Charlie - Our Freedom Bringer

About a year and a half ago we decided, after taking a break for the birth and infancy of our son, to go back on the “active” foster care list. Our intent was truly to adopt another older girl, but we stretched our preferences and said that we would accept children ages 0-10. In the praying process leading up to going active again, I felt the Lord speak the name “Anaiah” to my heart, telling me that that was going to be the name of our daughter. I had never considered that name and never known anyone with it. I looked it up and found that it means “God answers.” What a promise.

It wasn’t long before we got a call about a baby that was in the NICU that needed to be placed somewhere. This was not our intention (to foster babies), but our hearts are so tender and soft to these kids that we couldn’t say no.

The thought of having two babies - as our Josiah was just 13 months at the time - was overwhelming. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to manage, but we said yes anyway.

We showed up at the hospital to pick her up. She was the tiniest, most fragile little person I had ever held in my arms, weighing only a little over four pounds. She had been born 9 weeks early and weighed a whopping 2 pounds, 14 ounces at birth. What a delightful surprise to learn that she and Josiah were exactly one year apart, sharing the same birthday.

My heart was swept away as I held her for the first time. I looked into those big blue eyes and her too tiny body and could barely keep my heart inside my chest. We spent all day at the hospital that day, going through all of the check-out procedures that NICU babies have to go through. I held her and talked to her and told her how excited I was to meet her. I remember feeding her that first tiny bottle and cradling her in my arms ever so carefully, truly afraid that I might snap her in half. I wondered where she had come from, wondered where she was going. I asked too many questions and tried to get information about her story.

I remember watching Russell as she slept on his chest. Seeing Josiah and Cassie kiss her and love her and gently nurture her. Such a tiny little girl. How could my heart be so involved already?

The months rolled along and the love grew and grew. There were days and nights of pleading for permanency, begging for adoption. I didn’t know where the story was going, but knew where my heart was and the thought of her leaving seemed too much to bear.

I will not share the details of her case or the events that happened involving her placement into foster care, out of deep love for all parties involved. I can tell you that Charlie has been loved all along and has never been unwanted.

While Charlie was growing we continued to pray for her future, that she would be safe and loved and treasured. We cried out for her along with our brothers and sisters in Christ. We told the Lord of our love for her and our desire to make her our daughter forever.

A song that she and I listened to together often and that Russell and I would sing to her is called “Restoration.” This song continues to bring tears to my eyes as it brings Charlie and her entire story to the forefront of my mind every time I hear it. I can’t help but remember her and those who love her and know that God has been and continues to be working to bring restoration to the entire situation; that he longs to turn the mourning in this situation into joy.

In the fall of last year we learned that Charlie had an aunt who wanted to be Charlie’s mom. Again, the details of our relationship and the stories that led Charlie to her aunt and uncle are not my story to tell. I can tell you with full confidence that Charlie’s aunt and uncle (and her sweet cousins) are beautiful, godly, generous and faithful people who have wanted nothing but the best for Charlie all along. They have never acted out of anything but deep love for Charlie and a desire to see her prosper.

Our little baby went to live with her aunt and uncle in the spring of last year. She was just a few months shy of being one. I can tell you that the months leading up to her departure were some of the most heartbreaking, pain filled months I have ever experienced. It felt as though my heart might literally explode when she left. The only comfort and solace I found was in the fact that I knew, without a doubt, that Charlie would be loved, nurtured, cherished and treasured by her family.

I vividly remember the last time I held Charlie, as I handed her to her new mommy. She reached for me and I quietly told her, “Baby, you don’t need me anymore.” Those words have played over and over in my mind for the past five months. I knew they were true, she didn’t need me anymore, but I continued to feel like I needed her.

My heart has been aching for her since she left. We were at peace with her new life and home and continued on with our journey of fostering, but her sweet sprit has left an imprint on my heart. We have been blessed with continued contact with her family and have been able to see pictures of her on Facebook. Every time I see a new one, tears well up in my eyes and I tell Russell, “There’s our baby.”

Our sweet girl moved to Korea shortly after going to her new home. To me, that was like closing a chapter. She was across the world now and she really and truly wasn’t mine. We moved on with life, making plans for an adoption, getting things in order to move forward with those plans.

And then two weeks ago we got a phone call that literally made my heart stop. Charlie needed us and she was coming home. Let me just assure you once again that Charlie has been nothing but loved since the moment she left here and that this does not come from a place of anger, bitterness or an inability to care for her in any way.

The day after we got that phone call, I turned back to Jeremiah 31, a chapter that I had read and prayed over Charlie many, many times while she was still with us. I was struck by verse nine on that day, which read, “Tears of joy will stream down their faces, and I will lead them (her) home with great care.” Yes, Lord. This was the plan, this was the promise.

The only person I can attribute this story to is the Lord. He planted Charlie in our hearts and made her our daughter the moment we laid eyes on her. Her aunt and uncle love her dearly and she has been blessed to be with them for the past five months. They have felt the Lord speak to them, though, that Charlie is in fact our daughter and that she belongs with us.

As I write this, our baby girl is on an airplane with her uncle on her way home from Korea. My heart is filled with butterflies as we await her arrival tomorrow afternoon.

This journey has been filled with many ups and downs. It has been filled with heartbreak and surrender for us, and now for Charlie’s aunt and uncle. We have all come to an agreement that this has been a growing experience for everyone involved and that if Charlie had never left us, none of us would be who we are today.

That day I was talking about earlier, the day when Charlie left us, I told her aunt and uncle that the name Charlie means “Free Man.” I believe that God gave this sweet girl that name and that is what he wants for her. He longs for her to be free, but also that she is going to bring freedom everywhere that she goes. She is already doing that, showing us that there is freedom in brokenness and surrender, freedom in vulnerability and honesty. I am so thankful to you, Charlie, for all you have taught us so far and know that you will continue to teach us as you grow and mature into the woman you were created to be. At her adoption we will change her middle name to Anaiah (and she will then have the same initials as her big sister). Her story thus far is a true testimony that God really does answer and that he truly is so very sweet to us when we trust in him.

A New Journey

We started this adoption journey four years ago. The two of us, newlyweds at 22 and 23 years old, came home from a camp for foster children and decided that camp just wasn’t enough. Our hearts were captured and we decided to jump “all in” and become foster parents.


We had no idea what to expect. Never been parents before, never had any kind of special training on attachment, aside from a few hours in a foster parent workshop. We were (and still are to some extent) clueless. But we did it anyway. Scared? Sometimes.

I remember the day we got the call for her. A seven year old little girl (who turned out to be eight). It was 14 days before Christmas. Would we take her? I panicked, called Russell, and we said yes. Then I did what every 22 year old, never been a mom but about to have a seven (eight) year old would do -- I jumped in the car and went to Target, loading my basket up with Pop-Tarts and chicken nuggets and Barbies and books. I spent the evening wondering when she would arrive and trying to create a little girl’s room out of our spare apartment bedroom.

She came the next morning. Shy, scared and alone. She had lots of clothes. None of them fit. She had a backpack. It didn’t zip. She had an imagination, but at first I would only see it when I peeked in the crack of her door while she didn’t know I was looking.

It didn’t take long for us, the three of us, to fall in love. We became a family. We made a lot of mistakes. There were tears and angry words sometimes. But mostly there was laughter and hugs and make believe. We were a family on Christmas morning as Russell scooped her out of bed and into the car for the long drive to see her cousins. We were a family as I spent the day with her at school because she had been getting in trouble for not finishing her work. We were a family as we took turns drying her hair every night, getting it perfectly smooth and tangle free. We were a family as we held her in the middle of the night while she tried to fight off bad dreams and scary memories. We were a family as we got the news that she would be ours forever.

She is no longer shy, scared or alone. Today she is vibrant, beautiful, creative and flourishing. She is proud of who she is and she knows where she belongs. It is not because of any special skill set that we have. It’s just because we lived with open hands and were willing to be family with a child we didn’t know. She has firmly planted herself in our hearts and the roots have grown deep. She is forever our child.

We were a family with her on the day that we found out that we were pregnant. She has accepted her little brother, with no shared blood running through their veins, as hers. She loves him, nurtures him and claims him as her own. She lives with open hands and we all belong to each other.

Our two children have opened their hearts for the past year, welcoming four different babies into our family and allowing their hearts to be broken as we have said goodbye to three of them. Our daughter and our son - perfect examples of sacrificial love. They have mourned the goodbyes and have cried with us as we handed our baby daughters to new mommies and daddies (and our baby daughters have been blessed with beautiful families who love them immensely). They haven’t batted an eye as we’ve been home to one - sometimes two - stranger babies - at a time. They know how to love and they know how to let go.

We have been faced with a decision lately. Can we live with hands that are even more wide open? Can our hearts love more deeply and our home be filled more fully? Can we step outside of the circle of security and venture out into the unknown?

We have decided to jump all in. We are now anticipating the adoption of a large sibling group out of the foster system.

These kids - these beautiful siblings - often sit in the system, passed from family to family, separated from one another and never adopted. There are too many of them. Too many opportunities for “issues.” Too many mouths to feed. Too many clothes to buy. Too many painful memories to confront.

We must tell you something before we go any further. We are not “special.” We are not “saints.” We are not “crazy” either (well, maybe a little). We are two people who believe in the healing power of laughter and warm embraces, bedtime stories and make believe, tickles and dress up. We have seen the power of Love (and that Love is a person named Jesus) come into a broken heart and make it whole.

We trust that if we open ourselves - our hearts, our lives, our hands, our home - up in an extravagant way we will see transformation and wholeness spring forth. We long to see our family grow as we welcome four, five, six or maybe even seven siblings into our little world.

We know we will face obstacles along the way and we are counting on our dear friends and family to hold us up before Father in prayer and hold us as close we face our own weaknesses.

The first step in this new journey we’re on is to prepare a place for our new children. As of this week, we are starting renovations on our current home so that we can get it ready to be put on the market. We have found a home that will house all of us nearby and are hoping that we will soon be able to place an offer on it. The plan at this point is to use the money that we have in savings to get us as far as we can in the process and trust that we will be provided for whatever is lacking.

Along with the need for more space in our home, we also are going to need to purchase a bigger vehicle (most likely a 12 or 15 passenger van). Our hope is that we will be able to keep our minivan for situations where we may have to take children to two places at once and so that we will be able to run errands in a smaller vehicle, but as of right now we are probably going to need to trade our van in (as it is our newer vehicle and will bring more as a trade in.)

As we get matched with our new kids we are also going to need to furnish their rooms with beds and dressers.

We hesitated to share our financial needs, as we believe that we will be taken care of, but several friends have encouraged us to. We know that part of the beauty of this life is community - taking care of each other. So if you have a dollar, or a mattress, or a van to spare we thank you. But of course the most valuable gifts are love and support and prayer.

Seasons

I am wiping the tears from my eyes right now after rocking my not-so-baby boy to sleep.

He's never been much of one for falling asleep without a fight, and today was no exception. Most days he'll settle down after fussing for a bit. Today, he didn't seem to be settling.

I went into his room with the intention of handing him his "suck-suck" and covering him up. Sometimes I just have to remind him that it's night-night time.

But when I walked in, I couldn't help myself. I miss rocking him. We spent hours and hours in that rocking chair for the first year of his life, nursing and rocking to sleep for every nap and night time and in the middle of the night.

So I picked him up and we rocked. He feels so different in my arms now. He is such a big boy. He fell right to sleep, but I just held him and cried.

He's growing up.

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My big girl will be turning 11 in a few weeks. 11. That's only two years away from 13. That's only 7 years away from 18.

We were looking through pictures of her the other day. She was so big when we got her, or so we thought, at eight years old. Now we see her pictures and say, "Look at what a baby you were!" So precious, with her round, chubby cheeks, missing teeth, and pigtails.

We used to rock her to sleep too. So big in our arms, but yet such a baby.

She's getting so smart. She's getting so witty. Some days I look at her and she looks like a grown-up.

She's growing up. Way too fast.

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We have a foster baby right now. We've had her for two months. When when picked her up at the hospital, she weighed only 4 pounds, 6 ounces.

Now she's over 10 pounds.

She smiles and laughs and coos and holds her head up. She snuggles up close and I love to feel her warm breath on my neck while she sleeps.

She may be leaving soon. We don't know yet. I don't want her to leave and I'm praying that she won't.

She's growing up, and the reality is that I may not get to see it.

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Lately, my husband and I have reminded ourselves that this toddler/newborn stage is just a season. Soon enough, we will get to sleep all night long and our children will be able to wipe their own booties and noses.

Just a few minutes ago, while rocking my boy, I was heartbroken at the all-too-obvious fact that this rocking, this toddler, this baby girl, this big girl, being here in our home -- this too is just a season.

I will always be a mother, yes. But I will not always have little feet and hands and dirty mouths and sweet kisses surrounding me all day long. All too soon our home will be full of beautiful teenagers, and then emptied again.

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Yes, this is a lesson on marriage, on why it is so important to keep that flame burning. Because in the end, he's my mate, my companion, my best friend.

But it's also a sobering reminder to cherish the moments, soak them in. Take that extra time to rock the babies. Spend some time snuggling my big girl and telling her how precious she is. Because soon enough, they will be gone.

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I've been working through surrender, knowing that our baby girl may leave. And in working through that open-hand living, God has placed another heavy realization on my heart. My baby girl may be leaving in a few months. But any one of my children could leave. Something horrible could happen and they could be gone forever. Or something wonderful could happen and they could move across the world and be gone. There are no promises of forever in parenthood, except for forever-love.

So I'm going to love my baby girl today as if she were my own. And I will love my toddler boy today the very best I can as if he were my own. I will love my big girl to the end of the earth and back, as if she were my own. I will love my husband today and relish in his love as if he were my own.

But I must - MUST - remember that none of these precious ones is mine. They are all His. His to lead, his to direct, his to love. I am gifted with a short time to love them; He will love them forever.

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And finally, I am reminded of the first few weeks our tiny baby girl was here. God spoke to me concerning her Jeremiah 31 and told me that He loves her with an "everlasting love."

He has loved all of my people with an everlasting love. I can live with open hands, open arms, and an open heart. I can cherish the precious moments. I can look forward to the future. I can live in reality about the future. I can know that the future may not look how I want it to look.

But I don't have to worry. Because the everlasting love follows my people wherever they go.

Jobs

I don't know if any other stay at home mothers deal with this, but sometimes I get career envy.

I think about all the adventurous, exciting careers that friends have and wonder if maybe, just maybe, I should do something adventurous too.

I have these crazy daydreams where I have a high-paced job, changing the world with my every move. Catching sweet babies as a midwife, finding adoptive parents for children, teaching classes at a college, driving through African villages, saving kids from impending doom...

Am I alone in this?

Man, some days those jobs (and so many others) sound really exciting. Maybe I should get my master's degree. Maybe I should become a doula. Maybe I should teach some classes at an after school program. Maybe, just maybe, I could change the world too.

And the Lord whispers gently in my ear.

Jennifer, you already have a fast-paced, adventure filled, world-changing job.

You have been given the incredible calling of molding, shaping, training, and praying over two future world changers day after day.

You have the job of daily speaking hope and healing into a person who could potentially break a cycle of needless dysfunction and bring peace and grace into a family line that has been controlled by the enemy for too long.

You have the opportunity to raise up a godly man who will potentially lead hundreds of people to freedom in Jesus.

You have the joy and incredible calling of supporting a man who spends his days sacrificing for children in underprivileged, dysfunctional families and who lives to love you.

You have the opportunity to see those around you who are desparate and hurting and in incredible need of HOPE.

You, my dear, have the most beautiful and important job in the world.

Honestly, last night at 3:00 in the morning when my son was screaming his head off for an unknown reason and today when my conversation was interrupted 5,834 times by silly questions or when I have to change an incredible stinky diaper right in the middle of something important or when I have two million dirty dishes that smell like poo sitting in my sink -- well, quite honestly, my job doesn't seem so exciting or adventurous or world-changing.

But it is. And that's the beauty. In the mess -- in the crazy, hectic, mundane, smelly parts of my life, the radiance and grace of Jesus shines in and reminds me that this, these dishes, this baby, this girl, this man -- this is my calling. This is my career.

And it is the most important, most wonderful, most rewarding job in the world.

Can't Quit Now

Yesterday was just one of those days. When my husband got home from work, I went to him in tears. What's wrong? I quit. You can't quit. What can I do to help you? Help me pack. A sick baby, a 10 year old who has been making some nutty decisions, and a new four legged friend equal a tough day. A few days ago someone said to me, "I don't know how you do it all." Are you kidding me? Do it all? Have you seen my house lately? Have you heard about my many unfinished projects? I don't do it all. Some days I barely get the kids fed. I am not Superwoman, people. I'm not Supermom either. I am a 25 year old girl who has no idea how to be a mother. I jumped into motherhood with both feet, with an 8 year old who I had never met, and haven't had a chance to look back. Even with all this, we are being called to more children. MORE???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? I am reminded that His grace is sufficient for me. His power is made perfect in my weakness. I have lots of weakness. So I don't pack. I got up this morning, believing for a better day, thankful for a do over. May His grace be sufficient for you today.

Keep on Learning

I made some New Year's Resolutions this year. I decided if God was good enough to give me a fresh start, I might as well take advantage of it and resolve some things.

I have been sobered lately by the knowledge that if I want my children to be life-long learners, I need to be one myself.

So I resolved to read 12 biographies this year, about all kinds of people.

My first was Bonhoeffer, who I blogged about before.

Have you ever read a book and gotten your life and mind and heart so entirely wrapped up it in that you just want to cry when it ends?

Granted, this story has a sad ending (but not really when you picture Bonhoeffer standing before Jesus), but I just really wanted to cry when it was over.

Bonhoeffer and I had become such good friends. He went with me to Joy's classes, he kept me company during nap time, he rocked me to sleep at night. He was my constant companion for a month and a half.

And can I just say, as silly as it may seem, I MISS HIM!!!

My husband, upon hearing of my sadness, suggested that I read it again. But I know I can't do that. Not right now. I have to move on.

So this week I will start a new biography. I have no idea who I should read about... any suggestions?

Things You Should Never Say to a Mother

Apparently, people have no common sense.

Seriously.

There are just some things you should never, ever say to a mother. But people say them. To me, at least.

So please, people, listen up and take note.

Things You Should Never Say to a Mother:

1. You look tired.
Thanks for pointing that one out. Never mind the fact that I spent more time getting ready this morning than I have for the past two weeks. Yes, I am tired. No, my eight month old doesn't sleep through the night. Yes, I've been sorta under the weather for a week and am really not feeling very good today. So thank you so much for the encouraging words. I'll work on that.

2. Don't worry; those extra pounds will come off eventually!
Wow. Yes, I am aware that I am considerably heavier now than I was pre-pregnancy. I did gain a lot of weight while pregnant (earning me the title of woman with the biggest pregnancy belly in the history of the world, apparently). Yes, I'm nursing. But no, I'm not one of the lucky ones whose weight just falls right off afterward. Hmmm...maybe it's the brownies that I have to eat to nurse the wound that comes from your comments!

3. After hearing that we have chosen to homeschool our daughter: Why in the world would you do that?
Do you really want me to go into that? Here? Now? Is it not enough that we obviously believed it would be the best thing for her? Or maybe I should just start acting like some crazy cat lady who won't let her children get out of the house or speak to other children...yeah, that might be fun.

4. Do you work or are you just a mom?
I wake up and feed the baby at least once, somtimes three times in the middle of the night. I prepare lesson plans for my daughter. I do the dishes. I do the laundry. I cook three meals a day. I do all of the grocery shopping. I clean up. I wipe a baby's butt all day long. I teach math, English, history, science, music, home-ec, Bible, and common sense. I read stories. I kiss boo-boos. I discipline. I play outside when I really don't feel like it. I also type for a court reporting firm in my spare time. I vaccuum. I sweep. I make phone calls. I answer emails. I clean toilets. I tuck children in to bed. I care for sick people...but no, I don't work at all. Just a mom.

5. You don't look old enough to have a 10 year old.
Well, I am really so incredibly sorry that you feel this way. I do have a 10 year old, whether I look old enough or not. I'm sure she loves to hear that her mom doesn't look old enough to be her mom. (Although the alternative, "You look too old" may be worse).

So please, America. Use some sense. Think before you speak.

(And please take the sarcasm with a grain of salt. Thanks!)