The Gift of Grace

Almost four months have passed since Baby H left our family and his space in my heart is still empty. The space in our home, however, did not remain empty for long.

LS (Little Sweetheart) who joined our family in December and MD (Mister Dee) who came on board in February certainly have helped to round out the crew and bring more life to our already colorful family.

In the past few months we've needed to settle in: registering for school, initial doctors' appointments, follow-up of any recommendations from the doctors, tracking down school records, assessments and evaluations for school placement, scheduling family visits, switching out bedrooms and organizing for a family of nine. All that busy-ness has helped to alleviate some of the grief of the loss of Baby H.

The true source of relief has been God's grace. He has allowed us to move forward - knowing that Baby H and all the children we've had in our home are in His care - and open our hearts and home to other children in need. Our family has been crafted in such a way to be available and open to whoever God chooses to place here; and sometimes that means we walk through hard times, but God always walks with us.

Taking the placement of LS was not something I personally felt prepared to do; it seemed too soon -  my heart still too broken, and the prospect of caring for a kindergartner did not appeal to me. Our family philosophy is: unless there is a clear reason to say, "no" to a placement, then the answer will always be, "yes." And so LS became my little girl and I am her "mommy" and would have it no other way. That's God's grace.

A few weeks into the placement, LS's mom was incarcerated which meant no visits for the length of her year-long sentence. The birth father was contacted and expressed interest in visits, and within the past two months has attended only three of these scheduled visits. Thankfully, LS has been blessed with a bubbly and optimistic personality and seems incredibly resilient - given what she has already lived through and witnessed in her six years of life - and has rolled with the haphazard visitation schedule.

Enter Grace - with a capital "G". Grace is the great-grandmother of LS, the grandmother of LS's mother; she cared for LS and her mom until LS was three years old. Upon placement, we were told that we were free contact Grace by telephone at our convenience. LS asked to call her "grand mom" and was thrilled when we were able to connect with her.

During our second phone call, Grace shared her story with me: She and her five siblings were placed into foster care when she was five years old, and she remained in the system until the age of eighteen. For most of those years, she and her siblings were able to stay together with one family who she still refers to as her parents. Grace married - and is still married to the same man - had children, grand children, and great-grand children. At the age of sixty-nine she works full-time and is raising one of her grand nephews.

Some of her first words to me were: "You are an answer to my prayers."

She had been worried about LS for the past two years, since she and her mother had moved away from Grace. Grace was concerned (and rightly so, it turns out) for LS's safety, but felt that there was nothing she could do except pray that LS be moved into a safe home. The fact that we are a Christian family was more than Grace "could have hoped for", as she told me later.

Phone calls between LS and her grand mom happen at least once a week, and Grace spends much of the time encouraging LS to be thankful and grateful, to always say "thank you", to help around the house, to be kind to her "sisters and brothers", to pay attention and do her best in school, and of course to remind LS of how much she is loved and treasured.

Grace also spends time talking with me, sometimes she calls just to talk to me. Every time she thanks us for taking care of and loving LS, she reminds me that we are an answer to prayer, that God will bless us for our obedience. When one of our boys was sick and I mentioned it, she called the next day just to see how he was doing. For Easter, she not only bought LS some Easter gifts, but also had gift bags for LS to give to "her sisters" (our girls) because she wants LS to learn that is more blessed to give.

In fourteen years of fostering, we have never been so blessed by a birth family member. We've been friendly and able to encourage birth families, we've felt positive about some of the situations in which the parents were sincere in their efforts. But we've not ever been blessed by grace.

After the difficult situation with Baby H, which in reality was made unbearable at times by his birth mother and grand mother - being accused of mistreatment and neglect, feeling interrogated each time we met at the office for a visit, ultimately being made out to be incompetent and uncaring parents - God's gift of grace and Grace have become so apparent and real.

Honestly

With six kids in the house there's lots of stuff. Stuff that belongs to someone else. Stuff that you shouldn't touch unless it belongs to you. At least that's how we roll, it just seems to simplify life a little.

Last week one of the kids brought to our attention that someone's stuff had been touched, in fact, taken and used. Since it's a given that we don't tolerate lying - which includes stealing (which equals taking something that doesn't belong to you)  - we expected the guilty party to come clean rather quickly.

That being a faulty assumption, we progressed to a family pow-wow around the table where they were subjected to a lecture about how our home needs to be a safe and secure place, that this is the training ground for "real life", and reminders that God has called us to live a life set apart and holy - to follow Jesus' example of a life of integrity. At least that's what I heard and hope came across to the kids in such a way as to compel someone to confess.

That hope was dashed as a trip around the table yielded no information, just a bit of blame-throwing.

It was close to bedtime for the younger set, so we sent everyone to their rooms for the rest of the evening with the charge to think and pray about the situation, and encouragement to answer honestly in the morning.

After lunch on Sunday the pow-wow resumed with the same results: no confession, everyone to their rooms for the day - or until one of them came to confess and apologize.

During the afternoon, two of the kids came to me to ask what would happen if someone took the blame for everyone, if one of them confessed even though he or she were not the guilty party. An interesting proposition that lent itself to a discussion about Jesus' act of love for us in taking on our sin, and a realization that if this choice were made an innocent sibling would be punished.

Since this was not the result for which they were hoping - the kids seemed to think that an innocent person taking the rap should be off the hook and no one would serve a consequence - those two returned to their rooms.

With a quiet house and some time to investigate, I was able to conclusively discern who the guilty party was. After releasing the other five from their bedrooms and thanking them for their patience, I went to the room of the sixth child and explained that we knew the truth. Fully expecting a tearful confession and not getting one, but rather a tearful defense, we moved onto the punishment which was a grounding to the bedroom for two additional days (since the siblings had spent two days in their rooms needlessly) and a week of performing each brother's and sister's daily chores (setting the table, clearning the table...) in return for the trouble that had been caused for them.

As far as making restitution for the item that was used - and here's where it gets kind of funny - it belonged to the child who took it. And this same child was the one that brought the issue to our attention in the first place.

Apparently the thinking went something like this: I know what I did was wrong, so I'll make it seem like someone else did it, and if I'm the one who brings it up and I'm the victim, I won't be suspected.

Honestly... my kids!

What's Your Name

Children come to our home from a wide spectrum of situations: living with one parent or both, a parent's friend, a grandparent, or other relatives; having been exposed to domestic violence, substance abuse, verbal, emotional, physical, or sexual abuse; neglect of the basic needs of food, shelter, and security - both physical and emotional; having experienced homelessness, a lack of consistency in parenting and discipline, large gaps in school attendance, learning disabilities, and behavior disorders. It's all trauma. These children have all suffered a great deal of trauma.

Amazingly, most of these children have an extremely strong loyalty to their parents. It's more amazing in some cases when the perpetrators of severe abuse and neglect are those same parents; and it's a bond which I have learned to honor.

Through the course of our journey, Stan and I have had various titles: Daddy Stan & Mommy Dawn, Uncle Stan & Aunt Dawn, Dad & Mom, Daddy & Mommy or Momma, (just plain) Stan & Dawn, and my least favorite - Mr. Stan and Miss Dawn. Whatever handle a child has needed for us is what we went with. And then there's the whole who-am-I-when-I-show-up-at-your-school question. Older kids have preferred to refer to me as an aunt, cousin, or friend.

In our current situation our little sweetheart (age 5), came from a situation of having a mother who she calls "mom" and a friend who she calls "mommy." Knowing this, we had a little discussion after I registered her for school that went something like this: "When we go visit the school, someone may point to me and ask who I am. What should we tell them? We could say I'm your friend, or your aunt." LS replied quickly, "You're my mom!" So we went with that.

We also had a conversation about what names she would like to use for us at home. She was given the options already mentioned or encouraged to come up with something she liked. With no pressure for a decision, I'm not sure that one was formally made

In the next weeks I would hear LS talking to the other kids and referring to me as "your mommy" and I knew that she was sorting through her thoughts and feelings about who I was and how I fit into her life. During those weeks, when she wanted my attention she would simply get in my space and face to talk to me so no "handle" was needed; a few times I was summoned with "Hey!"

As time goes along and LS hears the other kids calling us "mommy & daddy", as she receives love and care and consistency in our home, as her parents allow time to pass without entering into her life, LS has continued to process and has "slipped" a few times and called us "mommy & daddy" as she has been talking about us.

This past week LS and I met some friends at a park. At one point one of the other children called out to their mother with, "Mommy!" and LS echoed calling me also, "Mommy!" so that we could watch the fun they were having. My heart did a flip.

As we've experienced before, once we become "daddy & mommy" the names are used in excess for a little while. In the past several days I have heard "mommy" from LS for every.little.thing. And I bask in it!

We still talk about her "mom" and "mommy" and the rest of her family. The loyalty with which she regards her family is honored. There is hope that she will be reunified with them and those relationships will continue and grow.

For now I am thrilled to be mommy to my LS, and privileged to receive her love.
 

More and More

"And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best..."

Our pastor has been hanging out in Philippians these past weeks and has challenged us to be reading through it daily. That's a very lofty goal - for me - and so I have been doing my best to spend some time with some portion of it each morning. The above excerpt is from chapter one and came across especially poignantly today.

One of our children has intense struggles with oppositional behavior. People have asked me to describe Oppositional Defiant Disorder; after all, most kids demonstrate some level of opposition, they all want their own way. It's difficult to put into words exactly what it's like to live with ODD in our house. And it's difficult for me to paint a negative and bleak picture of our child; besides the ODD and other diagnoses, this child has so much positive potential.

This morning this child got up, showered, and dressed for school. Then the distractions began:

while packing up her snack she had to examine a package that had been delievered to our house by mistake and was on the counter waiting to be taken to the neighbor's house - Daddy prompted her to keep moving and she growled in response;

she moved on and began to pack up her book bag while I directed a question to her and her sisters about some missing gum - she was immediately defensive and started yelling that she "didn't take it!";

we dropped the issue and she chose what cereal she wanted for breakfast, and while I poured it she poked holes in the bagel bag and bagels - at which point I told her to sit at the table;

she went to the table sat down and kicked her sister and then shoved her own chair away from the table - I told her to stand up and took the chair away and set her cereal in front of her so that she could stand to eat it (this is routine for us), she sat on the floor and muttered that she "was not going to have breakfast anyway";

turning my back and holding my tongue, I waited for her to stand up. When - after a few minutes - she didn't stand or calm down, I removed the cereal and told her to go and comb her hair. She yelled at me and them stomped toward the bathroom;

a few minutes later, from upstairs, came the loud complaints of one of the other girls. For some reason my struggling daughter decided to not comb her hair, but rather to go upstairs and throw clean laundry around her bedroom. She was called downstairs and eventually - after banging on the newel posts and railing and much stomping, grunting and growling - presented herself in the kitchen where I told her to stand at the table. She responded by following me around the kitchen, demanding her cereal.

My unspoken, but known, expectation was that she would stand at the table and then receive her cereal. She refused to obey and went back upstairs where there was slamming of doors and various items.

Several minutes later it was time to put on coats, gather instruments, and pick up book bags. From the kitchen I called for my child to come and get her violin and music, which she did as slowly as possible. On a whim, I checked her pockets and found the contraband - a container of lip gloss. At this point the other three kids were out the door and this one was refusing to pick up her violin, book bag, and coat.

Doing my best to say nothing, I "helped" her out the door: book bag hanging by one shoulder strap, violin in one hand, coat dragging along the ground with the other. With muttering and groaning she made it to the bus stop just as the other kids were getting on the bus - thanks goodness because I was trying to figure out how I would have handled it if she had missed the bus.

Okay, so back to the verse from Philippians... here's what I read this morning:

"And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in KNOWLEDGE and DEPTH OF INSIGHT, so that you may be able to discern what is best..."

Being a woman, a wife, a mom, my bent is toward loving with my heart, my emotions, my feelings. Seldom do I consider that I need more knowledge to love more completely. This verse speaks to me today, in the middle of a difficult, negative morning with my sweet girl. With more knowledge and insight I might "be able to discern what is best" for her.

Mixed Bag

Since we began foster parenting it's been there, that internal wrestling: we are blessed by these precious, amazing kids, but only because they have been mistreated and marginalized. Our life is fuller and richer for having them in it, but their lives have been traumatized, filled with fear, sometimes neglect, sometimes abuse. In a few cases the situations have been minor - thank goodness - and the children have been quickly reunified with their families (as it should be.)

Several times we've witnessed birth parents work hard to remedy the issues and rebuild their families - find employment, get clean, secure housing, have evaluations and the treatment required, attend parenting classes, make sure their children have health insurance. All this happens while separated from their children - can you imagine the anguish? - which makes the process that much more stressful.

Honestly, at the beginning, when children would come to our home I did not harbor much sympathy for the birth parents. In my mind they had had their chance and had blown it and now it was my turn to enjoy and love their children. My focus was on my house, my family, our security and happiness. Interaction with birth parents at visits was civil (usually) and cordial.

That perspective changed about two years into our journey when our oldest son was reunified with his birth family - after we had been encouraged to begin the adoption process.
I will always remember the day that I stood in our garage and cried, my heart breaking over our loss.

The pain of the loss of Baby H in our family has brought to my mind those other very hard separations: River, Angel, Heather, Kriste, Laurisa, Haily. With each one my heart had to break and then heal - a fellow foster mom remarked that her heart is all chicken wire and duct tape due to all the heart-break through which she has walked. Each loss has brought with it more sympathy for the birth parents of our foster children.

In our current case, so far we have very little accurate information regarding the birth parents - including any allegations. And while we are enjoying this ray of sunshine in our family, my mind goes to what the birth mom of LS must be thinking and feeling - this is her only child. Does she worry that she's safe? that she's warm enough? that she's eating instead of crying and scared? With the loss of Baby H still so fresh to me, empathy lies much closer to the surface.

After her bath tonight, LS chose a child's devotional book as her bedtime story. The book had us go through our day and give thanks for the places we had been, the people we had seen, the things we had done; it was interesting to hear her recount her view of the happenings of the day. On the page where it asked if you were sorry about anything, she looked at me and said she was sorry for some trouble that she had caused this afternoon. What a blessing! I thanked her for that and reminded her that God helps us feel sorry about things so that we will not want to, and try not to, repeat them.

The next page prompted us to pray for other people. With almost no hesitation, LS prayed for her mom - that she would not hurt her anymore.

Just that abrubtly, my empathy vanished and my momma-bear protective mode kicked in. This child is mine - for now, for as long as God allows - and no one is going to harm any of my children.

Somehow we are going to sort through things, get the true story, and be able to move ahead. Somehow I will learn to love LS with my whole (broken, taped up, wired together) heart. Somehow I will find the strength, the desire to sympathize with her mother. Somehow God will once again prove faithful as we follow a path that only he has designed.

Always Prepared

All parents have seasons and situations that are more mind-boggling and confounding than others; at least, I hope I'm not the only one.

We've had children in our home with some unique and quirky habits; learned behaviors that required un-learning. The seven-year old who had yet to be fully toilet-taught sticks out in my head. While we struggled through that - trying all sorts of consequences, rewards, natural consequences - it became apparent three years later that we endured that situation so that we would be prepared for one of our permanent kids to face the very same issue. Since the second child was younger and required more time, energy, and patience it was so good of God to have us "practice" on the older child first.

One of our permanent kids prepared us for a little boy of four years old with an extremely strong will and boundless energy. If not for the preparation of the first child, the second would have suffered (not physically in any way, of course) needlessly as I would have fumbled my way through knock-down, drag-out arguments with a pre-schooler. Gratefully, by the time oppositional child number two arrived, I had learned not to lose to pip-squeaks, but also to carefully choose those small (but HUGE) childhood battles.

And God is faithful, he has provided us with a daughter who is gifted with dramatic flair which has obviously prepared me well for our current placement of our LS. At less than a week in, LS has been "upset" by a bumped head, a hurt finger, being hungry, and not getting to eat cookies whenever she likes.

With a new placement comes a new soft spot in my heart; this child has come from or through some sort of trauma and deserves to have an easy go of things - at least for a bit. Dealing with her "upset" tugs at my heartstrings - I just want life to be fair for her, to be able to fix whatever is wrong.

That is my heart. My head knows differently - that swooping in to fix it all and make it all right will not serve her well in the long run. We've all heard it before: children need - thrive with, even - consistency. What my head rationalizes as consistency, my heart often feels is harsh.

We had an opportunity to put it to the test today. Lunchtime was just me and LS and left-overs.

Opportunity number one: LS wanted a sandwich, not left-overs - which was a pasta casserole (think spagetti for supper, but all mixed together and baked with gooey cheese on top) that we had for her first dinner with our family and of which she polished off two servings with gusto. While I ignored her pleas for a sandwich and heated up the casserole, I asked her if she'd rather have a piece of candy or a cookie after we finished our lunch. This sort of distraction technique works well for the younger set; thankfully it did in this case and she chose to have a cookie, which we set out on a napkin on the counter for "later."

Opportunity number two: Round about the fifth spoonful, LS came across a piece of chopped green pepper. After asking about and getting an answer as to it's identity, she decided that she could not eat any more of her lunch. No comment from me, so she told me again how disgusting peppers are, that there weren't any peppers in the sauce on Monday, and that they tasted bad. My casserole tasted just fine, better perhaps, as left-overs, so I continued on with my lunch.

Opportunity number three: When I had finished eating and cleared away my plate, LS followed suit. Then she sat down again and asked (with a sweet little voice and a "please" on the end) for her cookie. Oh no, she didn't realize she had left herself wide open for the dreaded if-you-are-too-full-to-finish-your-lunch-then-you-are-too-full-for-dessert speech. She gave the distinct impression (pouty lip, forced tears down her cheeks, loud and louder wailing) that she didn't like my response. Thankful that I have had much practice with this exact circumstance I said, "Oh, my kids like to sometimes make that noise, too. And they can do it as loud and as long as they want... in their bedrooms. Good thing you have a bedroom, so you can go ahead and make those noises as much as you want."

Years of repetition must be paying off; she trotted off to her bedroom - tantrum and all. Because she and I are both new to this, I watched the clock for the five-minute mark so that I could go comfort, calm, and discuss with her. LS beat me to it - after three minutes (a world record in our house!) she was back downstairs with her face and attitude straightened out. Waiting to see if it would stick - and it did - we sat down a bit later to read a book, she curled right up on my lap.

This will not be the last or greatest challenge with LS. I only know that because God has prepared me for so much more - I almost shudder at what lies ahead!

What is it?

We make it last as long as possible, milk every minute, live in denial that we'll have to go back; but the unspoken reality looms over us... Christmas vacation is over. Tomorrow it's back to the school and work routine, wake-up times and bed-times. So tonight it's book bags and lunch boxes to pack, showers and scrubbing, heading upstairs earlier than usual (even for a school night) to make up for the late night festivities of New Year's Eve, as well as to compensate for how out of practice and inefficient we've become with the getting-ready-for-bed routine.

Add to this our little "extra" who came to stay on Monday, New Year's Eve 2012. She's a five year-old sweetheart who is bright and happy and polite and beautiful. Samara and Sierra took her under their wings immediately so that I have had but a few moments with her myself. After a full day with her, we know little about her family or the situation that brought her to us; she has not asked how long she might stay (although my girls have - I think they're worried that their new playmate will leave before the novelty wears off) nor when she can see her mommy. When I asked the case worker about phone calls, she gave permission, but little sweetheart has not mentioned it at all.

As us girls were making our way slowly toward bed-time this evening, and Sierra and Samara were eventually tucked into bed and reading quietly until lights-out, LS and I spent some time getting bathed, lotioned, and dressed in pajamas. Standing by her bed, partially pajama-ed, LS began to cry and then sob.

Gently gathering her into a hug, I tried to quiet and calm her by asking some general questions: "Does something hurt?", "Are you hungry?", "Do you want your teddy bear?" But the crying continued and she was not able to answer, only to shake her head no.

Without knowing much about her background, it seemed tricky for me to try to guess at what might have triggered her upset-ness; the wrong question may have brought more trauma rather than comfort. We just sat, both of us on the floor, she on my lap with one arm around my neck, and me offering hugs and soothing (at least I hoped so) comments: "You're safe here."; "We're glad you are here."; "Tomorrow will be a fun day."

With little progress made, and an obviously over-tired little girl on my lap; I whispered a quick prayer for some guidance, then went ahead with more probing questions hoping for wisdom to deal with what the answers might be: "Are you sad because you miss your house?" Head shakes no. "Are you sad because you miss your bed?" Another no. "Are you sad because you miss your mommy?" She answered, "No." And the crying didn't get worse and she was able to then tell me what was bothering her.

Thankfully her upset was caused by a simple and typical situation which we were able to talk through and resolve. She calmed down enough to choose a bedtime story and when it was over, crawled quietly into bed. She accepted my good-night kiss on one cheek from me and on the other cheek from her mommy.

When I peeked in on her a few minutes later, she was peacefully sleeping. The end of day two in a whole new place.

Tomorrow holds more new experiences as we register for school and visit her kindergarten class room. There may be more crying and tears, more questions that lead to dead-ends, more hugs and holding. And no matter what it is, we will be here for this little sweetheart.