This, That and The Other

Right now I’m feeling like a terrible failure.  I know that I am in fact not a failure, but I
still feel like one.  The last weeks I
have:

potty trained my youngest

read books to the kids in bed

hugged them multiple times a day

Got to the bottom of why Elena was “sick” and wanted to skip school

Taught Brandt to carry a big stick while he walks around the house, all the
while speaking softly “God is with me, God is with me”

Made chicken stock that is really good and really handy

Sounds Ok right?

Well, I also:

Let my kids watch WAY to many movies

Let chicken spoil in the fridge because I didn’t take the time to freeze it
(this one bothers me very badly)

Let my house become a smoldering pot of disarray

Barked at my child. Then preached at him.
Then scolded some more. Until he said: “Uhhh, I TIRED of all the YELLING”

Gave my husband the cold shoulder because I thought he was working too much

Let some wash on the line for an entire
week
, because I was too lazy to take it off

(please mom don’t be embarrassed, the
issue is not that you didn’t teach me, the issue is I don’t put into practice
what I know)

Kissed Madelyn and made her cry (its true she said “ouch ouch don’t kiss,
it burns me!)

Plus many, more failures, these are the ones I could think of in five minutes.

So there is good, and there is ugly twisted together into the lumpy braid of my
life.  Right now the knots in the braid are
glaring at me, demanding my attention.

But Christ the loving hairbrush untangles all my split ends,
and conditions the strands of my life.  He
gently whispers “I will be your permanent refuge”.

I am sensing that I have taken the hair analogy a bit far.  Be glad I stopped, because I was trying to
work the words fringe, bob and highlight into the sentence too.

THE POINT IS:  Yes the point, I can’t
find the point because now I see golden hairbrushes floating around the sky,
plus I have the giggles.  The point is…that I am noticing all my flaws lately and keep beating myself up about them.   I keep waiting for the grand and glorious day, when I will have my act together. And I’m realizing that that day will never come.

Carrying on.  Why am I desperate to get
my act together?

A heart-longing of mine is coming true.
A dream that I’ve had for years is creeping
to a reality.

We are DONE with our home study.  We are adopting.  Somewhere out there is another little person
who is going to join this laid back, get nothing done, messy-haired family.

That is why, the reality of who I am, and who I am not, is hitting home.

When I say creeping to a reality I mean creeping to a reality. Home studies
should take two to three months, ours took nine. Yes, we move at a
snails pace.

And now we join a multitude of other people in the waiting game.  Waiting for God’s timing, and praying that
this dream won’t vanish in thin air.
Praying for a nameless little person who will have to suffer much loss,
and come bearing hole in his heart that we cannot fill.

—————————————————————————

Frequently asked questions:

Where are you adopting from?

USA

What age?

Under two, good chance it will be a baby

Boy or girl?

Don’t know

How long will you have
to wait?

Again don’t know, ball park figure- 4 months to two years.

—————————————————————————-

So if you wake up at 3AM with insomnia, and our faces flash in your brain say a
prayer, because like all the other parents on planet earth, we could use them.

Ps. If I have offended anyone by comparing Jesus to a hairbrush, my sincere
apologies.

Another defining moment

I had been pro-life like forever.  I remember having an argument in 6th grade and switching to the Republican side when I realized that “Bill Clinton wants abortions”.

So I read the books, went to the banquets, and talked about someday volunteering at the clinics.

And then a close friend of ours had an unexpected pregnancy.  She was young.  Gene and I hadn’t had any children yet.  We knew that terminating the pregnancy was in their plans.  We had the couple over.  We said we would help.  They cried and we cried.

I have no idea if the stuff I said that night was kosher.  But I remember thinking that this wasn’t supposed to happen.  In all the stories, the person changes her mind right?  The friend offers love and support and she chooses life.  The baby ends up living. (and possibly writing a book).

That’s not this story.

I wish they would have changed their mind.  They didn’t.  I wish she would have learned from this experience.  She didn’t.  I wish there would be another eight year old running around.  There’s not.

When I see her we stop and chat.  We chit-chat and act normal, but we never spoke about it again.

I’ve heard that aborted babies are the forgotten ones.  No baby, you are not forgotten.

So why was this a defining moment?  It showed me the darkness of my own heart.  Since she made her own bed I wanted her to lie in it.  I wanted her to be haunted by the little one.  I wanted her hands to feel empty. I wanted her to have sleepless nights.  Sometimes I still want that.

Now though more than anything I want to be able to say “God please forgive her, she didn’t know what she did.”

It’s so much easier to love the babies than to love the mothers.

Have a wonderful Thursday everybody,
Andrea

And Here is beautiful post written by Becca on the same topic