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.