addition to the ladies at the meeting, I had called several close friends and family members asking them to pray.) Baby H's anticipated date of discharge was May 25, and I was to go to the rehab center for training and to meet him sometime before then. Wasting no time, I immediately called Weisman, spoke with the social worker, and arranged to meet Baby H the following day. For that 'today', God's faithfulness was very evident in the healing He had begun in this baby's life.

Today: May 4, 2012. As soon as the bus picked up my kids, I hopped in the car and headed to Marlton. If not for the anticipation and excitement of meeting Baby H, I would have been a messy bundle of nerves over the prospect at driving alone, through the city, across the bridge into New Jersey, to a place I had never been. Armed with two sets of printed out directions, driving tips from the social worker (who used to live in Doylestown), and the fully charged and programmed GPS I was on my way. The bridge I was to cross, the Tacony-Palmyra, occasionally opens to allow large boats to pass. That morning was one of those occasions, only it opened not once but twice, putting me behind schedule by about 45 minutes. Once across the bridge, I made only one wrong turn which the GPS was quick and gracious enough to correct. I arrived at Weisman a little shaky that I had missed the baby's feeding time and would not be able to get the training. By the time I maneuvered my way through the building and found the social worker, I was sure I was too late. With a smile the social worker told me not to worry because I would not have to have the training as Baby H had begun to drink from a bottle the night before. So instead of the NG tube training, I would be trained on how to 'pace' him to drink from a bottle. For that 'today' God orchestrated the timing of my trip to remind me that His timing is perfect.

Today: May 18, 2012. One week ahead of schedule, and without the feeding tube, Baby H was discharged from Weisman to our home. I had been able to visit with him six times during his stay, was able to sit in on his therapy sessions, give him his bottles, play with him, and hold him for long, peaceful naps. Due to the severity of his injuries, upon discharge he was assessed to be about one month delayed, had suspected hearing and vision loss, and would continue to take anti-seizure medication. We were just glad to have him home with our family where he could recover and grow. For that 'today' we were trusting God to equip us for whatever challenges we would face.

Baby H is a miracle, a testament to God's goodness, grace, and love.

Today is really September 5, 2012 and it's been a long, busy, fun, exhausting, and amazing summer. There have been many todays since May 2, and God has walked with us through each one. I look forward to continuing to chronicle this journey now that life is back to the school-year routine.

Let me explain

Being the parent of a teenager is not for the faint of heart. Hormones race, moods swing, opinions strengthen, attitudes increase. I love my two teenage sons. Neither of them is 'typical', but they are both lovable, and sometimes even likable.

Our older son is chronologically sixteen years old. Academically, he can be instructed at the level of a second grader - a seven year old. Emotionally, he rides a roller coaster between feeling those sixteen year old hormones and acting on them in ways that appear to be much younger; fighting for independence, yet unsure of what to do with even the slightest bit of it.

Recently our family went out to dinner. Four of them read the menu, discussed some options (Evan wanted to order the $30 shrimp platter - that was a short discussion), decided on an item, and were able to communicate their choices to the server. Our oldest child could not, or refused to, participate in any of those interactions.

When the meals were delivered, each child - including the one for whom we had ordered (a favorite meal of his) - set to work using acceptable table manners and appropriate we-are-eating-in-a-restaurant-with-other-people-who-are-trying-to-enjoy-their-dinner-too voices and conversation. It was a nice time: no one kicking anyone else under the table, or swiping a neighbor's napkin, or dropping forks on the floor.

With Sierra by my side, I was pleasantly surprised at how well she handled her giant chocolate pancake completely saturated with two packets of syrup. It was equally pleasing that she and Samara could sit by each other without morphing into the typical mealtime bickering session regarding who had more soda left in her cup or who was going to get the last dinner roll.

Samara recently had an expander installed in her mouth by the orthodontist - a contraption which makes it challenging to speak clearly and eat in the usual way. She has done a wonderful job of adapting, but it does take her longer to finish a meal. So I was kind of keeping tabs on how she was progressing, and at some point glanced around the table to ascertain how everyone was doing.

When my visual sweep came to rest on my oldest child, I noticed that a few french fries and only a few bites of the grilled cheese sandwich had been consumed; this was at a point where the other kids were trading back-and-forth for the extra fries and applesauce that hadn't been finished. So I calmly said to my son, "Please pick up your sandwich and take a bite." This request did not have the expected result; instead I received a glassy stare of defiance. Stan, who was sitting next to this child, repeated the request and then removed all other food, save the partially eaten sandwich, from this child's plate - explaining the situation as he did so.

We continued on with our meal since we have learned that teenagers DO NOT like to be told what to do even once, so we left it alone.

At the point in the meal where the under-the-table kicking ensues, we know that it is time to start packing it up. And there sat my son with the same amount of sandwich on his plate. I made a request similar to the previous one. This time the answer, "Mommy, I don't want it!" was shouted so loud that all the diners in our section of the restaurant turned toward our table in alarm, and all four siblings immediately ducked their heads as if to hide inside themselves.

Reigning in my frustration over the embarrassment that had been caused, I slowly left my seat, walked around the table to my son, took him by the arm with one hand and scooped up the sandwich with the other. We made our way, with as much dignity as possible, through the maze of tables filled with curious patrons. Once outside, I explained to him what had happened and how it had affected everyone there. Then he needed to explain it back to me.

The point of this post is not to cause embarrassment or elicit pity for my son or our family. But since I did not take the opportunity to explain our situation to those people who witnessed it - as sometimes I think I should or could to give a glimpse into what a less than typical family looks like - I appreciate being able to explain it here and hope that it gives a clearer understanding of our family and others like us.