New Hope of Spring

Last fall was undeniably one of the worst seasons we've experienced in our history as a family.  Circumstances felt so bleak at times that it was difficult to see joy in any situation, impossible to grasp it, hold onto it, and coax it out from beneath the dark veil that clouded every aspect of life. 

Our family was so traumatized last fall that we were scarcely able to function.  The pain, anger and uncertainty bled over into everything we did, everything we said, everything we felt, and for one of the first times in my life, I understood what it meant to feel desperately hopeless.

But we were never completely without hope.

While we were exhausted and afflicted, God sent others to hope for us.  They prayed for us, prayed with us, held our hands, and listened to the mourning of our hearts.  They brought us meals, brought us groceries, offered to watch our children, accompanied us to meetings and appointments, and sent us cards and letters of encouragement.  They helped us financially, and committed to it in the future as well.  They thought of us, Bibles in hand, and shared scriptures that lifted us up when we were at our lowest. 

The people of God loved on us like crazy, and it was beautiful; the body of Christ working together the way God intended.

One of the most beautiful things that was done for us in the midst of our darkness was done by some precious friends, friends with a rambunctious young family much like our own.  They drove an hour just to be with us, and spent time filling the garden around our house with bulbs that would bloom in the spring.  They prayed over each of those bulbs as they planted, and they reminded us that spring comes after every dark season, and spring is filled with new life and new hope.

I was moved to tears often as I thought about those bulbs during the winter.  Our son's behavior was still out of control at his school, and I kept thinking "Okay, God. Spring is almost here!"  I eagerly anticipated the day when we would see the first shoots of life springing from those bulbs, breaking through the dirt and on up towards the sun. 

And that day finally came - the week before we left to visit Mr. J at school for the first time.  Coincidentally (and by coincidentally I mean not coincidentally in the least), it was around the same time that we heard the first positive news from the staff at our son's school. 

Mr. J appeared to be trying.

Scott and I had a great visit with our eldest son over Easter weekend.  We played games, toured the school, talked cordially about nothing serious, and introduced Mr. J to his new baby brother.  There were no deep conversations and no apologies, but there were no fits of rage or irrational behavior, either.  There were even a few moments of tenderness, when our son couldn't keep the tears from running down his face, and when he let me comfort him.  When we had to say goodbye on the final day, we left him sitting at the table, head buried in folded arms, sobbing.  I did the same in the parking lot.

Yet in spite of all the tears, or perhaps because of all the tears, I finally have a new hope of my own.

The biggest sign of hope God has given us is that somewhere between last fall and this spring, our son has moved from "I'll kill you if I come home" or "I'm never coming home" to "When I come home...".

He's written that he wants to change his life so things will be different when he comes back, and although he's still struggling frequently with anger and irrational outbursts, he seems to be recovering more quickly, picking himself up, and trying again.  We remain hopeful.

Spring is here at last.

If you are one of those people that brought hope to our family last fall and continue to do so as we walk this difficult journey, we thank you and love you more than we could ever express.  Please continue to pray us through this process, specifically for Mr. J's continued change of heart, and for his eventual emotional and mental healing.  He still has a long way to go.  Please pray that we can offer grace and unconditional love in spite of everything our family has been through.


  

Labor of Love

It's starting to hurt again.

The bad days, the bad behavior, the bad attitude.
The disrespect, the lying, the words spoken out in absolute unreasonable anger.

It's hurting like crazy again, which means I've allowed the walls around my heart to crumble.  Crack.  Crash down to the ground, which scares the heck out of me.

My heart is unprotected.

I've done it again.  I've allowed the love I have for this hurt little girl to get the best of me, and it makes the good days oh so much better...beautiful, really.  It makes my heart soar.  It makes me happy, and my daughter happy, and it breathes a spark of life into the precious bond that's blossoming before my eyes.

The good days are so good right now.
But the bad days are so bad, and I can't even explain how much it hurts.

It sounds cruel, perhaps.  It isn't purposeful.  When someone hurts you day after day after day for years on end, rejects you, spews hate at you, I suppose it's human nature to protect your heart.  To not allow yourself to get too close or to care too much.  To become almost hard-hearted and indifferent, building walls sky-high, for then you aren't caught off-guard when the inevitable happens again.

A sturdy wall never leaves you shattered and broken, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your heart. 

But a sturdy wall never leaves room to build a bridge between two wounded hearts, either. 

My pain is necessary for my daughter to heal.  

Like the birthing of a baby, when the labor pains are so excruciating you feel you can't possibly go on for one more fraction of a moment, and then somehow you endure, and you persevere, and you set all the determination of your spirit on the one thing you know you must do.  At the end of all that pain, there's the unspeakable joy of having brought a whole new child into the world, and you know you would go through all that pain again and again for the miracle of that child.

I didn't birth this daughter, but I'm laboring for her all the same.   

At the end of all this pain, this labor of love, I believe I'll have the unspeakable joy of having brought a whole new child into the world.  A whole, happy, healthy, loved and loving, securely attached child. 

And I know I'd go through it all again for the miracle of that child.
___________________________________________________________________


I cried out today: "God, help me to love her whole-heartedly, with everything in me.  I can't do it on my own.  No matter how much it hurts, Lord, help me love her with my whole heart."

Softly, He spoke to my soul:  "You already do."

My Father is so good to me, He's with me on my way.
He watches every step I take, He hears each word I say.
Sometimes He smiles at my attempts, sometimes He hangs His head,
Sometimes His strong arms hold me up when I've left myself for dead.
No matter all the ugliness that's left my sinful tongue,
No matter all my gross misdeeds, the sorry tunes I've sung,
My Father has not left my side, not even for a day.
He'll walk with me through this dark night. Oh, Father, lead the way.

Mine

If you had been mine from the beginning, I would have cried tears of joy as soon as I knew you were growing inside me.

If you had been mine from the beginning, Daddy and I would have stayed up late at night dreaming about you: who you would be, what you would look like, who you would become.  I would have sung lullabies to you, and Daddy would have read books to my tummy as I rocked gently in my rocking chair.

If you had been mine from the beginning, Daddy and I would have walked through the baby store, hand in hand, making plans for you.  I would have been so proud of my big baby belly, and thrilled with each tiny kick from inside.  As the time grew closer for you to come, we would have been so excited; we hardly would have been able to wait to meet you.

If you had been mine from the beginning, Daddy would have held my hand, lovingly urging me on as I struggled to bring you into the world.  Your first cry would have filled us with a joy like no other, and I would have cried happy tears as I held you in my arms for the first time.  Recognizing my voice, you would have looked up at me with your beautiful, trusting brown eyes...

...and you would have known instantly that I would love you forever. 


If you had been mine from the beginning, I would have held you close to my heart: nursing you, covering your downy baby head with millions of tiny kisses, marvelling at all your perfect little fingers and toes.  I would have held you for hours, drinking in your warmth and your sweet baby smell. 

If you had been mine from the beginning, your new-baby cry would have broken my heart.  I would have spent hours soothing you, if you needed to be soothed.  I would have rocked you and held you and changed you and fed you and burped you and kissed your sweet baby face another billion times.

If you had been mine from the beginning, I would have spent hours looking into your darling face. I would have cooed at you and smiled at you, and Daddy and I would have gazed down at you with love in our eyes, and we would have celebrated those first little sounds that you made...and every little thing you did after. When you rolled over, sat up by yourself, clapped your chubby hands, spoke your first words, took your first steps...we would have been right there cheering you on.

If you had been mine from the beginning, I would have kept you with me always.  I would have made up a gazillion silly little songs to animate our days together, and I would have read books to you and dressed you up and put tiny little bows in your hair.  As you grew, I would have taught you your numbers and your colors and your ABCs, and I would have pushed you on the swings at the park.  You would have laughed and squealed in delight, and looked at me with your beautiful, chocolate brown eyes...

...and you would have known that Mama would love you forever.


If you had been mine from the beginning, you would never have worried that someday, you might be abandoned.  You wouldn't, deep down, think that you're worthless and unlovable.

If you had been mine from the beginning, you wouldn't feel the need to control everything.  You wouldn't be so full of anger and fear and you wouldn't have the need to fight against me and Daddy and against everything we ask you to do.

If you had been mine from the beginning, things would have been so much easier for you...and for me...and for our family.  You would have been a happy, care-free child.  You would have let the adults worry about adult things, and you would have spent all your energy on simply being a child.

If you had been mine from the beginning, you would trust me, and you would trust my decisions.

You would trust that I'll love you forever, no matter what.


It's been a tough day, huh, kiddo?
It was the kind of day that makes me cry out to God, asking Him to take away the suffering I see in your heart.  The suffering that's in my heart, too.  I wish life could be easier for us, and especially for you, dear one. 

But I know you're going to make it.
We're going to make it. 
I believe in you, and I believe in us. 
We're fighters, you and me.


Oh, girl.  How I wish you had been mine from the beginning.

No matter how many days like today we have, no matter what you do or how angry I am or how horrible you feel, I promise you...I'm so thankful that you're mine now. 

Mama loves you, Butterfly. 
And I'll love you forever...no matter what.