10 years later

So, that post I did about the gym?  Yeah, it's pointing at me in the face and laughing.

I got a call a week ago yesterday about a 9 month old girl and a 3 year old boy sitting in a cps office and needing a home.  They had just been removed from their home that morning and cps was looking to bring them in the next 30 minutes.

I'd really been praying the few days before that God would bring us some kiddos soon, and when a couple calls we got didn't work out (cps prefers foster families in the same county as the bio family and we were out-of-county in both cases) my trust was increasing that God had a specific plan and specific children that were meant just for us and us for them.

We took them in and they arrived very shortly after I received the call.  We are fostering them with the hope that they will be reunited with their mom who will be given ample opportunity (about 1 year) to get herself in a place where she will be able to care for her babies in a healthy way.

I'm in up to my ears but not over my head.  Not yet, anyway.  To say it's been crazy would be an understatement.  I feel like I've blinked and 8 days have passed...it's all a blur.  These kids truly are dear.  I'm not just saying that.  The baby just soaks op all your affection and loves to be talked to and loved on.  And J, the boy, looks out for his sister and is very sweet and nurturing to her.  He loves Augs and V and plays with them like any other kid, running up and down the halls, screaming and laughing and playing make-believe.

J only speaks Spanish and misses him mom so much.  Those two things right there drain me mentally and emotionally.  This poor boy is suffering from some serious grief.  He walks around clutching a book that has a picture of a Hispanic woman and points at her and cries, "Mama!  Mama!"  A few times a day he goes off to a corner and sobs inconsolably.  The best comfort I can give does not even scratch the surface of the depth of pain he feels.  The fact that I cannot verbally communicate is frustrating and breaks my heart.  He is fine with my singing/holding/rocking/praying, but c'mon, he doesn't want crazy white lady and her Spanglish.  He wants Mama.  He doesn't understand everything that he's been through and that he was not in a safe place.  He only understands that he's just lost everything that he's ever known.  I can't imagine my kids leaving everything they've ever known and going to the home of people who spoke a different language.

I was reaching out to my Hubby this morning telling him how, now that it's been a week, I feel like I'm really counting the cost.  Like, at first it feels so nice that you can help someone, and now that my life has changed so dramatically, so drastically I'm kind of looking at the sacrifices and wondering if it's all worth it and if we can really do this and stuff. I am comforted that my questions and fears don't shake him.  He encourages me so much.  He shared that he is grateful for the opportunity to put aside what our culture says is so important and strive for what really matters .  He feels like he is gaining a more eternal perspective, a realistic one, that life is a mere breath and sharing in the sufferings of Christ by receiving and sharing his sacrificial love is what really matters.  His goal isn't that we see we made a huge difference in the lives of the kids, we may not see that and it may never feel like we did, but to draw nearer to the heart of God, to let the chains of what the culture says is so important fall off, and to press on to what God has called us to do.  To let go of a mentality that says I need ease, money, independence and people to think well of me and to gain one that says I need nothing for myself but Him alone.

I am definitely sorting through it.  I'm not seeking Him alone.  I really want to get up and be in the Word before the kids wake but evenings and mornings have been hectic, the nights have been sleepless (we had two good ones, but have lost a lot of sleep!).  With 4 mouths to feed, not including Dru's and my own, I feel like my life is a perpetual cycle of baby food, baby barf, baby bottles, making and cleaning up food and tables and chairs and floors and little hands and faces...not to mention the poop!  Oh, the poop!  I'm kinda in the trenches, getting this whole thing figured out, not just practically, but philosophically, biblically.

I am so grateful for Dru and family and friends who have been so helpful to me.  I couldn't do it without them. Dru has changed so many diapers, read so many books to little people, fed baby Z so many bottles.  Fam and friends have made meals and come to visit and bought Spanish books and listened to me etc etc etc.  I even made it to the gym twice in the last 8 days once when Dru stayed with the kids and once when my mom kept them!  Not bad!!!  If I can keep up with even that I'll be a happy camper! ;)

I would love to post all of Isaiah 40 right here, right now, but I lack the time.  Would you go read it?  Read all of it!  Just google it on the computer right now.  It has been such a comfort to me.  The Lord is mighty and powerful, His ways unsearchable, but he carries us and cares for us like a good shepherd.  I end how I started, I feel in up to my ears, but not in over my head.  I feel a super-naturally sustained and even joy and hope in the chaos.