Welcomed Home

We're coming up to 5 months since Isaiah came home and he is such different child now. There were always little glimpses of the real Isaiah peeking out. Looking back now I can see he was grieving, but grief is hard to identify and understand in a two year old.

My social worker told me he would grieve for his foster mom and in theory I know this would happen. I imagined Isaiah would be shy and insecure at first. I remembered my training and had a plan. We would be joined at the hip and I would work hard at attachment. I'd read the books after all. I knew the stages.

I didn't expect the pushing and pulling. The melt down because he wanted a cuddle this instant only to be pushed away with an angry hand when I went to give a hug. Or the morning Isaiah pointed to the picture of his foster mom and I said, "Yes, that's Ms Debi." And he screamed back at me "No! Mommy!" Or the way he grieved for his foster siblings and refused to play with other children. If they approached him he would yell, "No!" and hide behind me.

I didn't expect the separation anxiety. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without Isaiah desending into a full blown panic attack. Or the nightmares when he would start screaming and hitting something imaginary. Refusing to be comforted when we came to him.

By the end of the most days I didnt want to see Isaiah anymore and I didnt like myself. I felt like a failure. Afraid to say anything because prior to Isaiah being placed with us we had worked hard to convince social workers that we would be great parents. Sure they told us they were there to support, but I lived in fear that they might think they had made a wrong decision and take him away.

It wasn't all bad though. The real Isaiah was always there, just under the surface. And at many points throuout the day he would be his silly happy self. And more than anything I loved him despite the difficulties. I just didn't understand that the moodiness was grief.

I write this because today Isaiah is a totally different child. He is confident and open. He is happy and inquisitive. He charms everyone he meets and although we still have temper tantrums they seem to be the normal two year old kind! Isaiah is a delight to be with and I miss him when we're apart. I can't get enough of him and love when he scoots up into my lap for a cuddle.

From the moment I saw Isaiah's picture I knew he was my son and desperately wanted him. I have loved him from that very moment and feel priviledged to be his mommy. I see plainly that yes, adoption is wonderful. We have a son and Isaiah has parents. But adoption is born from loss and grief is a fact of life.

Thank God that he is in the business of making beauty from ashes. That He knows the condition of our hearts and loves perfectly. That He sets the lonely in families and tells the most amazing stories with our lives. I feel privileged to be Isaiah's mommy, but even more so to be God's child. Adopted into His family. Welcomed home and my grieving and broken heart made whole.

The Hope of Healing

For a year now I've spent nearly every Tuesday evening at our local therapeutic group home for foster children. The opportunity to visit with the children and teens that live there is a tremendous privilege. Still, without fail at the end of the evening I leave with a heavy heart.

This evening was no different. As we worked on a craft project one of the girls who just returned from a visit with her mom said cheerfully, "I found out my dad's real name today!" She was very excited to finally know the actual name of her father. However, this new disclosure now throws doubt on other things she thought were true. She is so young and doesn't know what to believe.

There is always something. Words spoken that remind me of the deep brokenness in their lives. I leave fully aware that I don't have what it takes to heal them. I can't give love big enough to wipe away the pain and anger.

What do you say to a child who tells you the scar on their newly shaved head resulted from a hit with a candle stick? Or that they just got out of jail for stabbing someone and have no problem doing it again if insulted? Or that their case worker says they get to go home the next day, but the following week they are still there? Or the one you believed was turning a new leaf and is now in prison awaiting trial for manslaughter?

I love that scripture describes Jesus as a man of suffering. He, the very son of God, knows the pain of sin. He carried it. He defeated it.

And so at the end of every Tuesday I share my heavy heart with Him. I am reminded that those children are His and He cares for them much more than I ever could. He pursues them with the love needed for healing. He takes broken lives and instead of just mending them, gives new life.

My hear is heavy, but my spirit soars. The hope of healing pushes me back every week. I can't get enough. I am hungry for it.

"For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God." Ephesians 3:14-19