Hello Little Lady

    Hello little lady. Here we are. It's been almost exactly one month since your tiny face showed up on our doorstep. Almost exactly one month since I first laid eyes on you and started falling in love with you. 

A dear friend mentioned to me the other day that I should write you a journal...that maybe one day I would be able to put these memories of you in your hands, so that you can one day read about how your first weeks were...so that you can read about how much you were loved by your foster mom, your foster dad, your foster brothers and sister. I hope one day you can read these words. 

This is our time. Our time with you. It's been hard, and beautiful, exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time. I know that we are working towards reunification with your mom. This is a good thing, for the both of you! But a little part of me, the selfish part, wants you to stay with me. I just want you for myself, so that I can see you grow up, see you change into a beautiful little unique individual...so that I can find out if you like peanut butter sandwiches, or if you like the color yellow. 

But technically these moments don't belong to me. They belong to your mom. The mom who carried you in her womb and is working hard to get you back. I'm proud of her for putting in the effort, and I'm proud of myself for being willing and understanding that the best thing for you is to let you go, however hard it is. So many big emotions go into this fostering life. So many unknowns, daily challenges, and yes...daily blessings. 

You are opening your eyes more and more each day, little lady. Those baby blues with those lashes! You are going to turn heads some day, I know it. Just like your mama, I bet. You are looking for me every time you hear my voice, your little face turning towards the familiar sound, intently trying to find the face attached to it. I want you to see me...I want to bond with you...but I'm also terrified of it because it only means that saying goodbye will be that much harder. 

The nightly feedings are still exhausting but the addition of you to our family seems so seamless sometimes...like you just fit in and you just belong. I am afraid of how saying goodbye is going to affect your foster siblings, because they love you as much as I do. I am scared of what heartbreak they will face when they realize they have to let you go. It's hard for them to understand this whole process. It's hard for them to cope with the realities of a world that isn't really ever fair. 

Letting go. It's a fact and a reality with foster care. Letting go of expectations, of pre-conceived ideas, of prejudices, of judgements, and of course plans for the future. With foster care, the only certainties are those of today. I am certain that I can hold you today. I am certain that I will get to snuggle with you, sing to you, and speak words of love and truth over you...today. 

Dear Jesus, hold this child in Your hand. Comfort her when she feels sad or lonely, speak love into her if she ever feels abandoned or lost, and protect her from a word that can be cruel and harsh. Hold this child's heart in Your hand, Father. Draw her little heart to You. Speak life into her. Save her. Please, God. Hold her in Your hands, even when I cannot. Shelter her and hold her, even when I cannot. You know her path, God. You have a plan for her life. Work it out for good, please Father. 

For you, my child, I will always pray, no matter what. 

I love you, little lady. 

This is fostering

    It's not easy, you know. Loving someone who doesn't technically belong to you. Think about it for a second, and then think about it again. It's actually much harder than you can imagine. In fact, I'm in the thick of it, and it's still hard for me to imagine, or grasp. 

How is is possible? To look at a little person made in the image of God, but not made from you...she's not from your womb, she didn't grow inside of you, she isn't even adoptable yet. She's your foster daughter. And you love her...fiercely, even though at times, reluctantly, because you aren't sure where this is going to go, and how long it's going to be for, and how invested you are going to be, before the rug gets ripped out from under you. 

This is fostering.

Do you know how beautiful you are, little girl? Do you know how perfect that sleeping little face is, with the long lashes, the rosy skin, and the pouty lip that makes me always fall in love with you over and over again? 

No you don't. Because you are tiny, new, and blissfully unaware of the army of foster parents, advocates, lawyers, agency workers, and CPS workers who are in your corner fighting for...you. For the best for you. For a chance for you to succeed in life. For a chance to be loved and wanted. 

Well, here's the irony. I love you. I want you. And for now, that's all I have. And that's all you have. For now. For now, you have my love. You have my snuggles, my sweet words in the middle of the night telling you that you are beautiful and you are loved. 

This is fostering.

I took you to the doctor the other day, and they turned me away because I had the wrong Medicaid insurance. They weren't very nice about it, and I was pretty mad, because, well...this is my first time ever dealing with Medicaid...and what am I supposed to know. But as I stormed to the car I saw your beautiful little sleeping face...so peaceful...and it reminded me that you are more important than my stomped-on ego. You are so important that all of the paperwork, the long drives to visitations, and even inconvenience with doctors and insurance, are all worth it. 

This is fostering.

And you might ask, why am I doing this all for you? This child that doesn't belong to me. This child who will most likely never belong to me...who will be taken from my arms at the end of our journey together...who will be reunited with her bio mom...who will for sure and irrevocably break my heart. 

I'm doing it for you, my child. I'm doing it so that you can really and truly feel loved these first months of your life. So that somewhere, deep down inside of you, you will have a deeply rooted start, not in trauma, or in abandonment, but in love. These are the only days we may have together. But they mean everything to me...and to you. 

I love you, sweet girl. No matter how long we have together...days...weeks...months. You will always hold a place in my heart. And I hope deep down I will hold a place in yours. You are so loved, little girl. 

This is fostering. 

The Face of Fostering

Her beautiful little face looked up at me for the first time, and my only thought was, hello little lady, how am I ever going to be able to say goodbye?

You see, she doesn’t belong to me. I’m her caretaker, for now, I’m her guardian, for the time being...I’m not her real mom. I’m her foster mom. It doesn’t roll off the tongue easily, it feels awkward to say it out loud. “Foster mom.” A new title to add to my menagerie of names, and most likely the most painful one.

Everything that I do for her will have lasting impact on who she becomes. The snuggles, the around the clock feedings, the baths, the one-sided conversations...for her, these have meaning and worth because they speak love into her...a love that she is otherwise bereft of.

And all of these things I do for her create a bond between us that, for me, hurts as much as it heals. I want to love her with my whole heart, because she deserves it. I want to hold back that love because I want to protect myself from a broken heart.

What a dichotomy of emotions always surging through my mind when I look at this beautiful little person that was thrust into our lives so unexpectedly and yet so wonderfully.

When we said we would foster, I thought I knew what to expect, but I really didn’t understand or know. I thought I would be strong because I’ve been through a lot in my life, and I’ve said painful goodbyes before, but the reality is that I’m not as strong as I pretend to be. I hate goodbyes. I’m terrible at letting go.

But for her sake, I’m going to take every moment of every day to cherish her. Every day will begin with the most beautiful hello. And if that day comes, and it most likely will, when I have to say goodbye, yes, it’s going to break me. It’s going to crush me. But I’m going to be able to hold onto those moments I was given with her, to love her and leave an imprint on her tiny life. It’s a blessing and a privilege to be her foster mom.

Hello, little lady. Let’s seize today, and make some memories.

#ThisIsFostering

Sunday Reflections

    I used to approach Sunday with an “oh gosh, my weekend is over and I have to face another crazy week” mindset. I’ve always had the tendency to settle into what I like to call a “Martha mentality”: No, I don’t have time to sit at the feet of Jesus, I’m busy over here juggling everything else, and resenting every minute of it.

Over time I’ve realized what a waste of a day I was making of Sunday’s. Spending my whole day stressed about a new week and how much I still had to get done to prepare for it. Sure, it’s challenging to be a mom of five, to teach them from home, to juggle work and housework, etc. We are all there! But my type A personality has taken a little bit of a beating through the years, as I’ve come to realize, there is ALWAYS going to be a list of things I need to complete. I will never truly get it all done. So what? I have to throw my hands up a little and think about what really matters. My to-do list is important, but not if I’m in a constant state of anxiety over it. First, what will help me face this week? A quiet moment, a good worship song, time spent first with my God and second with my family.

The list can wait. Eventually, it will get done...or at least most of it. But at the end of the day, God doesn’t care if I’ve finished the laundry or organized the school room or planned the week out to every detail. He just wants me. And so does my husband. And so do my kids.

Take a breath. Take a moment. Stop and look around. The most important “things” I can do today are to focus on my loved ones and to focus on recharging. I am always going to tend towards a Martha. But as my life seems to speed by, and the kids get bigger every day, I’m beginning to see what value there is in being like Mary. Truly, sitting at the feet of Jesus is where I can find the only true rest and strength to face the week.

Seeing the Hand of God

 It’s hard to see God’s hand in everything. Through the good times, through the bad times, through those times of silence or waiting. Is He really there through it all? Every morning my kids and I have been going through a devotional series that essentially walks us through every major event in Biblical history, recalling and recounting the stories of some of our favorite heroes of the Faith: Joseph, Abraham, Noah...the list goes on.

All of these men of faith had very different stories, but there is a very clear and common theme that runs through them all: that God had a plan for each of them, even through years of barrenness, or of waiting in the desert, or through years of being misunderstood and even imprisoned...through those hard years or the years of waiting...God was working out His greater plan. And eventually all of these men would see that powerful plan play out. I know we all have these seasons.

This year especially many of you have been challenged, beaten down, you’ve experienced real loss of loved ones or the loss of jobs. It gets confusing when things feel like they are spinning out of control. My reminder to you today is that God is still on His throne. He knows. He’s there. If you can’t see the way, ask Him to show you. If you’re having a hard time trusting right now, ask Him for faith. Reach out to friends and ask for prayer. It’s normal to feel lost sometimes. It’s normal to question when things aren’t going the way you thought they would.

Take a deep breath and understand that your God will be faithful to you the same way He was faithful to those saints of old. Let their stories encourage your heart today, my friend. Look around, and see His hand in everything. “Now Faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see.”

God Is Enough

"When we have nothing left but God, we discover that God is enough."

Have you ever come to that place, hit rock-bottom, lost everything and everyone, if not physically, at least emotionally? Well, I have.

And yes, I bet most of you have too at some point in your lives. This moment for me was several years ago, after I had pushed God out of my life for literally YEARS and I had pushed my friends and even my husband away to the point that I was willing to walk out on everyone I cared about. I wanted to quit. Quit everything. I felt completely alone.

But then a beautiful thing happened. In that deepest, darkest hole I had created for myself, I found God. I found Him in the most real, genuine, “I’m all in forever” kind of way. Because having been stripped of everything I had ever used as an excuse to sideline my Heavenly Father, I was finally able to face my issues with Him, have a heart-to-heart, and then, finally let them go. I was finally faced with the fact that even if I lost everything, He was enough. He would always be enough.

Are you looking to those around you to fulfill those deepest spiritual needs? Are you expecting too much from your family, your husband, your friends, because you aren’t first and foremost seeking that fulfillment in Christ? Trust me, I’ve been there and I get it. Put it all aside and meet with your Savior. Not tomorrow, or next week. Today. He is all you need right now. He is all you need forever

God's Plan Amidst Daily Circumstances

I struggle so much sometimes to see God’s bigger plan amidst the daily struggles of being a mom, a wife, a friend, a boss, a teacher, or whatever other hats I’m juggling to wear that day.

Can you relate?

Does your current day or your current circumstance sometimes weigh heavy like a bad mood that you just can’t seem to shake? Does it make you feel trapped or insignificant? Like somehow the overwhelming small moments that make up each day have managed to snuff out your joy and your purpose?

I have been struggling with this feeling A LOT lately my friends, I’m just being honest. It’s so hard to focus, to ground myself in the Lord, and to seek His direction and His guidance amidst the daily storm of challenges and tasks I face each day.

And then I ask myself, “Why?!!” Why is it so hard to seek that which is the most important...the strength and purpose of my Heavenly Father, the daily guidance of the One, the only One, who has set my path and numbered my days.

It’s hard because I’ve made it hard. Somehow I’ve trained myself to deal with every other issue and put out every other fire first before I spend time with MY Father, My Redeemer, the One who has a plan for my life, the One who speaks wisdom and love and encouragement to my soul.

When I feel lost, confused, and discouraged about where my life is leading and how it really matters in the whole scheme of things, I can turn in one direction...towards Jesus. He is the author of my life. He is the author of yours. He has a plan, and yes, it’s a big one, and yes somehow YOUR LIFE matters in a HUGE way towards carrying out this plan.

So if you’re feeling lost and confused about where you fit into everything, or how, or why, let me ask you this:

Today, and every day, are you making the choice to seek God’s will, to trust His guidance, and to find joy in knowing that you are deeply loved, desired, and needed to complete His perfect plan?

You are beautifully and wonderfully made. Believe it, accept it, embrace it, and use it.

Finding Perspective

I thought I was doing just fine, but then this gray and gloomy morning it hit me: we could be here for a very long time. This first week of "quarantine" has been nice in many ways. Family walks, serene runs, homemade play-doh and cookie making...we have suddenly been thrust into the "simple life" I'm always talking to my husband about. The simple life I always wish for when things get hectic and stressful. But today the "simple life" feels forced, mandatory, paramount. Today, it makes me feel trapped. A "mandatory quarantine" forcing us all to stay home because of eminent danger presented by a dangerous virus is far from my ideal of a "simple life." Those of you who know me well understand that I like control. I like to be the boss, and I definitely don't like ultimatums or strict guidelines. I don't like to feel put in a box, I don't like feeling trapped. If you want to really scare me, stick me in an elevator or a closet. I would bungee jump off the top of a building before I would climb into any small space.

So today, this new "way of life" stuck at home is starting to make me feel claustrophobic, trapped, like the walls are closing in, and I've lost all control of the situation. The anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach and the tight feeling in my throat indicate the rising stress of what's occurring. So yes, today it hit me. I don't like any of this and I'm not in control.

Anyone else?

Sitting here, feeling lost and stuck, I'm realizing that so much of life is actually like this. Yes, this is a unique situation none of us have ever been through before...trying to stay away from an illness that doesn't have a cure...but in our daily lives we constantly experience circumstances that push our limits, that test us, that put us in places we don't want to be in, that make us realize we aren't really in control of any of it. This is real life. Life happening to us, and we are just along for the ride. So how do we deal with it? How do we hold onto hope, how do we not sink into depression, when things around us are so uncertain and so out of control? How do we stay grounded when the tide is rising, and the waters, dark and dangerous, are surging around us?

Even on the darkest days, when the unknowns are casting a dark shadow on my daily life, threatening to steal all joy and hope, I have something to hold onto...perspective. Perspective that it will get better, that we won't be here forever, that the simple joys of being with my family are worth every moment, and perspective that it's been worse than it is right now. You see, years ago, I lost a baby. It was traumatic, it was dark, it almost drowned me. And yet I have faith in a God who was able to pull me out of that darkness, and I know He will do it again. In my weakest moments, when I wanted to quit on God because I didn't understand what I was going through, He never quit on me. He gave me a husband who loves me unconditionally, He blessed me with more children than I ever thought I could have, and I could go on and on about the small blessings I encounter every day.

So as I look today at my kids and my husband, I realize that the walls aren't closing in. I have a comfortable home to be in, filled with the laughter and chatter of little voices. I have the arms of husband who cares about my deepest thoughts and fears. And most importantly, I have the love of a God who has carried me through the deepest and darkest valleys and has never failed me. Even when so much of life right now seems scary and uncertain, my lifeline is those simple truths that will never change.

I encourage you today to find peace in perspective. Whether it's the smile of your loved one, the hugs of your children, the phone call from a good friend, focus on what IS going right in your world. We are all in this together. If you can't find the light today, reach out to someone who can help you find it. You are not alone.

Let's Get Real with Grief

    Every year on this day I post something on Facebook about my first son Jace, something short and sweet like “this day nine years ago little Jace left us to be in a better place and we love him and miss him so much” etc. Well, this year I can’t do it. This year I’m tired of feeling like I always say or do the “right” thing when it comes to losing my son even when it isn’t what I’m really thinking or feeling. I’m tired of feeling fake. I’m tired of pretending. I think I’m just tired. The reality of it is that this day nine years ago was one of the worst days of my life. No, let’s be real. It WAS LITERALLY the WORST day of my life. This day nine years ago I watched in horror as my baby gasped for air, and as he struggled to take his last breath his body went limp in my arms and he was just…gone. Just like that. Gone. And with him died all the hopes and dreams I had built up for his future. With him died my dreams as his mother. With him died a little bit of my faith, a little bit of my heart, a little bit of my joy, and all of my idealism. For better or worse, I changed that day. I looked into the eyes of my husband and I was no longer the person he had married. Something had been taken from me and I would never get it back.

   Watching Jace die was the most terrible moment I’ve ever experienced, and it would be a lie to say that, nine years later, I’ve completely recovered. Anyone who has ever gone through something traumatic…the loss of a child or a loved one, the loss of a marriage through divorce, betrayal, abuse, neglect, etc. knows that when you go through something that devastating it changes you irreversibly…you never get over it completely, you never go back to being the “old you.” So there’s the reality of it all. When I think about Jace now it’s hard for me to even remember what he looked like. His memory is fading with the passing years, the sad reality of anyone who has lost someone they love. 

   Some days I still like to play “what ifs.” “What if” he had been healthy, “what if” I had a nine year old little boy running around the house, “what if” I had six little mouths to feed instead of five. I like to picture the family I “should have” had or life as it “should have” gone. But as my sweet husband always reminds these, playing “what ifs” only keeps me from enjoying the realities of the life I actually have. Of looking at the five sweet faces I’m supposed to be mama to here on earth and cherishing them. Of using the loss of my one son to give me the ability to be a MUCH better mom to the five remaining children I have here. Here’s the reality of it: I wasn’t supposed to raise Jace to be a man. I wasn’t supposed to see him running around with my other five kids. I wasn’t meant to mother him longer than the short three months he had here. God’s plan for my life is bigger than what I make of it…greater than what I have planned for it...and sweeter than what I could ever have dreamed for it. 

    As harsh as Jace’s death was and still is for me sometimes, I can’t help but notice that losing him woke me up. I woke up from a false reality. I woke up from my own dreamland. I woke up from a fantasy life I had built for myself. When I look in my children’s eyes I see Jace. When I kiss their sweet cheeks I feel Jace. When I have a terrible day and question being a mom, I remember Jace. “Would I take it all back?” I’ve had people ask me. The honest answer is, of course I would take it all back. Of course I wish Jace never died. Of course I wish he was still alive. Of course I wish the only tangible part of him I have left isn’t his gravestone. Of course! But I can’t take it back. I can’t change it. I can’t “unwish” it or “undo” it because this is real life. It can be horrible and amazing all at the same time because we go through things that hurt so terribly and then experience things that bring such joy. On a good day I can focus on all the beautiful blessings God has given me. And yes, I have really bad days where it’s hard to see past all the crud and the loss is too much for me to handle. Losing Jace keeps me humble…it reminds me of my humanity, of my brokenness, and of my need for Someone greater than I am to pull me out of my pit of despair, to give me hope, to give me life, to give me purpose.  

    Since losing Jace I feel like I’ve been in a constant fluctuating state of being mad at God and yet realizing my complete need for Him. I know He loves me despite my doubts, my fears, my anger, and my hurt. How do I know? How can I hold onto Him when He put me through hell and back losing my child? Because I look into five pairs of beautiful little eyes and I know. I look at my incredible, faithful husband and I know. I look at myself in the mirror and think back to who I once was and I know. “I know the plan I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans for good and not for evil. Plans to give you a future and a hope.” That’s what my Lord has done for me. He has given me the promise of a future in the five beautiful children I have on earth and the hope of a heaven where I can once again see my little Jace, healed, whole, and happy before the face of a God who loves me and my little ones more than I could ever fathom. 

A Joseph Journey

Today I had a moment. A moment of pure bliss. I was sitting with my husband with all my five children around us as we watched the Dreamworks movie "Joseph." And as I sat there looking at each beautiful little face, I felt so very blessed. So blessed to be their mama. So blessed to be able to watch them grow up. Eight years ago today I became a mama for the first time...I looked into the face of my first beautiful child and fell completely in love. It was a day I will never forget because in that moment of joy looking at my first-born, I was also completely terrified and devastated. Jace was my first child, but he was the one I never got to see grow up. And almost three months later, as I watched my first baby's tiny casket being lowered into the ground, I felt empty, like I had lost everything. I bet this is how Joseph must have felt when his brothers sold him into slavery. We all have a Joseph journey to walk through.

Joseph, the spoiled miracle child that never had to work a day in his life was suddenly stripped of everything and everyone he held dear. In one moment he was thrust from a life of happiness into a life of despair. And he was betrayed by the ones he trusted the most...his family. I can only imagine how many times Joseph must have cried out to God, "Why?" And yet, as you know if you've read the story, God had a plan for him. A plan he could never have conceived of. A plan that would not only change his life, but the lives of those around him, even the ones who betrayed him. I can imagine that at the end of his life as he looked back, Joseph must have been amazed. He must have been astounded to see what God did...how he took the most dire of circumstances and changed them into something great. God took Joseph from a lowly shepherd boy, to a slave boy, to a prison cell, and then onto the second highest position in all of Egypt, second only to Pharoah. And he saved thousands of lives from a famine.

I love the story of Joseph because Joseph walked through every valley the same way we do, questioning God's goodness and faithfulness. After all, we are only human. When we walk through our own version of a Joseph journey we can't see where we will end up. We can't see the good God is going to bring out of it all. All we can see is the struggle, the pain, the emptiness. But as with Joseph, God always has a plan that will end in good, no matter how hard it was getting there. I walked through the lowest of lows as a parent. Looking into the face of my child and watching him slip away, watching his heart fail him, watching him draw his last breath...it still haunts me at night sometimes. The pain will never completely go away. But now as I walk through my house at night and look at five more little faces sleeping peacefully, their little chests rising and falling with each precious breath, I can see the good God has brought from losing Jace.

I will always miss my first child. He will always hold a very special place in my heart. And for now, my heart is tethered to him in heaven, where I know I will see him again someday. A piece of me is in heaven and because of that I will never live my life the same. I know this isn't my forever home. We are all following Jace to a better place. And when I think about Jace I don't have to worry about him anymore because he is in the safest, most amazing place I could ever imagine. My heaven child is held in the arms of grace every day. No matter how hard it was to let him go, and no matter how much I might miss him, I can't begrudge him a home in heaven. Happy eighth anniversary of your birth, little Jace. I will always love you, my son.

The Aftermath of Grief: Anger

When you experience suffering it might seem like everyone around you just wants to tell you how to get through it. I think it's their way of trying to help, trying to be there for you because they really don't know what to do otherwise. The irony of this, however, is that by telling you how to get through a situation, your loved ones and friends only end up pushing you away. Because what you feel, what your heart and mind go through after a traumatic experience, only you can truly know and understand. Everyone tells you grief has many stages and this is true. But the stage that everyone seems to want to ignore and tell you not to go through is anger. Anger...such a dirty word, and yet such an integral part of walking through grief. I know because I've been there.

I sat by my first son for all ten weeks of his life and watched his tiny body slowly fail him. Stomach failure, kidney failure, and finally heart failure. It was torture. As a mom you think you can protect your babies from anything. You think you can fix anything. Or at least you want to try. But as I sat by my son and watched his body degenerate from a disorder I had no control over, I felt such terrible anger creeping into my heart. Anger at the ONE who was in control of all of this and chose to do nothing. Anger at God for letting my son be born this way. Anger that my child had to die. Anger that I had to sit and helplessly watch him die. I was angry. All the time. I was so angry I couldn't see past it...I couldn't deal with it...I couldn't let it go...but I was ashamed of it. I knew if I admitted to being angry I would hear the words I dreaded to hear: "Oh, don't be angry at God, you know He has a plan." Well I knew God had a plan and I hated His plan. I despised His plan. I couldn't handle His plan. Anger was eating me up inside, and the worst part about it was that I felt utterly and completely alone. Because who would want to know my deepest darkest moments? Who would really care about my most despairing thoughts?

Don't let guilt eat away at you like I did. Guilt will only feed your grief, not help you walk through it. After living with such anger at God, such distrust and confusion about who He was and what His plan was for my life, I finally realized that once I accepted my anger, once I admitted it to myself and to others, I could finally move on. When people asked me how I was dealing with losing a child, I looked them in the face and said, "I'm angry and I'm OK with it because I know someday soon I'll wake up and not be angry anymore." And I was right. One day I saw God's blessings in my life instead of the curse of death and loss. I could finally look at pictures of Jace and not feel angry, hopeless, and empty. Finally I could look at his beautiful, peaceful little face and realize this God's plan IS bigger than my plan, that His ways ARE higher than mine, that in this world WE WILL HAVE STRUGGLE...but I don't have to give up hope because HE has overcome the world. After walking through the fire of anger I can see God's plan more clearly than ever before. His hand on my life is evident, and He has made me a better person because of what I went through in losing my son. Because of losing Jace, I am a much better mama to the five MORE little people that He has blessed me with. I don't take life for granted. I cherish the moments.

So walk through your anger, and don't wade through it with guilt and isolation. Find someone you trust and tell them how you truly feel. Pour your angry heart out to God and be honest with Him, because believe me He is no stranger to your deepest darkest moments. He knows. He's there. Even when it seems like everything is crumbling around you, He is ALWAYS there, and He loves you just as much in your angry moments and He does in your joyful ones.

Bittersweet: Another Journey Begins

March is a bittersweet month for me. It marks the beginning of a new spring...flowers, green grass, cute babies, and beautiful weather. I became a mom for the first time in March. If you look at my cover photo on facebook you will see five precious little smiling faces...my beautiful children...my entire world. But what you may not know is that a little face is missing from that picture. The child that made me a mom for the first time, the one that came into the world on the first day of spring...he was the one that broke my heart. Now my husband and I tuck five cuties into their beds every night, and every Christmas we drive out to the cemetery to visit one tiny grave etched with the words: "Jesus is Lord, Jace Garrett Steinhaus, March 20, 2008-June 14, 2008. When we look at Jace's pictures and talk about his short life here on earth, his brothers and sister always ask me where he is. "He's in heaven with Jesus," I always say. "Will we see him again?" they ask. "Yes, yes we will. He just went to be with Jesus before us. One day we will all get to see Jesus...we are just following after Jace."

I'm not the only one. So many of us have a story. A story that takes us through the valley of the shadow. A story that makes us who we are today. I know countless amazing couples who have lost children to sickness, genetic disorders, birth defects, miscarriage, and infertility. We all have a journey. But the question is, where is your journey taking you? Where is mine taking me? I've traveled through more than just losing Jace. Every pregnancy I had was rife with struggle...I had several babies too early and saw them through weeks in the NICU, I had to take hormone shots to prevent pre-term labor, I underwent five C-sections...and through it all I would often ask the question that we all inevitably ask when we are struggling..."Why Me?" It was so easy for me to find women with normal pregnancies, it was so easy for me to blame God and to shake my fist at him for putting me through such pain. "You took my son away from me, haven't You done enough?!" I asked God over and over, struggling to make sense of everything that went wrong. Sometimes I couldn't see through my own anger and confusion enough to look around and realize how blessed I was. How blessed I AM. I mean, I have five beautiful healthy kids...I wake up every morning and i am just astounded that I get to be their mama. They help me to see my way through the pain of losing a child...they help me make sense of it all. They are living proof that God is always good...even when it seems like He's not. On the hardest days when I'm struggling with the dark shadows of fear, guilt, and anger that come hand in hand with grief and loss, I can look at those five sunny faces and see God's hand in my life...through it all, even when I didn't understand. He was there. And He still is. He always will be.

But the journey isn't over. We are still following after Jace. We have unfinished business here on earth. Five little lives to train up and raise up, the daily challenges of trying to be Godly parents to the tiny people with which we've been entrusted. It's a big responsibility and it can be overwhelming. And yet even as we've been so very blessed with children of our own both my husband and I have this growing restlessness, this feeling that God has more for us, that we are being called to open up our home and our hearts to a child or children who are unwanted and need a home. Yes, the time for waiting is over. The time is now. It's time for us to pursue adoption. Loving and losing Jace taught us so much...more than we even know. He taught us more than anything that life is precious. All life. Not just the ones I've carried in my own womb, but those that have been carried in someone else's womb and for whatever reason need a home. I think many couples that pursue adoption have been through the valley of the shadow. They have their own journeys through pain and suffering...a journey that allows them to be better versions of themselves. To be able to lay down the plans they had for their family and to pursue the better plan that God has. To open up their hearts to a child who has been through their own version of the valley and just simply needs to be loved and cherished, the way that God loves us and cherishes us no matter what. I don't know what the end of our adoption story will be. I hope it will end with us becoming parents again. I hope it will end with another beautiful child becoming a part of our family. But I don't know. I can only hope. And pray. Hope and pray that God's plans will be fulfilled through us just as they always have been...that He will be glorified, that we will be amazed at what He can do. No matter where the journey takes us, Jace will always be a part of it...because the short time we got to be his parents changed us forever.