L-O-V-E

Dear MopTop,

Today is Valentine's Day. While I have not traditionally been a big fan of this day, someone recently reminded me that this is a day to celebrate LOVE, every type of love... so today I celebrate YOU. 

As I lie here with you on this special day, I feel your heart beat rhythmically and I smile. I smell your hair, rub your baby soft skin, and hold your sweaty little hand in mine. I love you, Bubba, more than I can sometimes bear. I have spent the last 8+ months watching you grow and develop. I'm so proud of you that my heart feels as if it may burst every time I look at you. I have witnessed all of your firsts... Your first smile, rolling over, sitting up, laughing, crawling... I marvel at how perfectly God has created you to be. 

Sweet love, I count myself blessed to be your mommy for this season. This weekend has been a bittersweet one as you have now come upon another milestone in your tiny little life. While you have shown excitement at my arrival for quite a while now, you have now started to prefer to be with me rather than others. Like most mothers, I will admit that even though this milestone makes life a little less convenient, it is also one that makes my heart swell with even more love and affection for you than I thought possible. 

It means that you, my love, know without a shadow of a doubt who I am to you... I. Am. Mommy.

But even though you have known me as your mommy since you were two days old, the problem is... I'm not really her. 

Eventually, whether it be in a few short weeks or a year from now, you will leave me. You will begin to learn the voice and face of your new mommy. She will feed you, bathe you, talk to you, rock you, love you. As time passes, you will learn to trust her. You will begin forming a bond with her. You will love her. And as you settle into your new life, your memories of me will fade. You will no longer listen for my voice in a crowd and respond with smiles and jumps when you hear me. You will no longer wait for my face to appear at your bedroom door in the mornings. You, instead, will be listening and waiting for another. And that's okay.

But even though your memories of me will fade away, I pray that your memory of my love for you never does. For the love I have for you will never fade away or diminish over time. It will hold steadfast and true until I take my last breath, just like my love for those who came before you... 

Forever and for always... 

I 

LOVE

YOU

She's gone. Gone. Gone.

"Mama, look!"

Her sweet mama was there immediately. Kneeling beside her baby girl, her face flush with love and pride for the little one sitting next to her. 

I felt as if time had stopped...

She took the book that her daughter held out to her and read the title, her voice betraying her full heart.

My heart constricted, my voice gone, my eyes stinging with tears held back...

Her precious little one watched her intently. Eyes on her mama as if she had hung the moon, mouth upturned in a smile that said more than her words ever could.

I turned away. Jealousy flaring in the deepest parts of my soul. Grief springing out of my heart and drowning me in its dark, churning waters.

In my dreams, I still hold onto the hope that one day this beautiful mother/daughter exchange will be mine. That my sweet BB will call out to me, "Mama, look!" That four years from now I will share in her excitement at her own kindergarten Open House. 

And then my dreams are over. Gone with the night and washed away in the morning dew.

She will never be mine. I will never hear her voice call me Mama. I  will not be the one she turns to when she's excited, happy, proud, or even when she cries out in pain. Every time I think about this, my heart shatters anew.

She was my baby. She was the one. I just knew when God called me to open my heart up to adoption, that she would be my forever. But she's gone.

She's gone. Gone. Gone. 

I've experienced loss before. Placements have come and gone, taking with them a piece of me when they leave. But BB? She was different. On May 15, 2015, I experienced a loss that I have yet to be able to put into words.

The loss of a dream. The loss of forever. But mainly just the loss of her.

Most people seem to think that I'm strong. Super-human. Special. At least that's what they tell me...

But I'm not.

I'm broken, hurting and very much ordinary. My heart doesn't heal fully after my babies leave. They take little chunks of my heart with them... It's the only real gift that I can give them while they're with me... My heart. My undying love. And eventually, my grief.

Laying it on the Altar

My sweet little roly poly baby had been with me since August. From the beginning of her placement, whenever the question of adoption was broached (as it inevitably is), my answer was always a firm "no." But as the cold of winter began to give way into the newness of spring, my heart began to change. I knew God was putting something more on the table for me... more than "just" fostering... I began to contemplate the idea of adoption. Let me be clear, this was not a decision I went into lightly. I came up with what seemed to be a million reasons that adoption was not a good choice for me right now... and they were all great reasons. But God didn't let up. He kept impressing it on my heart that I was to say yes to the possibility of adoption for my baby. Until finally I did just that... I changed my firm "no" to a hopeful "yes."

With a court date quickly approaching, I was hoping and praying that the "family friend" who was seeking custody of my sweet BB would lose interest, be scared away, or otherwise be found unfit. I prayed and prayed that this baby I loved, this baby I said yes to would become mine forever. But I've learned in foster care that nothing is ever a given. Even if they tell you it's a done deal, things can still change. 

So I tried to protect my heart, but I think I was already too far gone in my fantasy of starting my forever family. I had our adoption day picture ideas already worked out... matching outfits with a smiling toddler at my knee holding a vintage chalkboard that shared our good news of forever. I had a plan of secrecy all worked out so that I could tell my church family about my beloved's adoption with her surprise baptism. I wanted more than anything to watch a judge sign the papers that made my sweet girl mine forever.

And even as I daydreamed my way into being a mommy, BB's court day was inching ever closer, robbing me of my ability to breathe.

The week before court was a nightmare. I had already had a rough spring and my anxiety and fear were at an all-time high as May rolled around. Anxiety and fear turned into despair as I found out some information that devastated me. In order for my baby girl to stay with me, it would take a full on miracle. I found myself wanting to spend every spare second holding and loving on my baby, but found myself busier than ever and not able to relax and enjoy our time together when we were at home. And to add insult to injury, I was committed to a small group (Life group through COTH) and the retreat was schedule for my last weekend with my lovey before court. Are you kidding me? I was more than irritated at the timing of this retreat, but a commitment is a commitment, so I sent my baby to respite care for the night and headed downtown for the retreat exactly a week before heading that same direction for court. 

On the way to the retreat, God showed me the gravity of the sacrifice that was made by both the Father and the Son in order for my relationship with Him to ever be restored... Jesus was sent by His Father, out of a place of perfection and beauty, to live in a putrid and hopeless place. I can only imagine the heartbreak that God the Father must have had as He sent his Son to a place where He knew He would be tortured and killed. 

And then I was reminded of Abraham... He waited for decades for God to fulfill His promise of a son, but he never lost faith in his God. Soon enough, Abraham's camp was filled with the joyful giggles of his long-awaited son as he played. I can see him now, bouncing little Isaac on his knee and then pulling him in tight for a hug. But the day came when God asked the unthinkable of Abraham. He asked him for his son. I don't know that I could comprehend the grief and desperation that he felt as he tied his child to the altar, fully intending to make the ultimate sacrifice to his God. Yet, there in the bushes, God provided a sacrificial ram instead. 

He also showed me the story of Hannah. She was barren and dejected. She prayed for years to have a child. God answered her prayers and she gave birth to Samuel. After he was weaned, Hannah took her only child to God's temple, offering him back to God... to be raised in the courts of the Lord. I imagine that it took every ounce of her self control to walk away while her child called out after her, not realizing that God was ordering his steps. The heartbreak and depression she must have felt as she arrived back home without her child. The utter loss that she suffered so that God's will for Samuel's life would be accomplished.

I arrived at the retreat a sobbing mess. I was physically and emotionally spent from my week. I was overcome with anxiety, fear and despair. But as I left the retreat Friday night, after many tears and fervent praying, I went home knowing for certain that God loved my BB more than I ever would, or could even comprehend. He sees her, He knows her by name, and He is preparing her for a future that will glorify His name. I felt at peace that God would go before me. He would prepare the path for court, and we would be okay. As hard as it would be to let go and trust Him, I had to do it.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that there is something incredibly special about BB. God has a plan for her life. She will do mighty things for Him. And if I'm not the mommy who is set apart to prepare her for this, then it's time for me to let go. It's time for me to be okay with taking her to the temple courts and letting her be raised so that His will for her life will be accomplished. Let HIS name be praised.

I truly wish that I was writing this while my baby sleeps in the other room. I prayed that she would come home with me. I hoped that I would be the mommy set apart to raise her. But I'm not.

A week and a half ago, I handed my sweet baby off to a stranger and I drove home from court by myself. I have cried myself to sleep more times than not and I have longed to wrap my arms around that sweet girl every second that she's been gone. It hurts to lose a child. 

But I can say without hesitation... Even though my hopes and dreams of "forever" with my baby will not come to fruition, His name be praised.

I am grieving, but He gives me strength for each new day. And with each new day comes the possibility of a new little life to love on until it's their time to move on. Whatever my forever may look like, I'm just glad He's at the center.

C-O-U-R-T

My heart catches, forgetting to beat.

My stomach churns, the butterflies' wings fluttering incessantly.

My breath becomes shallow, unwittingly perpetuating the problem.

My mind races, possibilities and scenarios on an endless repeat formation.

My throat constricts, not allowing me to speak.

My adrenaline pumps, telling me to run away from it all.

My eyes water, wanting to spill all their secrets, to wash them away.

It is amazing to me how our bodies, so lovingly created by our Creator to work in perfect symphony, can have such a sudden and drastic reaction to one thought... one word...

C-O-U-R-T

This word, more than any other, can pull a stress reaction from the depths of my soul. Whenever my mind wanders, whenever I let my guard down, whenever I become still, whenever I allow myself to ponder the possible outcomes...

It. Starts.

It hits fast and the chaos has soon taken over my body, holding me captive as I panic. Once a day, or once a minute, the intensity continues to build as court day comes closer. 

There are many things about foster care that are hard, but for me, court has to be the hardest part. Not knowing what will happen is torture. Not knowing if I will be able to protect a child I love deeply and desperately makes me want to throw breakable objects against a wall. It makes me crazy. It makes me desperate. 

So I'm assuming that if you're reading this, you know a foster family... So please pray for us. 

Pray for our kids, that they will experience peace and assurance as their court day approaches.

Pray for the foster families as they scramble to remain in control of their feelings and emotions as the precious ones they love are once again placed in the hands of someone else who makes the decisions that will shape their future.

Pray for the social workers and lawyers whose job it is to fight for what is best for the child... that they will have wisdom and discernment.

Pray for the judge who many times will make a decision that will change the entire trajectory of a child's future without ever laying eyes on them or knowing them.

And pray for our hearts as they get stomped on and ripped to shreds over and over again. 

Mary's Easter

In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man named Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And the angel came to her and said, “Rejoice, favored woman! The Lord is with you.” But she was deeply troubled by this statement, wondering what kind of greeting this could be. Then the angel told her: Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Now listen: You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will call His name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and His kingdom will have no end. Mary asked the angel, “How can this be, since I have not been intimate with a man? ” The angel replied to her: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the holy One to be born will be called the Son of God. And consider your relative Elizabeth — even she has conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called childless. For nothing will be impossible with God.” “I am the Lord’s slave,” said Mary. “May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel left her. (Luke 1:26-38 HCSB)

I often wonder about Mary. I wonder about how freaked out she must have been to (1) have an angel visit her, (2) learn that she would get pregnant without actually, well, you know, and (3) know that the child she would carry, birth, and raise would be God in human form. 

I wonder about what went through her mind. Did she even consider saying no?

Ummm... Mr. Gabriel, sir, with all due respect, I think I'll pass on this opportunity. You see, this just seems a little much. I mean, I'll help out in any way I can, but this whole getting pregnant out of wedlock thing is dangerous business around here. Did you know I could be stoned to death for that? And that's only part of it... This will be God that I'm supposed to be raising. I don't know nothing 'bout raising no babies! What if I do it wrong? He's going to know everything... Like... Everything... That's a little overwhelming for me. I know this girl, Sarah, though. She lives down the road. She's engaged to the town's candlestick maker. She has a terrible singing voice, but otherwise she's pretty awesome. Why don't you go visit her??

Even if this went through her head, she didn't say it. She didn't shy away from the danger of a seemingly impossible situation. Instead, she was obedient. And with her act of instant obedience, the terrible beauty of the Easter story began to form.

Fast forward a few years. Jesus has begun predicting his own death. Mary knows it's true. Even though others doubt Him a little bit, shrugging it off thinking that he's probably just being a little over dramatic, she knows. She's heard His teaching for years... Since he could talk, actually. And she knows the implications of the predictions. Her son will die. Her heart skips a beat, wrapped in anxiety and fear, dreading the days to come.

She watches Him with pride, knowing that He will not shy away from the danger of such an impossible situation. Knowing that with each act of obedience to His father, the time of His death draws closer. Her heart is breaking, screaming for everything to stop so that she can once again shelter her little boy, protect Him. But in her mind she knows that God is faithful. He has shown Himself to be worthy of her trust, her faith, her all... He has never failed her before, even when there seemed to be no way.

She watches her baby's blood spill to the ground. She watches Him falter and fall to his knees. She watches as they drive spikes into His hands and feet. Her own knees buckle and give way beneath her as His cross is dropped cruelly into a hole in the ground. Her stomach jolts inside of her as she watches her baby writhe in agony, trying to breathe. And her heart feels as though it is ripped from her chest when she hears His proclamation, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit," and goes limp as He dies there before her. 

I can only imagine the terror that she experiences as she watches this horror story play out in front of her. The grief that enfolds her, knowing that she has seen her precious son for the last time. That she will never again hold his hand, hug his neck, hear his voice, see his face. I can only imagine the hopelessness that tears at her soul as she prepares him for burial, wondering why God did not intervene to save His son... HER son. I can only imagine the feeling of abandonment that drove its wedge deep into her heart as she heard the stone being rolled into place and the tomb being sealed off.

And then nothing. For three days she walked through life in a haze. Accepting condolences, but never really hearing. Returning hugs and handshakes, but never really feeling. Eating and drinking to nourish herself, but never really tasting. Walking, but neither really knowing nor caring where she was going. 

It. Was. Over. 

And then she heard a familiar voice. A voice etched so deeply into her mind, her heart, her soul... Her son's voice... Jesus's voice. Did she dare turn around? Did she dare believe that it was possible? 

For nothing will be impossible with God.

I can only imagine the joy, the hope, the love, the relief that exploded in her heart at that moment. As she felt his scarred palms, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed her baby's cheeks... As she experienced her moment of salvation, as she wept over her son, her Lord. 

May Mary's Easter be my own. May I feel her horror as our Lord was tortured and crucified. May I know her grief as He was laid in the tomb. And may I experience her joy, hope, and love that He offers as I hold the hands that have conquered death and the grave. 

We serve a risen Savior, my friends. Glory be!!

My Giant

I was headed to a new school in August. A school in which the majority of my freshman class had grown up together since they were knee high to a grasshopper. I, on the other hand, was new. I had made the volleyball team, thankfully. In the summer practices that preceded the beginning of the school year, I kept hearing about this one teacher... Her name was spoken with a mixture of fear, respect, dread, and even a touch of terror. 

Them: "Who do you have for English?"

Me: "Brenda Davis..."

Them: "Yikes! You'll want to be careful in her class. She does NOT play around. Just do your work and stay under the radar, you'll be fine."

So the first day of school arrives and I almost pass out with the dread of going to English class. (Or it could have been the 105 degree heat that day... I grew up in Mobile.) I walk into her room and take a seat, get out my notebook, and sit quietly, waiting for the dreaded teacher from the black lagoon. An immediate, thick silence enveloped the room as she walked in. 

Mrs. Davis, except for her blond hair, was clad from head to foot in black. Black shirt, black skirt, black shoes, and even black fingernail polish... It was like looking at Viola Swamp. My insides quaked as she let the door slam behind her and she started talking. It was obvious she didn't play around. I knew from that first moment that this would be one class that I would absolutely NOT be able to play around in. She demanded respect, that was for sure. And I was bound, bit, and determined to not become a casualty of her (in)famous wrath.

Fast forward a few months, when Mrs. Davis had finally started wearing some colors other than just solid black... 

High school wasn't exactly the best time of my life. I mean, come on... I was the chubby new girl with acne in a school full of skinny, flawless skinned girls. I found myself, already prone to depression, slipping further into a world of loneliness. Cut off from the world around me by my steadily dropping self-esteem, not to mention my inability to express my deepening sense of depression to any living soul. I was smiling on the outside (after all, that's what everyone expected from me), but my insides definitely didn't match the outside image that I portrayed. 

One particularly rough day, Mrs. Davis noticed that something wasn't quite right. I don't remember what the issue was, or the timing of our conversation, but I do remember breaking down and crying to a woman that I was terrified of. She brought me into her room, closed her door, enveloped me in a hug, and held me while I cried my eyeballs out. All of this would have been enough, but when I finally pulled it together and she let go... she was crying, too. This inexplicable act of compassion, of love, sealed the deal... I had just connected with one of the most influential people in my life. Ever. 

Through all four years of high school, I relied on Mrs. Davis for support. She understood me on a level that most people didn't. She was my teacher for three out of my four years there, but our relationship went much deeper than that. She was a friend, a listener, a shoulder to cry on, an encourager, a speaker of life... She was one of my giants of the faith. Her appeal wasn't simply that she was nice to me or that she showed compassion to me in my most vulnerable times... But she exuded the love of Christ. 

She was Jesus with skin on.

{This was a phrase she used frequently while I was in high school. She still uses it today. And I repeat it... Quite a bit, actually.}

I don't get to see Brenda as often as I'd like anymore. I only go to Mobile a few times a year, and even then, our schedules don't always line up. But more often than not, I end up over at her house. Sitting on her kitchen counter while she cooks, or snuggled up in the front bedroom where you can literally feel the presence of God washing over you. She's met almost all of my kiddos and I know that she prays for me regularly. 

She's still my giant. She's still my Jesus with skin on. 

I treasure every hug, every word of encouragement, every prayer. I have tucked away just about every word she's ever said to me, and I try to live by them. I never both open and close a thank you note by saying, "Thank you," and I think of her every time I use "a lot" to describe a quantity of something. (Don't really live by that one, per se, but I do always chuckle to myself when I use it.) My love for this woman is deep. I miss her so much sometimes that it hurts. I miss her bone crushing hugs and sitting in her lap. I miss her laugh. I miss how easily her eyes fill with tears. I miss her words. 

Every girl deserves to have a Brenda in their life. I don't know who I would be without mine...

BD ~ I love you. You mean more to me than you could ever possibly know. I appreciate you. And I thank you. For every word of life you have spoken over me, for every prayer you have uttered on my behalf, for every hug you have given, and for every moment that you have put your own life aside so that you could be my Jesus with skin on. I. Love. You. 

You are so worth it.

Every night we do the same thing...

We snuggle while I whisper over her.

I love you, sweet girl.

You're my favorite girl.

And you are so worth it.

Last night, my voice caught and tears began to form as I said to my little baby love, "You are so worth it."

It made me think about my Jesus. My savior who declared that I was worth it so many years ago as he suffered on the cross.

He still calls out to me, with his scarred hands held out, waiting for me to fall into his arms...

Erin, you were so worth it.

You were worth every hit.

Every drop of blood.

Every thorn.

Every slap.

Every lash.

Every cut.

Every hurt.

Every nail.

You, my sweet daughter, were worth every single bit of pain. 

Your redemption is complete.

You are paid for.

You are whole.

Your heart is mine.

Yet time and time again, I declare myself to be unworthy of such a love. I refuse to believe that it is available to me. I act as if I am unloved and unwanted. 

And in my unwillingness to accept His love, I have nullified the most incredible gift anyone has ever offered me. I have pushed Him away. I have told Him that His sacrifice, His ultimate sacrifice, is not enough for me. 

So now I run back to the cross. 

Back to His sacrifice. 

Back to His love for me. 

Back to His scarred hands and His open arms. 

Back to His voice... His whisper... 

You are so worth it.

6 Months + Forever

Sweet BB,

Six months ago today...

I answered the phone and said YES. 

I sat at Lifeline waiting nervously for hours. 

I brought you home. 

I gave you a bath. 

I cleaned up more spit up than I ever imagined could come out of one so small.

I gave you another bath.

I dressed you in teeny tiny newborn clothes.

I held you while your cried. 

I held you while you slept. 

I rocked you. 

I sang to you. 

I loved you.

Sweet lovey girl, people say that you're lucky to have me. But they're wrong... I'm the lucky one. Last summer, when my heart shattered into a million pieces, I struggled to put them back together. I tried desperately. I just couldn't do it. 

You see, when Jakobe left me, I knew deep down inside that I couldn't have another baby boy for a while. I was too raw. I was hurt too deeply by his absence. It felt like another boy would be trying to replace the one that I missed, hurt and longed for so desperately. 

So I asked for a girl. I'm so glad I did. 

Baby girl, you have rocked my world. I have found that I can love again. Just as deeply and beautifully as I have with your predecessors. Honestly? I was scared that I had been broken... That I didn't have it in me to love like that again... To love without limits knowing fully that my heart will, once again, lie on the altar in shambles when you inevitably leave. 

I have had six amazing months with you. Amazing doesn't even begin to describe my time with you. I owe so much to you. You have been an intrical part in my healing process... You still are. 

But the moments that I dread with all my heart are just around the corner. In two weeks, we go back to court. I don't know if you'll come home with me or not. I hate not knowing. I hate it with all my heart. I hate thinking about the fact that I may come home to an empty house that night. I hate the fact that someone else will get to see your smiles and hear your coos. I hate knowing that you will, in your own little baby way, wonder where I've gone. I hate that you will be distressed when you can't find me...

I hate, more than anything though, the thought of losing you forever... That you will no longer be mine to love on, to talk to, to play with, to snuggle. I just hate this part. Simply the thought of it makes my breath catch in my chest. It makes my eyes sting, my stomach churn. It reminds me that the hardest thing I've ever faced will come crashing down on me once again.

But BB, hear me when I say this... You. Are. So. Worth. It. 

You are worth every tear that I will shed. 

You are worth every cry that will escape my lips from the broken places deep inside of me. 

You are worth every moment of my grief.

You are worth it, baby girl, because you are worth every moment of my love.

I love you so much that it hurts. I will treasure every single moment I get to spend with you, rock you, feed you, talk to you, play with you, bounce you, kiss you, snuggle you, sing to you, be with you.

I love you, sweet girl, now and forever.

Love,

Mama Erin

Little Baby Belle

Baby girl,

Today you are six months old. I fall more in love with you every single day. Your smile, your laugh, your fat little legs. Every single moment with you is a moment I will cherish forever.

Like each of my babies who have been here before you, I truly don't know how much longer I will have you. I dread the day when I get the phone call that starts with, "So... There's a relative who has petitioned for custody..." Each court date creates a knot in the pit of my stomach that sits like lead, gnawing at my heart and emotions until I know for sure what the outcome is. 

That knot, though, doesn't come from a fear that you will be taken away from me and that I will lose you forever. Baby girl, that day will come, and that is a fact. I pray that it brings with it a continued relationship with you and your family. I want more than anything to watch you grow up and become the woman who God has called you to be. 

But instead, that knot comes from not knowing...

Who will take you home one day that you will call mommy? 

Who will braid your hair and teach you your ABCs?

Whose arms will you run to when you scrape your knees and need hugs and kisses to make it better?

Who will kiss you goodnight and tell you over and over again that you are loved and cherished?

Who will hold your hand when you're nervous about your first day of school?

Who will encourage you to follow your dreams and be your best, even when it's hard?

Who will make you change clothes before you go out because those shorts are entirely too short?

Who will clap for you at your graduation?

Who will walk you down the aisle when you meet the man of your dreams?

It won't be me, sweet baby girl. I mourn that fact. I hate that fact. But the truth is... You are someone else's baby. I truly hope that I get to see some of those moments. I hope that when you look at pictures from your first year of life, you know who I am. I hope that this season of your life isn't hidden away from you, but cherished... I know I'll cherish it forever. And I'll love you for always. 

Swamp-Sitting

My friend, Tajuan? She's a survivor. She has seen the dark places and she has survived. Not only has she survived, but she has emerged from slavery as a beautiful creation that speaks God's mercy and saving grace to others who are trapped in those same dark places. She constantly reminds me of what it means to be a child of the King... To remember where you have been, to reach out to others with your story, but to be healed and free from the bondage that your story can bring. 

The other day, she wrote of her struggles to deal with her past. Her tendency to ignore the harder parts of her story so that she doesn't have to face them dead-on. Here are her words, so beautifully written:

Sitting in the swamp...

Earlier this month a "name" was given to some past experiences I have had. It is an ugly, gruesome name. A name I wanted to deny, rebuke and not accept. Yet, the evidence presented to me (through many conversations) MADE me see the truth in the naming of the crime with the evidence presented. With the "new" evidence I had, I knew I would have convicted someone which less evidence. So, how could I deny it anymore?

My former defense mechanisms wanted to kick in. I wanted to run from it or hurt me because I was hurting. But this time those things didn't make sense to me. I did something different. I sat IN THE SWAMP.

The swamp of ugly details.

The swamp of allowing myself to grieve the pain and loss. 

The swamp of crying out to God. 

The swamp of being MAD at God. 

I put a deadline on the swamp-sitting. I wouldn't let it consume me, but I would and did feel it. I allowed myself time to process it in the muck and mire.

Now it's time for me to walk through it with the new beautiful light of God. He shed light on a dark place for healing. I see the details now, when once they were so confused. Because I allowed myself to sit in it. 

What a revelation!! It didn't kill me, as the enemy wanted me to believe. The enemy had told me, "If you revisit this, you will die from the pain." LIAR!

Praising God for giving me the courage to sit in the swamp, process the ugliness and know that at a specific time it would be over and He and I would walk through it again... BUT THIS TIME I WILL WALK ON TOP OF THE SWAMP WATER. With Him. Revisiting and healing more. Amen!!!

{Written by Tajuan McCarty}

When I read this, a giant lightbulb lit up above my head. I put a deadline on the swamp-sitting. And there is the key piece I have been missing!! 

You see, when Jakobe (Eyelashes) left on June 18 of last year, I got stuck in the swamp. It's not that I was mad because of where he went or who he went to... I'm incredibly thankful for them. But the swamp is just where I end up when a child leaves my home. I drop them off at their new home and then I drive to the Bayou and cover myself in mud and slime. It's unavoidable. The grief that comes with a child leaving is brutal. It's something that I wouldn't wish on anyone. And there's no way to get around it... It will happen, for every kid... Because they're worth loving and they're worth grieving. Getting stuck there, though, is where it becomes problematic. 

Guys, I didn't just get stuck in the swamp, I put down roots. I became one of those creepy trees that has moss hanging all over it and alligators lurking at the base, waiting for their next meal to come along. By the time that I realized I was a creepy swamp tree, my roots were too deep to move. And honestly, I didn't really want to move. I kind of liked it in the swamp. 

The swamp of ugly details.

I could wallow in self-pity, mourning the loss of the dreams that I once had for myself, wondering all the while, "What is wrong with me that I'm not good enough?"...

The swamp of allowing myself to grieve the pain and loss.

I could weep in despair for the child that would never be mine. I could drown in the tears of my broken dreams...

The swamp of crying out to God.

I asked why more times than I can count. I cried out in desperation wanting comfort. More than anything, I self-righteously demanded that God answer my prayers, fix my dreams, mend my broken faith.

The swamp of being MAD at God.

And this is where my roots went deepest. I was mad. I couldn't see His goodness because I felt so betrayed. I couldn't feel His love because of my self-righteous anger. I couldn't accept His answer because it wasn't what I wanted to hear.

And there I have been sitting. Alone in the swamp. Rotting from the inside out. And all the while, trying to look like I was rooted in a bed of daisies. 

So the idea of putting a time limit on my swamp-sitting? Brilliant. 

My swamp sitting days are over. I've been here too long. I'm looking forward to fresh water. To clean soil. And to no alligators.

Will I return every once in a while? Yes. There's no getting around that. Being a foster mom means you will visit, even frequent, the swamp. But next time, I will put a time limit on my stay there. I have too much living to do to get stuck again.

Tajuan, thank you for sharing your story, your beauty, your pain, your life. You lead by example and I'm honored to know you and call you friend.

#freemore

The Foster Family's Family

Around this time four years ago, I informed my parents that I would be getting licensed to be a foster mom that spring. They never blinked an eye...

Since that time, I have fostered nine children and the majority of them have spent a good amount of time with my family and extended family. This time with family is incredibly important in the lives of these children. Please bear with me as I explain why you, as a foster family's family, have such a paramount support role in the lives of these children and families.

These children, the majority of the time, have been pulled out of chaos and have been dropped into a foster home. Now let me be clear... This event in their young lives has nothing to do with them. They were powerless in their circumstances, an innocent bystander who was devastated by the poor decisions of others. They have lost everything they know as familiar and find dear. They have been removed and separated from the people and things that they love. They are lost, hurting, and scared. And more than anything, they need a shelter in the storm. They need to feel safe, loved and protected. 

Will they have behaviors that are different than what you would expect out of your own children? Of course!! Just like the kids down the street from you are being raised in a different environment than at your house, these children are coming from a different environment as well. 

And this is where your amazingly exciting role comes in!!

It is no surprise that all children need to see healthy, stable role models. For kids who have come into care out of situations with unhealthy family dynamics, this may be the only opportunity that they have in life to see these healthy dynamics at work around them. They are now able to see how families communicate, appreciate each other, and love each other in a healthy and appropriate manner. They can begin to see that there are families in which a child can trust their family members to not hurt and take advantage of them. They can see what it means for a family to spend quality time together and have fun. In essence, they can see God's design for family at work...

So whether you are a grandparent, aunt, uncle, cousin, or second cousin twice removed to these foster kiddos, you have an incredibly important supporting role in the lives of those who will come through the home of this foster family!

With that being said, I understand that you may think your family members are weird or crazy for fostering. I know that sometimes there will be children who are difficult to deal with. I can sympathize with you if times are tough and your sister's family just took in a sibling set of 4 children, which is just not in your Christmas budget. I also am quite certain that this decision to foster may even make you feel like there's a strain on your relationship because things are just different now. 

But the most important thing that I can express to you is this...

Your family who is fostering? They need you! They need your support. They need your ear. They need your presence. They need your hugs. 

And their foster kiddos? They need you! They need your example. They need your love. They need your acceptance. 

Whether you agree with the decision that your family members made to foster or not, they need you. Even if you feel like they are making choices that will affect their forever kids' lives irreparably, they need you. If you feel like having extra mouths to feed at Thanksgiving or extra presents to buy at Christmas is just too much of a strain, they need you anyway. What foster families need is for you to put your opinion aside, and support them in their ministry, the amazingly brutiful (brutal + beautiful) ministry that God has called them into. 

And as the saying goes, "It takes a village to raise a child." 

BE. THEIR. VILLAGE.

P-Lee and Squeaker watching some tv.

A Cautionary Tale: Watch Your Words

Let me tell you a story about a little girl. We'll call her "Annie."

Annie was a precocious child. Some said she marched to the beat of her own drummer. Her sense of humor was quite developed for such a young child, and she had a knack for sarcasm that sometimes bordered on inappropriate for her age. She enjoyed playing with friends, but sought out the company of adults more than other kids did. She enjoyed listening to them talk, and even tried to add to the conversation most of the time. At first, Annie considered herself to be a normal kid. Then her self perception started changing, slowly but surely. 

As far back as she can remember, Annie's mom had said the same things to her... "Don't be so annoying." "Annie, don't be obnoxious." "Don't wear out your welcome." "You're being overbearing, you need to tone it down."

Eventually, the words that Annie came to use to describe herself were annoying, obnoxious, and overbearing. Those words came to define her. She always worried about how people were perceiving her. She was always hyper-sensitive to any sort of sign, whether verbal or nonverbal, that she was irritating someone. 

By fourth grade, Annie was struggling with depression. She was incredibly good at hiding this, however. She learned early on that being "sad" wasn't really an option for her, so she learned how to fake a smile with her eyes. The eyes were the dead giveaway for a smile... If you could fake that, then you had it made. So she did. But Annie cried a lot, too. At night, when sleep wouldn't come because all of her failures of the day swirled around in her head, she would cry quietly as she prayed desperately for God to change who she was so that she wasn't so annoying, such a disappointment.

This secret world continued through her middle and high school years. There were two different Annies. The public Annie and the private one. The public Annie smiled and pretended that everything was great. Every now and then, she dropped her armor, only to pick it right back up again while brushing off any concern that the breech may have caused. And the private Annie? Well, she continued to berate herself for being so immature, so annoying, so obnoxious, so overbearing. She struggled to be truly present in her friendships because she was self monitoring so obsessively. 

Now Annie found herself in college. Away from all of those who knew her... A perfect opportunity to reinvent herself. She was determined that she would become a new person. One that people would actually like to be around. This was her chance, but she blew it. She showed her real self, she spoke too loudly, stayed too long, said something annoying, drove people away. Thankfully, she did have a group of friends who stuck by her side, that still do, but that didn't ward off the depression. It began growing and consuming her with a vengeance. Finally, in her junior year, she was brave enough to get some help.

As treatment for her depression began, Annie started seeing little changes in herself. She wasn't so paranoid that people hated her, she didn't think that every laugh was making fun of her, she no longer felt like there was a spotlight shining down on her that aimed to show her every imperfection. The depression no longer controlled her every moment, and she was able to relax and enjoy life a little bit.

But the broken record still played in her head... "Don't be so annoying." "Annie, don't be obnoxious." "Don't wear out your welcome." "You're being overbearing, you need to tone it down."

You see, from her earliest moments in life, someone Annie trusted and loved told her that she was broken. Annie knows that her mom loves her, wants what's best for her, and that she was merely doing what she thought was best in trying to mold and shape Annie into a "good person." But the damage was done. The constant reminders had become how Annie defined herself. How she still defines herself. 

Annie still struggles with her self image. She still worries about how annoying and obnoxious she is. She still pushes people away for fear of being too overbearing and that that would eventually lead to rejection. She continues to hold people at arm's length so that when they decide they don't really like being around her, the hurt won't be quite as intense because she's protected her heart. But the real damage is that Annie is living in semi-isolation, keeping herself from being in true fellowship with others. She longs to have that fellowship, the intimate friendships that she sees others enjoying, but it has been such a "no-no" for so long for her, that she's not even really sure she knows how to form them or keep them. She has essentially become an island. 

Moms and dads, teachers, mentors, counselors, adults in general... 

Let me just remind you of how incredibly important your words are. They will either be life giving, or life breaking. They will either affirm the preciousness of a child, or they will begin shaping them into something broken. What you say to a child now sticks with them for life. 

I encourage you to dig deep into yourself and find the words that your parents gave to you. I encourage you to listen to what you are saying to the children in your life. 

And please, I beg of you, don't set your child up to be an Annie. It's a long, hard road to walk.

Joy Is...

Dearest Baby Belle,

Can I be honest with you? There are many times I feel like a "real mommy;" like when I'm holding you, when I kiss you, when my heart squeezes in panic because I know you're sick...

But there are also many times in which I don't feel real; like when your birth parents are mentioned, when I get asked how long I'll have you, when I kiss you knowing that I'm kissing a baby that will never be mine.

I'm one day away from a retreat, a time of refreshing and soul searching. I'll get to see a lot of other foster mommies there, and I know that they'll see my heart, my fear, my real self... I treasure that. 

And then there will be a lot of adoptive mommies there, too. As much as I love them, I have to admit that I don't get quite as excited about seeing them. You see, I'm jealous of what they have. Jealous of their permanency, their ability to travel out of state with their little ones without getting permission from 55 different people, of their promise of forever with their babies. I'm jealous that they don't have to worry about someone taking their babies away, that they don't have to sit in the family court waiting room every six months... I'm jealous of their forever. 

Maybe one day it'll be my turn for forever. It'll be my turn to sign the papers and rejoice over the little one who has joined my forever family. But for now, I'll take the little joys that you give me.

The joy of seeing you smile when I open the car door and look at you in your car seat.

The joy of knowing you're okay, and that your illness that had me shaking in my boots was just a close call... Nothing more.

The joy of watching your eyes search the room for me when you hear my voice.

The joy of knowing that my arms, above all others, can quiet and calm you when you're upset.

The joy of seeing you explore facial expressions, your hands, and the things close to you.

The joy of seeing you keep an entire bottle down for the first time, or at any time. 

The joy that I get every time you grab my finger with your tiny little hands.

The joy of seeing you smile sweetly in your sleep.

The joy of picking out bows for each of your outfits.

The joy of snuggling you to sleep.

The joy of seeing how brave you are in the face of adversity.

The joy of you.  

You are a joy, baby girl. You will hear that every single day that you are with me. And I pray that you will hear that every single day after you're gone. You are a joy, not because of anything you offer, but because of who you are. You are amazingly crafted by a most loving Father, and every little part of yourself shouts praises to your Creator. 

Thank you for being yourself and for bringing me so much joy. 

I love you for always,

Mama Erin

Guest Blogger: Rachel Ashcraft

Almost a year and a half ago, I dropped Big Sis and Little Sis off at daycare knowing that they would be picked up by the Ashcrafts that afternoon. My brother and sister-in-law were getting married and the Ashcrafts were keeping the girls for the weekend. That was not the only time they kept them... Every few weeks the girls got to go spend time with Mr. Aaron and Mrs. Rachel while I went to meetings at church. They LOVED them... And the feeling was mutual. It was the Ashcrafts that set my mind at ease last summer when we didn't know if the kids would be able to be reunited with family and we knew they needed a home where all three of them could be together. These people hold a special place in my heart. Not just because they're fellow foster parents, but because they invested time and love into my girls. I know that they had a huge impact on the girls' lives and I love them for that. 

Rachel posted something today about their current placement that just spoke to my heart. I thought I would share the beauty of it with you... Happy reading.

Blessings,

Erin

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

Written by Rachel Ashcraft. August 18, 2014. 

365 days with big sis and little bro. A year ago this Thursday (Aug 21, 2013), Aaron picked these sweet souls up and brought them to our home. This past year has been filled with joy, tears, exhaustion, laughter, disappointment, hope. I don’t know the end of the story. I only know that today, and for today, we continue to share life. I never knew what it meant to crawl through a day, wondering if my sanity would last through until tomorrow. I never really knew what it meant to pray just for today because that’s really all I can handle thinking about right now. See, I’m a planner. Everything has an end goal and an action plan to get there. Planning is laughable in foster care. Foster care is filled with unknowns and lots of people telling you to fix the problems that you had nothing to do with causing and that are impossible for anyone but Jesus to fix. Jesus has kind of wrecked my world this year, and I love him all the more for it. We are just beggars that have found the fathers table, and there’s nothing to do but lead other beggars to the table. Honestly, sometimes foster care is really bad for my health and I begin to doubt the whole thing – then I remember that the cross wasn’t good for Jesus’s health either. There are moments in the week that feel like death, but that’s when Jesus seems to meet us and remind us that he actually knows what sacrificial death is. I’m humbled. Again.

The kids have taught me so much this past year. 

--- I’ve learned that God is passionate about these kids. I’ve seen the peace that only Jesus can bring. When a child is crushed by something that’s happened and I hold them and tell them of a time that Jesus experienced that feeling. I see a little face light up to know that Jesus understands even when no one else does. A little voice asks, why don’t more people love me? And, the little one snuggles in to hear that Jesus also wonders why more people don’t love him.

--- I’ve learned that I desperately need support from others. We.Cannot.Do.This.Alone. I’ve found that I have some really amazing people in my life. My mom, “Grandmother from Huntsville” who endlessly supports and loves on these kids. My sister Melissa, who helps me with behavior plans and school meetings. My sister Brooke, who can check out a little heart that’s just heartbroken when there’s no convincing the little one that they don’t have a heart disease. The ways my parents and sisters support us, overwhelms me. My sister in law Kristin, who sends the kids letters. Our church family, who intentionally loves on the kids AND their birth family. Cheryl who brought me dinner once a week (even though she had a newborn) when they moved in and lets me drop the kids off without warning when Grandmom is in the hospital. Casey and Seth who have intentionally loved on the kids and shown them that they have worth. Laura and Melanie who let me cry uncle when the week has been overwhelming and I can’t get everything done for children’s class. Our social worker, who prays for us and the kids, advocates for the kids, and tries to help us find moments of rest. For everyone that prays for these little ones and God to work in their lives. To those mentioned above and others that have supported the kids in ways I can’t even share because it discloses too much of their story. You know who you are, thank you.

---I’ve learned to put aside fear of judgment to walk with these kids and meet them where they are. A daughter that’s significantly older than my marriage - a son who routinely throws tantrums in public. I’m best friends with the school principal. Our intentions and purpose in this walk are often misunderstood. Whatever. Ain’t nobody got time for other people’s opinions.

--- I’ve learned that my husband rocks. He is so patient and loving with these kids. All the children that have come through our home have soaked up all the moments they can get with him. There’s nothing like a loving and patient father to point a little one to THE loving and patient father.

The Neverending Story

Everyone grieves differently. I believe that I grieve even more differently than others...

Most who are grieving are doing so because of one certain event, one certain season of their lives. The death of a loved one, a severe illness, a tragedy that reaches out and grips them and takes over their lives suddenly and completely. Their grief may lead them to seek comfort from others. Being surrounded by family and friends may be of comfort to them. They may even want to talk about their grief... Remember the person that they love so dearly, lament over the health crisis that is invading their lives in such a horrible way.

It seems that no matter what one does in their grief, how they react, there is one consistent part of the process... It is the desire of those that love them so help them find comfort and peace in their time of need. 

As each of my eight placements have left, I have grieved in their absence. Some of these children I have had for five months, some for two days, some for almost a year. But each of them has helped shape me into who I am today. Each of them was loved, IS loved. And each of them was (is) grieved. 

As each child leaves, as I'm left with an empty home and empty arms, my grief compounds. Every loss is a reminder of what once was. Not just with that child, but with all of them. Every time one leaves, it's like I go backwards and feel the pain of every departure before them. The weight of this can be overwhelming, unbearable, terrifying. 

In my two+ years of fostering, I have found that, for me, NOT talking about it helps. I don't want to share stories, to sit and regale memories of the "good ol' days." I don't want to answer questions. I don't want to hear the cliché responses that people seem to think will help. I just want to, in the midst of my heart shattering and lying in shards at my feet, pretend like I'm totally and completely normal, for once...

Yes, my façade may break every now and then. I may cry in front of you. I ask you for a hug... And nothing more. Just play my game. Humor me. Pretend with me that my life is completely normal.

For you see, this is the only way I can keep moving forward. I cannot continue to foster these children if I get bogged down in the muck and mire of self pity. I cannot accept another placement if I'm nursing festered wounds. If I am constantly looking to the day when I will lose a child, I will not have the courage it takes to accept and love them to begin with. 

I know that "studies show" that people who don't deal with their grief aren't able to heal completely. I know that the "experts say" to talk about it... Get it out so you can eventually move into the "acceptance" stage of grief.  To that end, I say this... Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day I'll be able to take the time to go through each stage of grief and deal with everything. Maybe one day...

But until then, there are too many children who need homes. Too many children who are being removed from their families because of abuse and neglect. Too many children who are more broken and battered than my heart will ever be. So for them, I will push the grief aside and wait for the phone call that will bring me my next little one to love on.

Anatomy of Grief

I have had some really great moments this summer. But the fact of the matter is that every single one of those moments has been overshadowed by dark, deep grief. 

I haven't written much in the last two months. I've wanted to. Even composed a few drafts that never got posted. I constantly composed excerpts in my head while I sat in the darkness. But most of them never saw the light of day. Most of them I can't even remember now. What I can remember is that they were a desperate attempt to do what I love, to write, without having to actually deal with the emotions that were sitting in my heart, just waiting to leap out of me at the first opportunity they saw. You see, writing is how I process. As verbal as I am, as much as I love to talk and sing, as much as I love to share... Writing is where I can actually figure out what it is that I'm feeling. Until the words come out onto paper (or a screen), they're just a jumbled up mess in my head. 

So today, my friends, I will deal with what has been waiting to spill out of me since June 18... The day everything changed...

A sweet friend at school asked me a question this morning... 

"Do you feel like your attachment to Squeaker is different than what you had with Eyelashes?"

Pretty answer: no. Of course not. I give everything I can to all of my placements and I love both of these boys just the same. 

That pretty answer is a lie.

So now I give you the truth of it... The real answer, the ugly answer: yes. It is incredibly hard for me to feel the same way about this little one as I did about Eyelashes. Is it fair to Squeaker? No. Do I feel guilty every single day? Yes. Incredibly. 

The weeks after Eyelashes left were bad. I never knew that life could get that dark, that pain could slice so deeply. The night he left I searched manically around my house for something that smelled like him. I needed him. I needed to hold him one last time, to feel his skin against mine, to breathe in his scent as he snuggled up next to me. I physically needed him, but he was gone. After searching to no avail, for everything had either been packed up and sent with him or had been just recently washed, I resorted to crying in the fetal position on the floor of his bedroom while clutching the blanket he had last slept with and cursing the freshness of the smell of detergent.

The truth of the matter is that I felt robbed. I wasn't sure of what, but I just knew that God had short changed me somehow. Is this really it? Is this all I get?? Am I to spend my life pouring everything I am into child after child just to have them ripped out of my arms in the end? Even now, just saying the words causes my heart to constrict. For I am still nursing this wound... I haven't figured out the answer yet. 

This unresolved issue became clear to me this morning at work.

Our new principal asked us to write down words that we thought of when we thought about the following things: Family, students, teachers, leaders.

I wasn't expecting what happened next... 

Revolving door

These were the only two words I could possibly muster to write under "family."

Really? Is that where I am? Is that how I view my life, my ministry? A revolving door? No permanency, no forever, just season after season of pouring into a child that is not mine, that will never be mine?

The pain of losing them is almost unbearable. 

The pain of my unfulfilled dreams is just as unbearable. 

I never questioned my desire to have a family... A forever family. It was set into the bedrock of my heart so solidly that I never doubted that it would happen. But it hasn't. And truthfully, I don't know that it will. The jagged edge of that longing, that unfulfilled desire, has me staring down a path that I know I shouldn't follow. A path filled with bitterness and broken dreams. Of wondering what it is that I've done wrong. Of jealousy as I watch my friends raise their little ducklings without worry of when the court will pluck them out of their nest. Of longing to have someone to walk down this road with me, to understand this calling. 

I never imagined the fall out that would take place after his departure. I never realized how deep of a cut the grief would be, of the open wound that it would leave exposed. Others had left before him. I thought I was prepared. 

I was not prepared. 

Every moment of every day, I still love him. I still long for him. I mourn the loss of his smiles greeting me in the morning, of his hugs and kisses. I grieve over the loss of a child that was never meant to be mine, but whom I loved all the same. There is no bandaid that covers this. Every smile is clouded by sadness. Every mention of his name is like a cut to my heart. 

I typically come to a tidy little conclusion when I write. I identify my source of angst, and begin to see what God is teaching me... How He is changing me to be more like Him.

Right now, I have no answers. 

All I have now are the very untidy questions that continue to plague me... Is this it? Is my heart destined to be forever loving and then forced to let them go? 

I. Don't. Know. But I wish I did.