Category Archives: peace

turning it up: support for adoptive families comes to audio

Posted on by April 11, 2023

Here’s a confession that those of you who are regular readers here already know: I go in phases of sharing about adoption and special needs. Sometimes I forge ahead in it and share several posts here or on social media, and other times I pull back to recuperate.

It’s hard to share. It’s super personal. The issues are painful. But those issues need to be seen.

Not everyone will stop to notice. Most will probably keep scrolling — no shame, we all need a little mindless scrolling sometimes — and some will click “like” on the posts without even reading them because they’re too long.

I get that. I skim or skip posts sometimes for the same reason.

But we miss things when we’re always too busy to stop and notice them.

And adoptive, foster, and special needs families are collapsing from people being too busy to notice them.

These families are in our churches and neighborhoods — until they’re not. Until they give up on church or they give up on marriage. Until it all becomes too much because people are so busy scrolling past, giving a thumbs up to the concept of adoption but having no clue about what’s really going on in these families.

How do we move upstream to prevent divorce, depression, abuse, and suicide? How do we draw people into the church and community instead of driving them away from it?

By seeing people. But we have to look past the surface and stop scrolling for a few minutes to do it.

So I’ve collected my adoption posts in one place here. They are full of the stuff under the surface, behind the curtain, while we try to walk the line of privacy and transparency. They are by no means the full story, but they are enough to give the respectful, caring observer plenty to think about…and to send a message to other adoptive, foster, and special needs families. Here’s that message:

YOU ARE NOT ALONE. And you’re not going crazy. You are seen and loved and understood. 🖤

I know some of you are done with church. Some of you are done with marriage. Some of you, for the sake of younger children and your entire family, have been done with adoption and had to disrupt.

(If you’re not one of those families, that means they had to give up their adopted child to be adopted by another family — and face all the judgment, condemnation, and assumptions from a society that doesn’t know what goes on behind the scenes and is also unwittingly ignorant of the role they may be playing in the disaster and heartache these families endure.)

None of this should ever happen. Adoptive families should never feel alone and be left by the communities around them to quietly implode behind closed doors.

We can intentionally be part of the solution. 

And we need to be, because there are plenty of people who seem intent on being part of the problem, too busy reveling in their know-it-allness that they cannot fathom there might still be something to learn about this — like the Goodreads reviewer who gave Upside Down a mere 2 stars because I am “only an adoptive mom” and not a trained, lettered professional who actually (smirk) knows anything about attachment issues, mental health, or adoption.

That’s right; instead of studying for years behind a desk, I have only lived this out in my own home, 24 hours a day, for more than twice the amount of years it takes to get a bachelors degree. Clearly I have no expertise on the subjects of adoptive family support or adoptive parenting worth sharing.* #blessherheart

When I originally wrote Upside Down as a series of posts, I got emails, messages, and phone calls every day from adoptive, foster, and even biological parents who were going through the same stuff — but they thought they were alone. These were their most common responses:

“I thought we were the only ones who went through this.”
“I don’t know who to talk to.”
“I didn’t know how to explain this.”
“I thought we were alone.”
”I wish everyone we knew would read this.”

But you know what the most common response is from non-adoptive/foster families? It’s this:

“Whoa. I had no idea.”

No wonder these families feel alone.

It’s past time to change that.

And now there’s no excuse not to, because Upside Down is now available in audio (as you read that, you should hear it in a victorious sing-song voice, like TA-DAHHH!) and the first three segments are totally free and full of the inside scoop people needed yesterday, before they did that thing that triggered the adoptive kiddo to regress. So grab them here and share them with your friends, teachers, pastors, nosy neighbors, favorite aunt who stillll doesn’t get it, and anyone else who needs to know how they can truly support adoptive and foster families without unintentionally causing further harm.

Because we’re gonna change this thing. The world will see that what adoptive and foster families are doing is vital, but the work cannot be done without understanding and support. And we shouldn’t have to anymore.

*In case you’re wondering, I have similar inept, unprofessional, raw, untrained experience in pursuing God while being a mom of many, dealing with special needs and fighting depression and encountering other messy life circumstances in motherhood — so you should *definitely* stay away from Oh My Soul and ABIDE and Work That God Sees too, since I don’t have the right letters after my name and therefore have nothing worthwhile to share in those, either. Seriously, those books are only for the rest of us. xo

not dead, just sleeping: when you need a resurrection

Posted on by April 21, 2022

In the last few weeks of brooding almost 40 birds in our bathroom, I’ve learned a few things about chicks and quail:

They will poop on new bedding before you even finish laying it down.

They will poop in their new dish of food before you leave the room.

They will poop in their water before you turn your back.

Aaaaand quail look dead when they’re sleeping.

not dead, just sleeping: when you need a resurrection

That last point, at least, I knew ahead of time, and it’s a good thing I did. During the first week there was often a moment of panic as we looked in the brooder to see them passed out, collapsed on their sides, legs out. But that’s just how they sleep.

They’re great, though: snuggly, nosy, clumsy, and messy. The water dish was their favorite hangout when they were small enough to walk in it – sometimes for drinking, but mostly for wading and splashing, and then tracking little wet toe prints everywhere. They thought they were ducks, though I told them otherwise.

We lost one within hours of bringing them home (truly dead quail differ from sleeping quail in that they’re cold, stiff, and not breathing) but the other 19 are happy and healthy in spite of our complete lack of experience. A week after we got the quail, our chicks arrived, and even the sick one we thought we’d lose managed to pull through. We call her Toughie.

And, can I interrupt this bird trivia to just point out how amazing that is? Isn’t it incredible that we can just take something on that we’ve never done before, and still muddle through with success?

I mean, it hasn’t been super easy. We’ve spent months researching, learning, gathering supplies, and building shelters for them. But as with most things, deciding to do the work is almost harder than actually doing the work.

During the first week, I often woke up at 3 am, anxious about how they were doing. I ran downstairs, opened the door, and heard their soft, happy twittering; they were fine, all nineteen, scattered and sleeping and eating and climbing all over each other. They thought they were puppies, even though I reminded them they are quail.

But there was that one time they weren’t all fine…when we went from twenty to nineteen because one of them was cold and stiff under the heat lamp. So for a split second when I opened the door and saw them asleep, looking dead, I would get a little nervous. We remember those times when things weren’t fine, and try to guard ourselves against the uglier parts of normal.

Because it’s not just quail that look dead when they’re sleeping: See also deciduous trees, rose bushes, and hobbies that get shoved to the back of the closet. But bigger things, too – like creativity, achievement, solutions, dreams, and goals. Certain relationships. Breakthrough.

Each time one of those falls asleep, we wonder if it’s actually dead. Should we give up on it? Because we’ve seen death, and it leaves a little scar of trust issues and anxiety to work through every time we encounter anything that resembles it. Is this worth resuscitating? Do we nurse it back to health? Do we keep feeding and watering it in faith, or do we pull the plug and move on to the other 19 needs vying for our attention?

Some things just need time and surrender, but others need persistent attention.

For example, my houseplant that we affectionately call Anne Shirley. As soon as she (or it, I don’t care – don’t come to me with pronoun nonsense) feels the slightest bit parched or neglected, she wilts in the depths of despair.

The first time it happened, I thought I killed her for sure. Woomp – all leaves down, this one’s a goner.

But I felt the stems, and they seemed okay. So I gave her some water, and lo and behold – the next day, Anne Shirley was as perky as ever. Such a drama queen.

(My glorious fern, on the other hand, is a different story. We’ve started calling her Eleanor – as in, Dashwood – because if she’s neglected she will just slowly turn paler and paler, suffering in silence.)

So some things must be watered, and others must be waited for.

And many require both. We water in the waiting, not knowing how long it will take to see life again. These are the situations the Lord must move in, because you cannot force growth – overwatering results in death as much as neglect does – and He must perform the rescue because we’ve tried everything and still it is stiff and cold, not breathing: A loved one’s salvation, a child’s return, a favorable ruling. After we’ve done everything we know to do, we’re desperate for what only He can do.

But this is what He does. When life is in the red, He intervenes out of the blue in ways we never could have imagined.

And he said to them, “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me, and see. For a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. And while they still disbelieved for joy and were marveling, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?”

– Luke 24:38-41, ESV

This life of watering and waiting is where faith and obedience intersect. It is the lesson of walking steadily on without constantly checking progress, checking email, checking notifications, checking the mailbox. Faith and obedience knows the answer is coming, and does not have to constantly ask “Are we there yet?” like a kid on a road trip.

You’ve done and are doing what you need to do. So give them time, they’ll perk up soon. Those situations might think they’re dead —- you need to remind them they are alive.

The trees outside know; the pussywillows are growing again. The time for things to wake up is here.

_______

Related: What if you see the rescue coming, and it scares you? The newsletter comes out next week and this is what we’re talking about. Sign up here if you need it.

move: getting what we want by seeing the way He does

Posted on by February 14, 2022

“Grab. Move here, go.”

“This foot’s gonna kick.”

“Step through, bring it down here.”

Thump, thump, slam. “HAH!”

Yeah, I have no idea what any of it means, either. Sorry.

move: getting what we want by seeing the way He does

Usually I write from my desk – more on that in a second – but lately I get a lot of writing done during my kids’ martial arts class. At first, the random, sudden shouts of “HAH!” startled me, but now I’m good. If you’ve been reading here throughout the last year, many of the posts and newsletters were drafted from this ugly chair I’m sitting in now while listening to the instructions, thumps, and yells of the class.

The instructor was delayed last week, so the highest-ranking student took charge and challenged one of my kids to lead the class in warmups. No big deal, just tell everyone to do jumping jacks or whatever.

But it required a shift in stance: standing in front of peers instead of next to them. And there was immediate resistance and balking. I tried to repress a smile, and failed.

I know this kid. I know both sides of the challenge and resistance. And after class, I went up to that brown belt student and thanked him for pushing my kid to do hard things.

I resist these things all the time though, too. Dumb things. For example: Because of how the light falls from all the windows in the room, I have wanted to rearrange my office for ages. But I hate rearranging furniture and won’t do it unless it’s absolutely necessary (like when you add a woodstove). Once I have things the way I like them, I like them to stay that way. Don’t we all?

Only, I didn’t really like the way it was. I was settling for what it was out of fear of hating a different arrangement worse.

But we finally switched things around and I love it. Love, love, love it. Should’ve done it years ago. The space fits better, the light falls easier, and I love being in there.

So when Kav’s cast came off a couple weeks ago…well, I have a confession to make. I know this sounds terrible, but I was kind of hoping it would stay on for a while longer.

Isn’t that awful? Because of course I want him well. Of course I want his arm healed enough to convince the doctor he no longer needs it. I want Kav to run and play without its cumbersome weight, and to wear long sleeved shirts again, and to take baths without having to cover it with a plastic bag. I want him to be cast-free.

But I also want him to be safe.

I want him to be protected from reinjury.  

I don’t want any of us to go through the trauma again.

Moms get this sudden rush of adrenaline whenever our kids hurt themselves. If they fall, we also often feel pain; if I see one of our kids trip on the stairs and hit their knees, I feel a twinge in my knees, too.

Ever since Kav’s accident, that flood comes to me over the smallest stumble (and he’s three, so he’s constantly running, crashing into things, tumbling, doing all the things that little guys do). I have to remind myself that he’s okay. He’s not broken. We don’t have to go back to the hospital. We don’t have to endure that all over again.

When I noticed this anxiety shortly after the accident and confessed it to a friend, she said I may need to come to grips with surrendering ourselves to the Lord in a whole new way, to trust Him with our safety. We’ve had 21 years of parenting kids without breaking anything, and in one afternoon that changed. Suddenly, I saw us differently: Breakable. Vulnerable. Fragile. Exposed. Costly.

So I had sorta hoped his cast would stay on for another couple of weeks to allay some of that. I found myself trusting the cast to protect him from reinjuring himself; I was so grateful it was there to absorb the brunt of his activity.

But do I trust God to protect him? Yes. I think so.

Mostly.

I want to, at least.

It is better to take refuge in the Lord
    than to trust in man.
It is better to take refuge in the Lord
    than to trust in princes.

– Psalm 118:8-9

This all comes at the same time our oldest daughter is getting her license and driving in the snow and looking at new jobs and graduating and talking (so much talking) about moving out to live on her own.

I used to be fine with it. Kids have moved out of their parents’ homes since the beginning of time, and this isn’t the first kid of ours who will have done so. But, hey – most of the time when kids grow up and move out on their own, it’s not when the globe is on the brink of the Apocalypse. (Although she is one of the kids in that martial arts class, so there’s that.)

In so many ways it has been a stretching season of the Lord calling us to see differently: Stand here, in front. Turn around, look over here. Don’t see what your feelings are telling you, see what I’m telling you.

“Look for the valleys, the green places, and fly through them. There will always be a way through.”
– C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew

I’ve been going back again and again to this verse:

He is not afraid of bad news;

    his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.

His heart is steady; he will not be afraid,

    until he looks in triumph on his adversaries.

– Psalm 112:7-8

But I have been afraid of bad news. Trauma has a way of doing that: This shoe dropping, and the next, and the next. We have to identify the fear and stop listening to it.

This is serious. Do not fear is a command, not a suggestion, for good reason. Fear doesn’t care for permission; it just wants access. The counterfeit picture of what we’re afraid of may be the key that permits that access.

But agreeing with God, picturing the victory and trusting Him for what He has promised, strips the enemy of power he will wrest from us otherwise. Trusting God is the fatal, final blow that puts fear out of our misery.

– Oh My Soul

We see exposure and vulnerability in new endeavors and stretching seasons, but God sees strength and fearlessness. We’d rather not deal with more changes, but God is bringing alignment for healing and victory. I’m tired of having my safe places peered into, and exercising muscles that have been resting and healing. But God sees that I’m ready to do hard things again.

“When things go wrong, you’ll find they usually go on getting worse for some time; but when things once start going right they often go on getting better and better.”
– C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew

Kav is running and playing. He has full movement and extension of his arm and fingers. He falls sometimes, but he gets up every time and keeps going. I’m noticing the rush of adrenaline diminish.

I still don’t usually like standing in front, feeling vulnerable while people look at me. But we often resist change when it’s exactly what we need, and we will love the results if we surrender to them.

He’s saying, Hey Love, I’m peeling back layers of shelter because you’re ready to expand and advance.

Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
    on earth as it is in heaven.

– Matthew 6:10

It requires a shift in stance so we can see what He does. Because He’s the Instructor, saying, Go. Step through. Bring it down here.