A Moment of Tragedy

I am not usually one to hop on the bandwagon of pointing fingers when it comes to the guilt/innocence of someone who has been accused of a crime. Publicly, that is. 

The case of Justin Ross Harris, however, is inciting me to say something. Over the past few days, I have seen posts about this go from, "What a terrible accident," to now, "Crucify the SOB."

I don't know anything about Mr. Harris. I don't know what is in his heart. I do know, though, that every year, children accidentally get left in cars with tragic consequences. These consequences devastate families and change peoples' lives forever. I can guarantee you that probably 99.9% of the people who make this mistake grieve for the rest of their lives at that one moment of lapse in their memory. I'm sure they live in the world of what-ifs and if-onlys. 

Are there people out there who intentionally hurt their children? Yes. I live in the world of foster care and children who are abused and broken by those who are supposed to care for them. The majority of these incidents, however, are not preplanned and carried out methodically. They are emotional events. Bursts of anger, moments of frustration, the inability to deal with everyday stressors and the lack of alternative coping skills. No, these things are not right nor defendable. But please ponder the jump in culpability that is being made here. IF this man is guilty of leaving his child in this car on purpose, that is a level of evil that we don't even normally see in a world where we see evil things done to children all the time. 

I ask that you remember that in the US, we are presumed innocent until proven guilty. Please quit crucifying a man who has already had his life altered irreparably by his own mistake. Instead, start praying for him and his family as they deal with this loss. And pray that he gets a fair trial, which could now be impossible since the media has already started spinning the story with a guilty verdict.

This blog post that I found has some great insight on why we need to just step back and stop throwing stones.

http://www.the-cul-de-sac.org/2014/06/26/to-the-christians-crucifying-justin-ross-harris-with-their-comments/

Saying Goodbye

I've already gotten his clothes out, ready to pack. His books have been packed for a few days. All I have left are his toys and a few odds and ends scattered around the house to gather and stuff in a box. Instead of doing this, though, I am sitting in my chair in the den waiting on the edge of my seat for enough time to pass so I can go get him out of his crib without waking him up from his nap. I need to hold him one last time. I need to smell him, rub his soft skin, kiss his forehead... I need to soak up what I can because in an hour or two, all I will have left are the memories from the last 11 months. I will never again hold him as if he were my own.

My heart lies in shards around me. Although I knew this day was coming, all I can feel is devastation. All I know is the deep ache inside of me that longs for my baby. The panic alarm inside of me is growing louder by the second. 

But even as the storm rages inside of me, I know that there is a still, small voice whispering, "Come to me, all you who are heavy laden... I will give you rest." I cling to that voice, that promise, that hope. There is no other alternative, for I cannot bear this on my own. 

Abba Father,

As my world falls apart, remind me of my calling.

As I call out in my despair, remind me of the hope that I have in You. 

As I stand among the broken pieces of what once was, remind me of the broken nature of this ministry. 

As I grieve for a child who will no longer call me 'Mama,' remind me of the terror that birth parents feel as their child is taken away. 

As I pick myself back up to continue walking down this road you have set before me, remind me that You are the healer of all broken things. 

As I cry in desperation, remind me that You know my heart and soul to a depth that I will never understand and You love me still. 

As I wake up tomorrow to a new wave of grief, remind me that You are the source of my strength. 

Lord God, remind me of Your power, Your love, Your sacrifice. Remind me of Your grace. For without it... Without YOU... I am nothing. 

Guatemala: Part 1

Last Sunday morning we had a beautiful time of worship with out sister church in Guatemala City, New Jerusalen. A few minutes into the service, a Guatemalan woman came and sat in the empty chair to my left. It was Flor. 

Flor's story is not one that is unique, but it is heartbreaking. Last year, on my trip down to Guate in July, I sat in her house and held a sweet little baby girl who was almost the same age as Eyelashes. At that time, she was only two months old. This little baby was Flor's granddaughter. To be honest, this baby had not arrived under pleasant circumstances. She had been created under the most vile of circumstances. But she was there, she was theirs, and she was loved. 

It was providential that I met this family last summer. I have prayed for them daily by name. I have tried to follow them as much as possible through my contacts at the church. I even found out that the week after we had visited their house, they came to church and dedicated the baby. I knew things were hard for them, but they were making it. They had joined a faith family who had taken them in and offered support, a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on.

And then the unthinkable happened. This precious baby girl passed away in May after an illness. She was 11 months and 9 days old. This family buried their baby on the Saturday before Mother's Day. 

Devastation. Guilt. Grief. An opportunity for bitterness to take root and flourish. 

Sitting next to Flor on Sunday and praying for her while she cried made me realize how incredibly broken this world is. Obviously, I have realized that before... But this was on a whole new scale. Not only is this world broken, but I cannot fix it. 

A few days after that church service, I sat in Flor's house, listening to her grieve the loss of her grandchild. By God's grace, one of my teammates had just happened to join our group and was able to speak words of comfort and encouragement to this grieving family. He spoke words of hope that could only be uttered through his own grief, his own pain. After a time of prayer, I had to hug these precious ladies, walk across the dirt floor of their small home, and walk away. And walking away is so very hard. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of the hardest parts of this mission trip for me is letting go and not being able to fix broken things. I'm a fixer by nature. It's what I do. If I see something that is broken, all I can concentrate on is finding a solution, calling the right people, providing the necessities so that it can be resolved. I have dealt with the inability to fix things before in my foster care journey, but this is on a much a greater scale... A loss of a child, the threat of eviction, not enough food to feed the family, the threat of danger on so many sides, a dirt floor, no running water, a house that could possibly blow away in a storm... The list continues.

There are so many things in this life that I just don't understand. Why are children forced to sell their bodies to help a parent get drug money? Why are there children who literally have nothing to eat? Why is it that there are parents who cannot provide for their children, no matter how hard they try? Why are there babies who are not able to be treated for leukemia because their families can't afford the treatment and they were born in a country that doesn't have programs to help them? 

Unfortunately, this is life. For the majority of people reading this, this is not the life that we see on a daily basis, but it is life for billions of people around the world. These are battles that they fight every single day. Seeing these families is hard. Hearing their stories and being in relationship with them is even harder. But without the knowledge that there is another way of life... One that is not as comfortable or as convenient as our own.... We don't know the full story of what we're called to. We don't know our capabilities or who/what God may be calling us to fight for. In essence, we don't know who God has called is to be. 

If you have never seen the poverty and daily struggles that can make life a living hell for these families, I encourage you to get out there. Sign up for a mission trip. You need not even go far. There are communities around this city that need the light of the Gospel desperately. So go. See it. Experience it. For you will be forever changed. 

And if you have been, if you have seen it, experienced it... Then do something. Even if it's simply praying for the people that you met, do it. Never forget the faces. Never forget the stories. Keep them close to your heart. Bring them before the Father every single day. 

To N and L, you have no idea how much God used you on this trip. You were used by our creator to bring hope to a desperate family, but you also brought hope to me as I stand on the edge of inevitable loss. Thank you. I love you both and I am praying for your family's healing.

Life Among the Unknowns

So what's happening now?

I don't know.

How long will you have them?

I have no clue.

What's the plan?

I have absolutely no idea.

Foster care is a world of unknowns.

The lives of the children that I care for are not in my hands. The decisions about their little lives are not my decisions to make. It's up to a judge, a social worker, a supervisor, a GAL, a lawyer, a family member. 

Let me be totally transparent for a moment... This scares me half to death.

In my head, I know that God is ultimately in charge. He has these little ones resting safely in the palm of His hands. 

But I worry. I worry because we live in a fallen world. I worry because people who make decisions outside of God's will effect the lives of those around them... Of those whom they are making the decisions for. Even though I know that God is bigger than all of these people, I still can't remove this human element from the equation. The entropy that ensues when decisions are left up to fallible people... I am terrified that with one word, with one mistake, things will derail. And who, of all those involved pays the price for a bad decision? The child.

This is a broken system, with broken people, that make broken decisions, for children in a broken world. 

And even when you think it's done. The decision has been made, the approval has been granted, the plan has been written... Something else comes up that sends everyone scrambling back to the drawing board. 

We are now dealing with the scramble. No one knows what will happen. No one knows what life will look like for this little one in a year, six months, one month. I don't know where he will be, who he will call mommy, who will protect him. And I'm scared. 

I cannot rest while everything is up in the air. I cannot let my guard down. I cannot be at ease. I cannot stop calling out to the One who knows this child better than anyone else ever will. Crying out for truth to come to light. Begging for this mountain to be moved. 

Please pray with me. Pray that this is resolved quickly. Pray that the right decisions are made. Pray that the facts are examined and God gives those involved in this situation clarity and wisdom. 

Therefore, don’t be afraid of them, since there is nothing covered that won’t be uncovered and nothing hidden that won’t be made known. What I tell you in the dark, speak in the light. What you hear in a whisper, proclaim on the housetops. Don’t fear those who kill the body but are not able to kill the soul; rather, fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Aren’t two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s consent. But even the hairs of your head have all been counted. So don’t be afraid therefore; you are worth more than many sparrows. (Matthew 10:26-31 HCSB)

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. (Galatians 6:9 NIV)

Please pray with us through the unknowns.

          Painting by Amy Vos McLeod.

The Time Draws Near

The time is drawing near

When I will have to let you go.

It weighs heavy on my heart

Like lead to my grieving soul.

Lately I've been successful

At distracting myself from tears.

But as your departure looms ever closer

And the day is almost here

I find that just below the surface

My emotions are bubbling up

Sending tiny daggers of desperation

But at the same time, gasps of hope.

You are going to where God is leading

He is ordering your every move

You, dear child, are an intrical part

Of what God will one day do.

As much as it pains me to let you go

To hand you off to another

As much as I want you to stay in my arms,

To be your forever mother.

I can't be selfish and keep you away

From what God has called you to

For I only want the best for you

And nothing less than God's best will do.

You are special, little blessed one,

I've known it from the beginning.

There's a light in your eyes, a sparkle, a promise

Of the hope that you'll one day be giving.

As our time together begins to wind it's way down

I know what it is I will do.

I will pray over you and hug you close 

And thank my God for blessing me with you.

Not Mine

Precious Eyelashes,

I'm sitting in the middle of the living room floor watching and listening to you play. You're talking to yourself, or your toys, or me... I'm not sure which. When you do something you're proud of, you look over to me to see if I'm looking. Trust me, I'm watching. I'm soaking in every single second with you that I possibly can. And I'm so proud of you, baby boy. 

It grieves my heart to know that in just a few weeks, you will begin spending more time with another family. You will begin transitioning into their world, adapting to their schedule, getting to know them and love them. It will be them that you will begin to trust as you start your second year of life. Eventually, the memories of your time with me will fade. You will hopefully know me by name, know my face, but you won't remember the ten months you spent growing up with me. And that's okay, I have pictures enough for the both of us...

I do want you to know this, though...

I love you more than I need my next breath. I would give my life to protect you. You own a part of my heart that you will be taking with you when you leave. But you are not mine. I've known this from the very day I got you, July 15, 2013. I am not your forever family, but God has created another family just for you. He has orchestrated your every step in the first year of your life. It was no coincidence that you came to me, and it will be by His design that you go to the next stop on your journey home.

You are special, baby boy. You will go on to do great things in life. There is something in you that God will use to work wonders. I know this is true, for God has already worked wonders in my life through you. I will forever pray for you, forever love you, forever hold you tight in my heart. And when the time is right, I want to help you piece together the first year of your life so that you know where you came from.

There is no way I can explain how heartbroken I am that God didn't call me to be your forever mommy, but in time I know that we will both see that God's plan for us is so much bigger, greater, more spectacular and more amazing than we could ever dream of or try to orchestrate on our own. As a precious friend reminded me today, there is another baby out there who needs a safe place to grow, and that, for now, is what God has called me to. To love and protect, but to let go when it's time. So I'm holding onto you now with open hands. 

I still don't know what your future looks like, but I know that God has got it all in the palm of His hand. He knows you better and loves you more than I ever could. He made you. He has a plan for you. You are His. 

Thank you, sweet baby, for touching my heart so deeply. Thank you for teaching me how to be a better person. How to love more deeply, without the walls I normally erect around my heart. Thank you for loving me. You have loved me every single day that you have been with me... even when I felt unloveable. Thank you for being a picture of grace and unconditional love. You are more of a blessing to me than you will ever know.

Precious baby boy, you are my bestest boy, my favorite love... And I love you deeply... For always.

A Woman of Grace

As I drove through downtown Birmingham, I listened to her story. I interjected questions here and there for clarification, but for the most part, she just talked. She was unloading. She was telling someone her story.

Her grandmother raised her. She wasn't a nice woman, but at least she was there. Her mom split when she was little. She saw her mom sometimes on holidays, if she bothered to come around at all, but for the most part, she was absent. She never knew her daddy. Never even knew his name. After her grandma died, she tried to find her mom. To make some sort of contact. To try again. But she couldn't find her. She still looks in the phone book every so often. Just to see if her mom's name magically appears in there. But she's not hopeful. She has no idea if she's dead or alive.  Sometimes she pretends that her mom got rid of the drugs, found a nice man, and had a family. At least then she would be happy. Not suffering. Not like she was.

At first she started using because it was just something to do. It was easier to buy drugs in her neighborhood than it was fresh produce. Cheaper, too. But from her first hit, they took control of her body. They owned her mind. When she was high, she didn't have to think about being abandoned by the one who gave birth to her. She didn't have to think about what kind of ugly words and physical torment she would go home to that night... If she went home at all. She didn't have to think about what those men did to her. She didn't have to think about how ashamed she was for letting them touch her. They were her family. They were supposed to love her and take care of her, but that wasn't love. No matter what they said, she knew that wasn't love.

As the drugs took ownership of her every waking hour, she pursued them desperately. She stole, she begged, she even turned tricks to get them. And soon she found that she was experiencing horrors just to get what she needed to forget all of her horrors to begin with. The vicious cycle was in full form. She couldn't escape it. And then she got pregnant. But the cycle continued. She wanted to be a good mommy. She loved that little boy more than anything in the world... Except for her next fix. She always told herself that the next one would be the last one. And then she'd be done. No more. But it just kept extending into a longer and longer line of "the next one." Before she knew it, she was pregnant again. 

Several times she tried rehab. The boys were taken away a few times, but somehow she always pulled off getting them back. She loved them. They were her only reason to get any better. Her only reason to keep trying. Her only reason to breathe. And then the unthinkable happened to them. She did whatever she could to take care of them when she was on a binge. They were safer with someone else then with her if she were high, right? She could kick herself now for trusting. For thinking that it was okay to leave them there. But all she can hope for now is that they'll heal and that they can finally break the cycle of addiction. That they can be the ones to rise above. To be brave and face their horrors head on instead of continually running from them, even at the expense of those they love the most. 

So now she was fighting. She wanted her life back. She wanted to raise her boys and to know the joy and happiness of being a mommy. She wanted to be there for them. Unlike her own mother, she wanted to watch them grow up. And she was trying. Trying so hard.

A few weeks later, as she called to cancel another visit, I knew in my heart she was using again. There was nothing I could do. I knew that this would spell disaster for any chance of reunification for this little family. My heart broke. It broke for the spunky little man who wanted so much to be back with his mommy and his brother. It broke for her. Because I knew that she understood what this meant. She knew the consequences. And I was scared. Without them, what did she have to work for? To get better for? To live for?

The time came for a meeting. I went in not really knowing what to expect. I knew the plan. There were relatives who were going the extra mile so that the boys could be together again. They were taking the needed steps to make sure that they were prepared for the challenges that raising these two boys would bring. They were going above and beyond, in my opinion, to take care of family. But I didn't know how she was going to react. Surely this couldn't be a surprise to her. She knew better than anyone what consequences would come from her addiction. And so I sat next to her at the table, with bated breath, waiting for the meeting to start.

What she said both broke my heart and gave me hope. In her soft voice, calm and determined, she told an entire room of people that she had fallen. She was no longer able to control her addiction, and like so many times before, it now had control of her. But she wanted more for her boys. She wanted stability for them. A good home and a loving family. She wanted more for them than what she had ever had. She wanted more for them than what she could ever give them. And as she spoke, tears ran down her face. Silent, hot, desperate tears. Tears that told a story. A story of loss, pain, and the horrors of her life. But also of love, sacrifice, hope and strength. 

Never had I respected her more. Never had I hurt for her more. She was doing the hard thing. She was making a gut-wrenching decision to give her children what was best for them. She gave them up to save them. 

Sadly, she's still living as a slave to her addiction. But all hope is not lost. She has someone on her side. One who does not push for adoption because she knows that it would take away any faint glimmer of hope for her to ever get better. One who drives countless hours each month to make sure that the boys get to see their mommy. One who prays relentlessly for her healing. One who, after more than a year in her home, is still looking for a place where the boys' mommy can heal and recover. One who loves her because she loves Jesus. One who knows what it is to show grace. 

I want to be like her. I want to be the one who stands with the mommies of my little ones. I want to stand in the gap, to support, to love, to believe... I want to be a light when all they can see is darkness. I want to be able to look a mommy in the eye and say, "Carry on, Mama. You're fighting the good fight." 

So many of these mommies have never had someone in their corner. I can't imagine the loneliness that would come from knowing that absolutely no one believes in you. That the world condems you. That you are alone. 

I pray that more of us come alongside these women. That we lift them up and support them. Because after all... We all fall short, do we not? Whether it results in the loss of our children into the foster care system or not... We are all sinners who have fallen short of the mark. And we all need Jesus.