To the kid who pushed through immeasurable grief this school year, I see you.
To the kid who struggled with anxiety but still showed up, I see you.
To the kid who didn’t participate in sports or anything extra but cheered others on, I see you.
To the kid who did your best to stay awake in class because you worked late to help pay your family’s bills, I see you.
To the kid with depression who kept putting one foot in front of the other, I see you.
To the kid whose ADHD is alienating but you kept trying, I see you.
To the kid who befriended the new kid in class even though you struggle with friendships, I see you.
To the kid who doesn’t have anyone in your corner, I see you.
To the kids whose square shape will never fit into the round holes of standardization, I see you.
Thank you for your courage to show up at school. Thank you for the continued determination to fight through learning disabilities, grief, trauma and whatever else this world has already thrown at you.
To the kids who will never be recognized with any of the awards our public education system gives out, I see you.
On this day of thankfulness, my childhood has been on my mind. Maybe, it is because my daughter is now the age I was when I had my hysterectomy. Sometimes, I see myself in her. Curious. Strong-willed. Lover of fluffy things. Empathetic. Other times, I don’t.
Barrenness rushed in like a thief in the night. It didn’t just steal from me at that time, in that present moment. It kept stealing each and every day as I grew up. A stalker. A shadow that didn’t go away. A reminder of what was missing.
On this day of thankfulness, I’m reminded of the power of restoration. That somehow, grace had the audacity to chase me down, prove me wrong and breathe love and life into my soul.
Thankful for a loving Heavenly Father who took my physical, emotional and spiritual brokenness and flipped the script.
Lightness out of darkness.
Fruitfulness out of barrenness.
Gratitude replacing grief.
On this day of thankfulness, I am truly blessed.
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You sat across from me; worry and sorrow dripping from your pores. Your mind wracking with concern. Your heart aching for an answer. You said, “I was told this is how the system works. This is what I should expect.” For a brief moment, I froze in my seat; my own heart plunging into despair. Dear (foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child, the least comforting words you can hear are “This is how the system works.”
People say that to you, don’t they? They seem to just let it out without a care in the world. In the upside down that you are experiencing, there really are no care-free words. What you walk through each day is far from that.
I refuse to be someone who reminds you of how the system works. I won’t let you feel less validated or that you are in the wrong for having strong emotions. Actually, on the contrary, I welcome your feelings.
If anyone knows “how the system works”, it is you. Sitting through weeks (maybe even months) of training about how to care for strangers’ children, your own childhood is being explored. Your financial statements are viewed, fingerprints logged, and friends are called upon to give a reference. You are studied over and over again – watching each and every move.
You show up at meetings and speak the truth that needs to be shared – how the stranger’s child you are loving on is doing. Court hearings, therapy sessions, and visits with anyone who is related to the child are just a part of your new normal. Case managers, licensing workers, attorneys and therapists knock at your door. You prep the child for what is to come of the day, wipe away the tears, comfort the wounds, take the wrath of trauma and whisper hope to the Heavens.
As you sit back and listen to everyone discussing a child whose future is unknown, you want so much to voice your opinion and in doing so, you tremble with fear that someone might think you are “sabotaging” this whole thing. You gain the courage to speak but with anticipation of hearing “this is how the system works”.
Dear (foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child, you deserve to be heard.
The reality is that you want so very much to see success. You are gutted at the thought of anyone living in despair. If you could, you would wrap the stranger, that has come into your life through a child, and nourish him or her with just enough healing and love to break the cycle and carry on. You desire to do this, even if it means a total loss for you.
There really is no other scenario in life where raw feelings of loss would be met with callous words. Would we say, “well, you knew it was coming”, to someone experiencing the death of a loved one? Gosh, I certainly hope not. Yet, in foster care, this is said a lot. These words do nothing to comfort. They fall flat on anguished hearts.
Dear (foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child, don’t forget that while the rest of the world might be judging you, the child you are caring for is growing and changing BECAUSE of you.
It’s okay to get attached – don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Without attachment, there is emptiness. On the outside of love, there is stillness. When hope is left out, there is no future. This is how love works. It is unreasonable to expect anything less.
To love a child you may let go, is something that most people would not do. If this were easy, everyone would do it. Sure, all of this may be how the system works, but you know how resilience works, don’t you?
Stay strong, (foster) Momma. Never forget the impact you are making in this world. It has ripples. Those ripples become streams that soon turn into waves. It is more than just a “system”. It is our future.
For you, this is life. This is how you mark your place in the timestamp of history. Your love is changing generations.
Dear (foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child, don’t forget that.
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Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you…. You look in the mirror and do not recognize the girl staring back at you. That girl, the one who radiantly wore your skin, now looks worn, tired, and plagued by a silent war.
Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you….You are surrounded by a crowd of many, and yet, you feel alone, isolated, and slightly misunderstood. You hear the squeals of delights when others announce their impending motherhood, and all you hear is, “It’s not me.”
All you think is, “It may never be me.”
Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you….At one time, you believed in happy endings. Oh, you were not naive to the hardships of this world. You knew that not all of life’s wishes are granted. You understand that the Lord doesn’t give you more than you can handle, but this….this battle….is one you never imagined facing.
Instead, you thought, “One of these days, I will be this kind of mommy.” Or, “I cannot wait to see my child for the first time.” Here you are now, waiting to be the kind of mommy you promised yourself you would be. Here you are now, waiting to see your child for the first time.
And yet, that first time has not happened. You are a momma-in-waiting.
Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you….You have felt as though the Lord is not listening to you. You have pleaded, begged, and cried out, but all you get is silence in return, and doors closed, and negative tests, and doctors giving bad news. You nod your head, close your eyes, stare in the mirror at the girl you no longer recognize, and weep.
You feel lost in the midst of a million prayers. You might just be questioning your faith, or perhaps, your faith in His plan for your life. You do not know which one is worse – to doubt the Lord’s plan, or to doubt your faith in Him. Both cut like a knife. Both break your heart. Both do not resolve your struggle.
Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you….I was once like you. I knew I could not get pregnant, but I wondered, and waited. I stared at the mirror, and did not recognize the girl staring back at me. I felt forced into a war that I did not start. I felt like the loneliest person on Earth; even though, I was surrounded by many.
I too felt lost in the midst of a million prayers. I questioned my faith, doubted His plan, and wondered if either really mattered at all. I did not want to raise my white flag to surrender and give up, but I was sick of fighting. I was tired from carrying the burden of it all.
Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you….Do you want to know something? Sometimes, I still do not recognize that girl standing in front of the mirror. That girl, the one whose scars seemed more powerful than life, does not even see her scars anymore.
That girl, the one who doubted her faith in a redemptive and loving Lord, feels Him in the slightest of breezes, sees Him in the wonders of her children, and hears Him in the quiet moments of reflection. The girl, the one who used to believe that being a mommy was not in her plans, understands that her plans were so very small and narrow compared to the promises of God.
Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you….tell that girl in the mirror who you are. Remind her of who you once were. Tell her that she is not going to give up so easily. Tell her to be brave, to seek answers, to keep trying, and to take risks. Tell her to listen to the Lord….
….listen to Him.
Pssst….Hey Momma-in-Waiting. Yes, you….greater things are coming. Soon, your skin, the one once worn with radiance, will be radiant again. Soon, you will not recognize that war-torn girl staring back at you in the mirror.
Soon…yes, soon….you will no longer be a Momma-in-Waiting.
We made the sad decision to put our dog, Speedy, down today. After watching him deteriorate for the past few months, we knew it was time. His hair was falling out, his skin was en-flamed, his legs shook, and he whimpered at night in an effort to get comfortable. Speedy was 15 & 1/2 years old, and the last of what I call our “fur baby family before we had a human family”.
I could write so much about what I have learned through loving my dogs and cats. Dogs are especially unique in their love for their human companions, and I believe that they are a special kind of gift to this world. They keep our secrets, comfort our sadness, and protect us with vicious loyalty. If only we could treat each other the way our dogs do, perhaps there would be less gossip, less grief, and less victimization in the world.
This morning, I gathered our children and explained to them that when they returned home this evening, Speedy would no longer be living with us, and that we felt it was time for him to be put down so that he would not suffer anymore. Both paused for a moment, and then spoke some wise words to me:
“Speedy will be in Heaven with Cleo and Baby Kitty now.”
“His skin will get better, and his hair will grow back.”
“God will take care of Speedy.”
After listening to them process their impending loss, I realized that their words brought great comfort to me. It was a difficult day, but the vision of Heaven that the kids put in my mind infused my thoughts.
In Heaven, there will be great joy, and the grandest of reunions. In Heaven, sickness and frailness, and all of the things that make us physically and emotionally ill, will be gone. In Heaven, we will rejoice with our Heavenly Father.
Today was one of remembrance of the sweet little puppy that bounced his way into our lives. It was one of commemoration about the many years he greeted us at the door, slept next to my feet, and gave us moments of laughter. I was also reminded that the years may seem long, but time with each other, truly is short.
It was also a day of a grand envisioning of what Heaven will be like, and of the blessed assurance of Eternal life.
Thank you, Lord, for gifting me with Your wisdom and promises through the soft-spoken words of my children.
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Pssst…Hey momma-in-waiting. Yes, you…. You held your breath when the doctor walked in. You lost his words after you heard, “I’m afraid I have some bad news…” In that moment, you felt the weight of the world collapse onto your shoulders. Your body went limp. You became numb. You had to shake yourself back out of the stupor you were in. You were told that you would never carry a child in your womb, but what you thought was….
“I will never be a mother.”
You’ve gotten good at faking that shy smile when others ask how you are doing. You’ve gotten even better at letting others think you are just fine. “Fine”….that word is meaningless in your world, except for the fact that you are not fine. That word has become the mask you wear. Inside that mask though, you are devastated. You are trying to keep it all together. You are pretending to be okay with the news, so much so, that even those closest to you cannot hear the grief-stricken song your soul is singing.
Pssst…Hey momma-in-waiting. Yes, you….You carry on, and pretty soon days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and now, it has been years since you walked into the desert. Out of courtesy, you join in with others while they celebrate the new arrivals of precious ones into their lives. You are on the sidelines, sitting on the bench, and waiting…waiting to be the one who is celebrating a life with children. You feel shame for your jealousy; and yet, you cannot help it. You feel embarrassment for those long, tearful drive homes after baby showers. You are exhausted from crying yourself to sleep. You cannot be comforted, and, you don’t want to be.
You don’t look forward to opening up birth announcements because you know that with each tear of the envelope, a little more of your heart is being torn. It pains you to buy the gifts, wrap them with a pretty bow, and walk through the doors to greet the one who is carrying what you cannot. Anger sits by your side. It has become your friend, but it doesn’t serve you, it doesn’t care about you, and it doesn’t fix your problem. You are a jilted daughter. You have been robbed of the very thing you want more than anything. You are thinking….
“Why Lord? Why can’t I be a mother? What did I do wrong?”
Pssst…Hey momma-in-waiting. Yes, you….Your life is different from what you thought. There is great silence in your world. The longing you feel is so deep that it feels as if it will consume you at any moment. Your child, your baby, your dream….has vanished. You think about your baby. You visualize him. He has your eyes, daddy’s chin, he is perfect, and he is wonderful. He was perfect….He was wonderful….He was yours. You feel haunted by a child who will never be born.
Pssst… Hey momma-in-waiting. Yes, you… You who have longed for years to have and to hold a child of your own, only to be told that it will not, it cannot, ever happen. Your walk in this world feels heavy. You know there are multitudes of others out there going through the same thing, but you feel like the loneliest person in the world. You read the brochures about adoption that are sent to you, and you listen to the advice of others…but…you know this is a battle all to your own. You are a soldier fighting in an army of one.
Has anyone ever told you that it is okay to feel the way you do? Has anyone told you that they too would be grieving if in your shoes? Has anyone ever given you a true glimpse of hope for the future?
Pssst…Hey momma-in-waiting. Yes, you…The One who created you sat by you when the floor fell out from under your feet while in the doctor’s office. The One who created you sees your half-hearted attempt to be happy for others. He holds your hand when you walk into baby showers, He reads the announcements with you, and He catches the tears that tire out your weakened body. He is in the silence. He is right there with you,very step of the way, as you meander around with infertility as your shadow. The One who created you hears the song of your grief-stricken soul.
He sees the baby you dream about. He knows the baby you dream about. He is creating the baby you dream about.
Pssst….Hey momma-in-waiting. Yes, you….Don’t give up. Don’t give in. You are weak from your battle, but the One who created you is standing firm. He did not forsake you as He hung on the cross, and He will not forsake you now. You are thirsty walking through this desert, but He is there to quench your thirst. You feel devoid of life, but He is life.
Has anyone ever told you that there is great worth in the wait? Soon, yes, soon…the wait will be just a memory, the pain will perish, and your soul’s song will be one of joy.
Pssst….Hey momma-in-waiting. Yes, you….Lift your head and dry your eyes.
Soon, yes, soon….You will no longer be a momma-in-waiting. You will be a mother.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11
**I wrote this piece in hopes of both validating and inspiring women who are struggling with infertility. As I look at the picture taken of me years ago, I can see the hardship of the years in my eyes. If you are not a regular reader of my blog, you may not know that I am a mother through the gift of adoption. I can look back now and see that while I was in the despair of infertility, the Lord was writing the story of my life, and the lives of my children, to include each other. For that I am truly blessed!**
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Gosh, this was a hard post to write. I stopped, stared at the image of my cousin above, typed a little, and deleted a lot before finally deciding on how to write about her. My cousin has been gone now for quite some time. This week marks the 16th anniversary of her death. It was an extremely painful experience to lose a best friend and someone who I essentially grew up with.
Most of my friends and co-workers do not even know. It is not that I have forgotten about her…I just cannot “go there” very often. I am extremely blessed with amazing friends, but there will always be that space that only Kelly filled. The vast majority of my early life memories involve her. Cousins really do become children’s first friends.
She was only 23-years-old; yet, had many sorrows and troubles. Addictions and sadness plagued her, even though, there was a tremendous amount of sweetness, tenderness, and love buried underneath all of the dirt of life. She battled addictions for several years and though she wanted to live a full, healthy life, I think that the struggles she had were just too great for her. So much life has happened since hers ended, but she is never really too far from my thoughts.
My last words to her, while she was conscious, were “baby steps, Kelly, baby steps.” I was trying to get her to slow down with her eagerness to get out of the hospital. I knew she needed to just put one foot in front of the other and that starting a new, healthier life would be much more difficult than she probably imagined. “Baby steps”….I regretted those words. If I had known those words were my last to her, I would not have chosen them.
Moments before her death, I ran to the chapel at the hospital and pleaded with the Lord. I was not an active Christian at the time and had a lot of confusion, but I still believed in a Heavenly Father who heard our cries.
“Lord, please God, I will do anything. Please let Kelly live. Please God….she needs a miracle.”
These words stumbled off of my clumsy lips that were quivering and drenched with tears. My broken and trembling body laid over the back of the pew. My hands were clasped together and I was reaching out to the cross before me. I was alone in the chapel begging….it was just me and God. It was me bargaining for Him to deliver a miracle to my near lifeless best friend.
Soon after, this I heard my name and turned around. In the doorway, my aunt stood there shaking her head with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“She’s gone”
….silence.
….numbness.
I got up and nearly ran right into a lady wearing a white jumpsuit. I remember her brown hair for some reason, but I do not remember her face and did not know she was even in the room. She said to me, “I heard you pray and wanted to let you know that your cousin is going to be okay. It is all-Saints day.” She hugged me and I walked out of the chapel. I was not Catholic (still am not), so I really did not know what she meant, but something about my encounter with her felt good.
Several months after my cousin’s death, I prayed that God would allow me to see Kelly one more time so that I would know she was okay. My prayer was answered in a dream. We were driving around in a car listening to music just like old times when she was breathing Earthly air. No words were spoken, but I could “hear” her say “I’m okay Caroline. I’m okay.” There she sat glowing in all white with that beautiful smile on her face. There was great peace in the car and I remember not wanting the ride to come to an end. I woke up and even though it pained me to realize she was gone, I just knew that she was at peace and with the Lord. I have not dreamed of her since then, but that is okay.
I believe the Lord did grant her the miracle I so pleaded for on that fateful day. You see, Kelly had been rendered unconscious just a week or two prior to her death. She miraculously came to, asked for forgiveness, recommitted her faith in the Lord, told her family and friends that she loved them, laughed, hugged, and then passed away. That was her miracle.
I too was touched by a miracle on the day Kelly died. My aunt who ran into the chapel to let me know Kelly passed away does not remember the lady in the white jumpsuit. She told me there was no one else in the chapel with me when she came in. In other words, I believe my miracle on that day was an encounter with an angel telling me that my sweet cousin was going to be okay even though she would be leaving the Earth.
Kelly never had the opportunity to become a mom, graduate from college, start a career, own a personal computer, use a smart phone, or travel to some far off exotic place. She did not get to stand next to me at my wedding, attend my adoption hearings, and watch how my story of infertility unfolded. I know she would have been so in love with my babies and would have cherished them as much as I do. I believe a part of her will always be with me during all of the moments I share with my children.
I look forward with great anticipation and joy at the reunion I will have with her in Heaven. I look forward to breathing in the same celestial air that she is breathing and to shine with her in the glory of the Lord. But, for now, I will continue to hold her in that quiet space that belongs only to her. I will continue to think of her every time I see tulips and daisies. And, I will continue to rejoice in the miracles that occurred during that week when Kelly danced her way into Heaven.
Love You, Kelly
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“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief…and unspeakable love.” -Washington Irving
Gosh, I love this quote. I L.O.V.E. it. Each time my eyes skim over it and I soak it in, it causes me to stop whatever I am doing. I think about the tears shed worldwide on a daily basis. I think about the tears that have been poured out of the deepest sorrow and joy throughout generations upon generations of humans.
I think about myself curling up in a fetal position sobbing from every pore of my being while mourning the loss of not being able to have a biological child. I truly mourned this. Those tears held within them my secrets, my grief, and my pain. Those tears shed were not in vain. I earned each one. I deserved to let go of each one. Those tears were for the girl I once was, and the mother I thought I would never be.
I also think about the tears of joy that have navigated their way down the landscape of my face. They too spoke volumes of resilience, thankfulness, and complete understanding. Those tears released the power of love held within. They too held their place of importance in the history of my life. They too were for the little girl I once was, and the mother I was discovering myself to be.
I remember hearing the “sniffles” behind me at our adoption hearings. I quickly looked around and saw family, friends, and even some child welfare professionals with tears rolling down their cheeks. Each tear was a message of hope and hard work. Each one represented the efforts made to keep my children safe, to help their birth parents, and to give them the permanent family they deserved. The Judge stopped the court proceedings during my son’s adoption and gave me a moment to gather my tears back up. He told me that he had seen many tears of sadness throughout his court room experience, and it was good to see tears of joy.
On a vastly more important level…the most important of all, I think about the tears that flowed down the faces of those who witnessed the crucifixion and death of Christ. I think about those who must have had tears of awe-filled joy at realizing His resurrection. The message of unspeakable love, unselfish love, and saving love that those tears gave is still heard and felt today. At times, I am caught off guard during worship at church. I find myself singing a song, staring at the Cross, and wiping away the droplets that resemble the overwhelming magnitude of my Savior’s grace and love for me.
I think I love this quote so much because it reminds me of the purpose and the purity behind each tear that falls from our eyes. The voice held within our tears speaks so much more compared to the words that may or may not leave our mouths. There is a sacredness there, and it should never be underestimated.
Don’t hold your tears hostage. Don’t stifle their meaning. Your tears may be speaking for you. Allow them to. Your tears may be speaking to you. Listen to them.
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Recently in the community I live in, there has been several tragic situations that have led to the deaths of children. One toddler passed away following a valiant fight against cancer. His family’s faith and their bold witness of it is extremely humbling. Yesterday, two mothers buried their children at the same time. All three siblings, their father, and a family friend died in a plane crash just minutes away from the local airport. Just this weekend, I learned of a former classmate whose 18-year-old son passed away suddenly.
My heart feels so much sadness for these mothers. I cannot imagine the despair they are going through. I have known the pain and the notable silence of a life without children that my barrenness once caused. But now that I am a mother, I cannot even wrap my head around going from sitting in a home that used to be filled with the chatter of a teenager engaging in an energetic conversation, a television in the background blasting a video game, or the imaginative sound effects children make when they play, to sitting in that same home that is now silent. I cannot fathom what it must feel like to walk into a home that once housed children with great dreams, loving embraces, and inquisitive yearnings about life, that now houses empty spaces, thick tears, precious (yet painful) memories, wounded hearts, and sorrowful aches.
Sometimes I long for just one moment of complete silence in the home or the car. Sometimes I wished my little ones could dial down the volume a bit; or at least, maybe not like the sound of their own voices quite as much as they do. These recent tragedies in my community have helped me to keep it all in perspective though.
I will take the squeals, the laughter, the “I’m gonna tell mommy”, the fights, the cries, and the constant chatter. I will take the background noise of a television that is too loud, or the bang of a drum from a little boy who thinks he is rock star. I will take the non-stop questions of soon-to-be 4-year-old who still thinks it is never too early to get out of bed in the morning, or implores for her questions to be answered.
Actually, I am not just gonna take it. I am going to embrace it. I am going to remember the gift of noise. I am going to be grateful for my Heavenly Father who has given it all to me.
I am going to embrace the noise.
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Before the adoption of my children filled my home and my heart, and before the Lord’s revelation in my life, I used to wonder what I would look like if I were pregnant. Here is another excerpt from my memoir in a chapter where I talk about the deep longing that existed when walking around with the feeling of emptiness. I cannot believe I am admitting this, but…deep breath…here it is:
I secretly envied my pregnant friends. I wanted what they had. The joy, excitement, and love they shared with their spouses throughout their pregnancies were clearly obvious and I was jealous of it. It felt really childish for me to think “why can’t I be like that?” Or, “why does she get to have more children when I cannot even have one?” It was almost shameful for me to think that way, or at least I felt ashamed of having those thoughts about them. I love my friends and I love their children and I know it is wrong for us to covet what others have, but I honestly did.
Just once I wanted to know what it would feel like to carry a baby in my body, or hold a baby and believe that he or she was mine. Every so often, I dreamed about being pregnant. I do not know what made me feel worse – the dream itself or waking up. Often, I stuck a ball under my shirt, stood in front of the mirror, and just stared at myself. I surveyed the shape from every angle. This was the closest I would ever come to seeing my “pregnant” belly. I always thought I would have made a cute mom-to-be.
It is a mistake to assume that women who cannot have biological children never wonder what their pregnancies would feel like. Most of us, although sympathetic to those going through it, would give anything to know what morning sickness was like, or to have the moment when a slight kick is felt from the inside. We would give nearly anything to have an ultrasound done that reveals the life growing inside of us.
Most of us have dreamed about pregnancy. Most of us have had visions of ourselves pregnant. Many of us still do.
I never, ever told anyone close to me that I used to stand in front of the mirror daydreaming of being pregnant. It was embarrassing and I felt as though I should not have even considered it. But, why not? Why not wonder what it would feel like to be pregnant? This is not wrong, silly, or senseless. It makes perfect sense to me.
If your path to pregnancy is jagged right now and you find yourself hiding away in front of a mirror staring at your belly, it is okay. Do not be embarrassed. Do not feel as though you should not be doing this. Give yourself a break and daydream all you need to. I get it, and my guess is that nearly every one else who is struggling with infertility or barrenness gets it to.
May His vision of you fill your life with love, peace, and understanding.
.
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BARREN TO BLESSED 