Looking Back at 2018

It's hard to believe 2018 is ending, but we had a Tomberlin party tonight to send it out with gusto.

This year has been a year of walking through valleys and deep pain. It seemed like every two months we experienced loss, tried to process it, only to be knocked back down again. I've tried to think about how to really recap the year without it turning into a sob story. But the reality is, this year was hard. 

We struggled through the loss of the first baby, left our church in a painful exit, handed Sammy boy over to his new foster family, lost another baby, and struggled in our relationship in the aftermath of it. I had months of stomach and digestion issues that culminated in an IBS diagnosis that seems like will altar my eating indefinitely. And the final trial of 2018 leaves Adam and I working through some heart issues that have caused pain and heartache. 

It's been a year of a lot of hard days. We had been calling 2018 the year of disappointment, but last month I told Adam I felt convicted about it and needed to stop. Because God has been good TO ME. There has been joy so intertwined with the sorrow, you can't help but notice how often they go hand in hand. 

One of the biggest blessings was experiencing my friends step into my pain and walk through sorrows with me. After our second loss, these ladies showed up in my life, each in their unique ways, but together they were a force of life to me as I walked the valley of miscarriage again. I haven't ever had friends like this. I honestly just thought I wouldn't have them either, that only some people get that gift. It was a humbling season of being able to offer very little to them, but this is how true community works. And I'm so grateful for them.

One of the silver linings of being at a new church was that no one knew us, so more Sunday mornings than I can count, I cried my way through those worship songs. I'm not sure I would've had my guard down at our other church. It was small and there was no hiding. While we are so eager to put roots down at this church now, I'm thankful I had the time, space, and freedom to have those Sunday mornings without having to give an answer to those around me. 

Life after my second miscarriage, living in stomach pain pretty much daily, I had a lot of days of feeling like a really bad mom. It was hard to want to do fun things and extend grace or give a gentle answer when I was constantly in pain and definitely irritable. I was so frustrated. Frustrated with no answers or progress and frustrated that my boys were paying a price, too. But they were (and are) both so quick to forgive me, and think I'm so special. Literally, that's what they've been telling me lately. Which yes, their sweet words of love could make me feel like dirt in about .2 seconds, but their tender hearts toward me were absolutely precious. 

When I lost the first baby, I asked my prayer group to please pray that I would know God's love for me as I walked through this loss. Well, as 2018 unfolded, it seemed like it was just loss and pain repeatedly. In the middle of the summer, I was losing stamina. I was showing up each morning for my quiet time and struggling. I had so many questions. I was looking for a nearness to God that I wasn't experiencing. But I just kept crawling before Him each morning. In November, I cut out Facebook and other time wasters. For the most part, I stopped watching anything at nap time. I was looking for opportunities to be more attentive to God and the Holy Spirit. One night I was upstairs, on my face, praying Scripture. God gave me such a clear picture, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God loved me. And I wept. That moment right there, changed the sorrow of 2018. I just needed to know. I reread a book on suffering that I hadn't read in ten years, and the Holy Spirit used it to do such a shift in my heart. I actually had the thought on Sunday morning at church (when I wasn't crying through worship) that I was actually thankful for all I had walked through. 

What I keep calling the final punch of 2018 is not ready to be written about, but one day, I'm confident it will be yet another marker of God's faithfulness in my life. That confidence is there not because I know the road ahead of us is going to be easy, actually the opposite is true, but I know that God completes work He begins, and He is for me! To be able to say that with confidence right now is worth dark days of 2018. 

2018 changed me forever! I'm not ready to do another year quite like that one, but I'm fully aware that only God knows what 2019 holds for us. I'm sure there is more hardship to come, but I'm also sure that the work God did in me this year will not be undone.

A lot of hard and a lot to be thankful for this year!

Tricky October

I had the thoughts and intentions to sit down and write about 17 times since the last time, which was 7 weeks ago. But alas. Here it is.

As September closed, I was feeling pretty steady, and then October came.

I've had ongoing complications with my stomach since the miscarriage in June, and I finally sought out a GI to get some help. I sat in her office almost 4 months to the day of our second loss, and I listened to this doctor tell me that unfortunately I could be experiencing IBS as a result of the miscarriage. She gave me a new diet to follow for 6 weeks, some powerful (and expensive) probiotics, and sent me on my way. I did see almost instant positive results, and by the second week of this diet, I realized that some of these dietary changes could be staying with me indefinitely. And it feels so disappointing to have that attached to a miscarriage for so many reasons. Being an avid baker, going gluten-free stinks. Having to tell people who invite us over for dinner that I can't eat a list of food stinks (It's all 100% doable and a first world problem, I understand).

Once October comes, I spend too much time looking for Christmas pajamas for my kids. I love Christmas pajamas. I usually get 2 pairs each season. One set is distinctively THE Christmas pajamas, and I try for one set to be more wintry. Last year I was looking for three boys, and this year, just two. When I found THE Christmas pjs, there was an infant version to "complete the set." And my heart ached. I want to need the infant version. There could've been another Tomberlin in those pajamas. We've also been open for a foster placement for two and a half months with no child placed in our home. 

Last week, I realized I was late, and I had the thought that I could be pregnant. The thought that God was going to give us a baby when we were trying to NOT have a baby was exciting! I waited a couple of days, but I eventually took a pregnancy test simply because I could not handle the thought that I was pregnant and not taking every measure possible for a healthy baby. But no. Just my cycle out of whack. 

Isaac hit three and a half in October, and I'm aware that my boys are leaving the "little years." Nolan is already out of there. And Isaac is close on his heels (literally and figuratively). It feels like I'm leaving a season I was never ready to see end. Adam and I often comment on the perks of our kids getting out of the needy and demanding younger years. But we'd start over with another one in a heartbeat. 

All this to say, October ended up being tricky. 

BUT.

I'm reading Tozer's The Pursuit of God, and I've been convicted in every chapter to want God more than I want anything else. In chapter three he says, "...God is so vastly wonderful, so utterly and completely delightful that He can, without anything other than Himself, meet and overflow the deepest demands of our total nature, mysterious and deep as that nature is." That is where I want to be. The prayer of my heart has been, "I long to long for You only." 

In Daniel 6, King Darius discovers that Daniel has survived the night with the lions, and he says about the God of Daniel, "for he is the living God, enduring forever; his kingdom shall never be destroyed, and his dominion shall be to the end. He delivers and rescues; he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth, he who has saved Daniel from the power of the lions." (6:26-27)

I wrote this on an index card to keep in my Bible. I'm thankful this is the God I serve and worship. And He's still a Rescuer and Deliverer. His signs and wonders are on display, and I'm try to be more intentional about noticing them. 

God is aware of how I feel about my new diet. God knows the desire of my heart regarding our family. And God Himself is more than enough to satisfy me. And I do believe that is true. I'm just not always convinced. So, when the overwhelming desire to hold our baby hits, "God, you are enough. I want You more than I want our baby." When I want to throw a pity party about the dietary restrictions, "God, I want you more than I want a fixed digestive system. You are enough." I rarely FEEL that way, but I think I've said this many times, I cannot trust my feelings. When I was at a Biblical Counseling training class, the teacher said repeatedly, "Do not trust your heart! Your heart is fickle! TRUST YOUR HEAD!" 

I imagine the holidays could be a roller coaster this year. I'm working to be filled with gratitude in every high and every low. He is enough. He's given me more than I ever could deserve. His grace is evident in every moment of every day. And I will keep uttering my heart's longings while asking Him for more of Himself. 

The Light Is Coming

In the days leading up to the first due date empty of any hopeful expectation, I was quite honestly, not doing well. The whole week prior to August 12th I'd often be crying or fighting back tears with very little provoking. I was reading the book Love Lives Here by Maria Goff, just crying when she'd be talking about her family. I sent my brother an e-mail communicating a decision I knew he wouldn't like, and I tearfully hit send and then cried some more. I don't even want to know what Adam was thinking all week long.

Then August 12th came and went, and it was far more gentle than the days leading up to it. So, I assumed the heaviness of the week was just me needing to get over this hump.

And I did see improvements, but something was still lingering.   

I'm doing a Bible Study on Philippians focused on unshakeable joy. I've been looking at the life of Paul and all of his struggles and his posture and heart attitude about all of it. And I keep wondering what's wrong with me. Something has seemed so off. There has been no sweet nearness to the Lord in this season of surrender and sorrow. I've had to cling to Truth and try to train my mind to believe it because I certainly wasn't feeling it. I've worked to have certain triggers in my days be reminders to turn towards God and be grateful. And in all of this, I'm knowing James 4:8 that says, "Draw near to God and He will draw near to you." And thinking, "Ok! PLEASE draw near, God." I've said to numerous people, the thought of wasting all of this loss is so unsettling. 

I was reading Steven Curtis Chapman's book Between Heaven And the Real World. I got to the part where he loses his daughter in a horrific accident, which of course, I sobbed through. I cannot fathom their loss nor the circumstances around it. He shares about several people mentioning a full blown attack from the enemy on their family. And something inside of me broke. 

For literally the first time since June 11th when I lost our second baby, the thought crossed my mind that maybe the enemy was at work in all of this. And I wept. 

The confusion, the doubts, the wondering if our family would ever grow again, the loneliness, the exhaustion, could there be more going on than meets the eye? Have I been struggling and not even considered the spiritual battle going on? Something clicked.

I'm not saying Satan took the lives of my babies. I am saying the mess and turmoil that's been going on in and around me since then has LIES written all over it. 

And I've had to repent for being complicit with the lies of the enemy. For believing things about God and His ways that are not true. And in a small way, a little fight came back in me. There's been new hope that is weak but there. It's not that all of a sudden I think things will drastically change for my family, but I do have fresh resolve to not let the enemy get victory that's not his.

As this lightbulb moment that I do believe the Holy Spirit allowed me to have has been good, there are still moments of sneaky grief that catch me off guard. And the response for me right now has to be this- gratitude, gratitude, gratitude. I've been given far more than I could ever deserve, and I bow my tear streaked face in gratitude. 

An author I love wrote about this scripture that is now on a 3x5 card in my Bible. "I will give you treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places, that you may know that I, the Lord, who call you by your name, am the God of Israel." Isaiah 45:3 

Treasures of darkness. That's a treasure most people don't want, as you can't see it while it's still dark. But it's there. 

And I have to believe the Light is coming, and I will see those treasures! 



  

Sweet Baby

My Sweet Baby,

It's your due date! I can only assume you would NOT have arrived today because neither of your brothers came on theirs. But this morning I pictured what it would be like to see a tiny version of you for the first time, and it made my heart ache in a way I can't even begin to express. I imagined your little self wrapped up snug in a hospital blanket with just your face visible, and I wished with all I had that I knew what your soft cheeks felt like. Perfect, I'm sure.

When I first told your Daddy that I had a baby growing in my tummy, he was immediately over the moon thrilled. Once we knew you were there, there literally wasn't even a second that you weren't wanted. Not even a second. Immediately we made space for you in our hearts and pictured you in our family. Sweet baby, we loved you from the beginning. 

I'm so sad we won't be meeting here on Earth. I don't even know what it will be like to meet in Heaven. I'm thankful that you'll never ache for me like I ache for you. You've never lacked one single thing. You've only known perfection. You have no concept of what it's like to be missing you. And I love that for you. But I can't help but wonder what that moment will be like when I see you for the first time. I like to think that I'm going to know it the moment I lay eyes on you. 

Being a mom, it's so weird to realize that you've done so much more for me than I ever got to do for you. Typically the balance is tipped so heavily the other direction. But not with you. I only had a few weeks to care for you. But you've brought me to the feet of Jesus over and over and over. You've made me really look at who God is and who His word says He is. You've opened my eyes to see people hurting around me. Baby, God used you to change me. And He's not done yet. This Mama still has a long ways to go, but you'll forever be a part of my story. Our story. You are the catalyst for a greater dependence on the Lord. What a gift! 

I still don't understand why God gave you to us for such a short time, and I'm confident I never will. And that's okay. I do know this- I'm so thankful God did write you into our story. And I'm thankful that's He's trustworthy in all of our sadness and disappointment as we aren't holding you in our arms. 

I love you, my sweet baby. 
I always will.

Love,
Your Mama

To 5 Year Old Nolan

Oh Nolan,

You're five, little boy. You hold up a whole hand when people ask you how old you are, and I'm just not sure how I feel about it. Watching you get older just toys with my heart. While I love seeing you grow and own who you are as a bigger boy, I ache knowing that these little years have slipped by. Time can be such a trickster. 

This past year held a little bit of magic that I hope I treasure forever. I watched you welcome and love Sammy in a way that even Mommy struggled to do at times. You truly loved him and cared for him in a selfless way that I wanted to emulate. You often considered him more important than yourself, and your pursuit of him would not be hindered despite his struggle to connect with others. Nolan, it was unbelievable. I'll never forget your heart for Sammy. I can only hope it extends to the next kiddo that enters our home.

You still have an enthusiasm for life that is unparalleled. You are exuberant and energetic in all things. You take delight in life's simplest joys, and I absolutely adore that about you. 

On several occasions, you were my biggest cheerleader, and it dissolved my heart into a puddle every time. I took on a few baking jobs this spring that nearly sent me over the edge. You genuinely and whole heartedly believed in me and cheered me on. I won't forget putting you to bed, knowing I still had to conquer another dozen cake pops, and you wrapped your arms around my neck and said, "You got it, Mommy! I know you can do it!" I literally cried. And you celebrated my job completed the next morning. Buddy, you are the best!

This year we certainly had our fair share of butting heads. Honestly, kid, your inclination to argue can make my head hurt. But I've tried and tried to tell myself that this can all be for good one day. I sure do hope you argue for what is right and just in your future. I hope you stand up for Truth and defend the weak. Because oh my word, you can wear a person down. 

I love you, Nolan. I feel like I've failed you so many times, yet you love me regardless. You've extended forgiveness when I didn't deserve it, and I'm grateful. Watching you transition into a big kid will probably keep me on an emotional rollercoaster. And I've mostly accepted that.

Buddy, I love you. I like you. I enjoy you. And I'm proud of you. 
Always.

Love,
Mommy

He's a Whole Hand

Nolan turned 5. And he's pretty excited about it. When he came downstairs the morning of his birthday, he was literally running laps around the house, 100% convinced that he was faster. Honestly, I was kind of convinced, too.

This kid went to school for the first time. He went two days a week, and that was just right for him. He thoroughly enjoyed going to school, but every single time we picked him up, he wanted to know what went on at home without him. He had his best buddy in his class, and that made for a very, very fun year. It was neat to watch him grow in confidence and be genuinely excited for what his day of preschool would hold.

He also played on his first soccer team, and HE LOVED IT! He played with the biggest smile and the most enthusiasm. When he scored, he'd look around for people to be cheering for him. Adam helped coach the team, and Nolan would run up to him for high fives every single time. It was so fun to watch him do something he loves.

Nolan got promoted to big brother of two for most of the last year. He took in Sammy as his own brother from day one. It was truly remarkable, and one of the most memorable parts about our first foster placement. Nolan has been quite the hospitable little boy for the past couple of years, but it got taken to a whole different level with Sammy boy. It was amazing to watch. 

Nolan's love for sports is growing, and his dad is thrilled. He loves watching football and basketball, and he got to experience his first Braves game. He loved it! He loves shooting hoops, kicking the soccer ball, hitting off the tee, and being a receiver when we play football (calls himself Julio Jones). The kid just loves sports!

We're starting to see some growth in Nolan's fears and anxieties. It's been a good reminder to me that the issues that can seem so frustrating and consuming will not always define our kids. Nolan loved the characters at Disney, and it was literally a paralyzing fear for him previously. He loves the beach and runs with such wild glee, and he used to hate that, too. It's been a relief to see fear and anxiety loosen their grip on him. 

These are Nolan's people (Ezra not pictured). They are his first choice for every single thing. If we lived near the North Carolina Rodriguez family, he'd lose his mind. We pray for all of his cousins every.single.night. When we are about to do something fun, he often says, "I wish Ryann and Alee were coming!" They are the best.

Nolan is turning into a big boy, and I seriously cannot even let myself think about it. This will be the final year that Nolan doesn't go to school Monday-Friday. He's doing one more year of preschool before kindergarten. And I'm hoping we can cherish our bonus year before full blown elementary school starts. 

Some noteworthy conversations that I want to remember.

Isaac: I wish I was a panther (the actual animal).
Me: Well, God made you a human.
Nolan: Isaac, if you pray and ask God to make you a panther, He can. God can do anything.
Me: (thinking to myself, "How do I explain that while God is capable of turning a human into a panther, this is not something God has a history of doing.")
Isaac: I'm going to ask.
Me: (teachable moment lost)

Nolan: When we die will we come back to life like Jesus?
Me: [pauses] Well, when we die, no. If you have a relationship with Jesus and have asked God to forgive your sins, you'll go to heaven.
Nolan: I don't have a relationship with Jesus.
I fumble my way through the Gospel at his level.
Nolan: So, is Julio Jones going to die? 

Nolan from the other room: Every time I make a bad choice, I'm going to thank God that Jesus died on the cross as my punishment. 
Me: stunned silence

This kid. He can argue with a brick wall one minute and be telling me I'm the best mom in the whole world the next. I sure do love him! 

But Even If Not

For the second time this year, I'm approaching a date on my calendar with a little black circle in the upper left corner signaling to me I could start breathing easy. And for the second time, that little black circle reminds me that life is precious and fragile and beyond my control. I'm not approaching this date with sweet relief like I hoped and prayed; instead, I'm approaching this date with a daily fight to have my hope in the One who holds this life together. 

Today, I had my final blood draw to do one last set of tests, and my doctor met with me to discuss what it could look like to move forward. As I waited in the room for the doctor to enter, I could a hear a Mama in the room next door getting her ultrasound. That swoosh, swoosh, swoosh was so loud, and I whispered out loud, "Savor it." I fought to get control of my emotions, as I was determined to not cry this time, I repeated the verse that has become just second nature to pray, "But I will hope continually and praise you yet more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge." Psalm 71:14-15

Adam and I have processed this loss much differently from each other this time around, and it's required an intentional effort to be gracious with each other as we deal with what happened and look to what's next. Since Sammy left, our plan was to re-open our home to another foster placement at the end of summer if we weren't expecting a baby. We now face that reality. Knowing that at this point, we have no plans to try to grow our family with another biological child, we are left trusting God to grow our family as He sees fit. Our hearts are for fostering, and even if another Tomberlin had arrived in August or February, our plan was always to re-open our home at some point. 

But I now know that fostering is H A R D. It's hard and slow and long work. As previously stated, it's worthwhile work. We also know that this does not guarantee us more permanent members in our family. And in the last month, I've had to work ( WORK ) to accept that the picture I had for my family may not ever come to fruition. While people try to assure me that if we are willing to take in children, surely God will give us more, it doesn't really give me any sort of reassurance. Adam has said the number of kids needing a family far outnumber the families willing to take them in. Which is probably true. But if this experience has taught me anything, it's that God's plans don't always line up with ours. 

But even if God doesn't bring us more kids, can I be fully satisfied in Him and live with joy in light of my salvation?

I've read the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego many times, but I've read it again recently. They stand before King Nebuchadnezzar refusing to bow down before his idol, and he makes it clear they are headed for the furnace. They quickly answer with confidence that their God is capable of delivering them from this furnace and from his hand, but they say even if He does not, they will not bow down, remaining steadfast in their devotion and worship to God alone.

I, too, know what my God is capable of, but even if He does not, I will not waiver in my devotion and worship of Him. And sometimes I can say that with confidence. And sometimes I'm asking the Holy Spirit to strengthen my inner being to be confident in that. I've been reading a lot of books on the character of God, and I am sure of this- my God is a good God, and His love for me has not wavered as I've struggled to accept this latest blow. 

God can grow our family, but even if not, my heart is His. My life is His. And I will continue to hope and praise Him yet more and more. My mouth will tell of His righteous acts. For their number is beyond my knowledge. 

Gratitude Rushes In

There's a part of my brain telling me right now, "It's too soon to write anything!" But I'm still a little stunned, and I'm hoping this might help. 

Memorial Day weekend Adam and I found out I was pregnant again. It was a somber realization. I basically collapsed into his arms at a positive pregnancy test, took a deep breath, and sighed. There was no celebratory moment; Adam didn't talk to the baby in my belly like he has the other 3 times we found out I was pregnant. There was a gratitude for new life, but also, a very real understanding that this certainly did not mean we'd be holding a baby in our arms come February. 

Unlike the last pregnancy, I had no initial fears about this. It's probably due to what God did in my heart after the last one. I was nervous as any woman is with a pregnancy after loss, but my eyes were mostly on the Prize. The prize being Jesus, not a baby. Each night I got in bed, I thanked God for one more day carrying our baby. There was very little talk between Adam and I about the baby. He would ask how I was feeling. We'd discuss certain foods I was avoiding (lunch meat, excessive caffeine, etc). But no out loud dreaming of this little one. 

I stayed in a place of mostly thanking God that His ways are better than mine regardless of what happened, but I did at times beg and plead for a healthy baby. Confident that God's Word tells us to ask, I definitely asked. But I also asked for every part of our story to be used for His glory, whatever that looked like. 

Everything unraveled with the force of a wrecking ball on Monday. The loss happened so quickly, I wasn't processing it fast enough. I sat at my in-laws table for dinner knowing that life in my womb was ending. And I just sat there. I knew in the few hours before that it was likely I would lose the baby, but based off my experience in December, I assumed it would be slow. But I was wrong. 

Monday morning I woke up with a little bit of nervousness but mostly thinking we were fine. I went to bed a little shell shocked. Because of routine, I felt like I was supposed to be thanking God for something, but I had nothing coming out. Just tears. 

Because of the nature of how it all happened, the doctor wanted me to come in to be seen Tuesday morning. Adam was able to come with me, and the pain of an OB office while in the middle of a miscarriage is hard to explain. I had no bitterness towards the other women with life clearly growing inside of them. It was just reminder after reminder of what was not in my future. 

We quickly learned that I would need an ultrasound, and I sobbed into Adam's arms. It all feels so harsh but to have an ultrasound felt like too much. Because the doctor also needed to do a pelvic exam, Adam left the room, but he didn't know to come back in when she started the ultrasound. 

No whooshing sound signaling a heartbeat, just silence. No light flickering on the screen. Just an empty grey and white screen. While the doctor was relieved to see it empty (meaning no D&C was necessary), I wept. I stared up at the ceiling, unable to look at the screen for even a second longer. I didn't need any more evidence that I was not pregnant, no life was growing.

Because these miscarriages happened back to back, there's cause for concern. The doctor wants to do a 4 week series of blood work to try to get some answers. But answers or not, Adam and I feel like it's time to close the door. Of course, we changed our minds once. It could happen again. But with two healthy pregnancies and two lost pregnancies, things no longer look promising. 

Yesterday afternoon and evening, I felt retrospective gratitude. I'm now extremely grateful (in a different way) that I have Nolan and Isaac. I went and got pizza and popsicles. We had some dancing after dinner. It was basically a little party to celebrate the lives we do have. When they asked if they could watch Peter Pan, "Sure!" Because I can say yes to you guys, I'm going to (not every time, obviously). 

One of the hardest parts is surrendering the future of our family. We thought it would look like 5 or 6 kids. But right now we are thankful for the two we have. God can grow our family how He wishes. And the reality is, God could be done growing our family just the way it is. The thought that I'm just two years away from no longer having "littles" in our home is a little tough on my heart. 

Last night as I snuggled Nolan in bed, I told him that I loved being his mama. He replied, "I love being your Nolan." I held him a little tighter. I had a quick thought of the babies I'd never get to hold but dismissed it. Because I had Nolan right in front of me, a gift I wanted to cherish and savor in that moment. 

I know these boys will drive me crazy, but I hope every time I read this I'll remember. I'll remember to choose to look at them as gifts and tangible grace that I get to love and hold. 

"But I will hope continually and will praise you yet more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is pasty my knowledge." Psalm 71:14-15

Crazy Little Thing Called Grief

Our family got to go to Disney at the beginning of the month with Adam's parents and one of his sisters. It was a truly delightful time, and the boys had so much fun. They talk about Disney one way or another every single day. This was our second trip to Disney with the Tomberlins. Each time we've gone my mother-in-law takes us into a cute little Christmas shop at the Magic Kingdom to pick out an ornament or two (or three this time around). It's very sweet, and I can imagine the boys will be even more excited to put on our Disney ornaments this year. [As in, I'm sure they'll fight about it] 

As I perused the shop, I found the ornament I wanted that would always remind me of this year's trip. At my mother-in-law's prodding, I looked for another ornament. And I spotted this one.

And I cannot explain why, but I got choked up, feeling the loss of the baby I won't hold this summer. There was something about seeing these three little bears that made me aware that I'm always going to be one bear short. Adam's mom and sister asked me why I wanted this ornament, and I said that I felt like it was a picture of my life for a while, referring to Sammy, not the baby I was thinking of. Because those three little boys really were like these three bear cubs from the movie Brave. But in my heart, I was pondering a different little one. 

This incident happened the Thursday before Mother's Day, so I probably should've anticipated a little heaviness with Mother's Day. But I didn't. Not that there's anything I could've done about it, but despite repeatedly coaching myself to be so thankful for the healthy children I have, my mind kept wondering to the one I don't have growing and rolling around in my belly right now. I typically feel almost embarrassed that I still get upset about this miscarriage, especially in light of so much sadness and heaviness around me. Thankfully, going through this has made me so much more sensitive and aware of others who have experienced loss or long to be Mamas. And I reached out to a couple of them to let them know I was praying for them and knew Mother's Day was probably very complicated for them. 

I think the layering of a miscarriage and Sammy's departure maybe intensified each other. Sometimes the sadness still comes out of nowhere, and I guess that's just grief. I'm assuming next Mother's Day won't sting like this year's did. We might have different chaos in the house with a different foster child that will heavily distract me. But I'm glad I went ahead and got the ornament. Even if this year it reminds me that I've got a bear missing. 

The Part Everyone Dreads

It's May 1st, so we've gone a full month without Sammy.

The first two weeks were very hard for me. I tried and tried to put words to what I was feeling, but I couldn't, still can't. It was the strangest thing to have this noticeable gap of someone missing. My schedule blew wide open without his therapies and appointments. I was feeding one less mouth, buckling one less carseat, and hugging one less little person. Sammy took up much of my mental space for a lot of reasons, so I was left with just gaps all throughout my day. While much of my work load was lightened, I quickly picked up the weight of how this transition would affect him.

Part of what was so strange about him leaving is that he was just 10 minutes away but it felt like he was plain gone. 

When we dropped Sammy off, we immediately left for a Lighthouse retreat, and by the time we got to Florida, I regretted the decision to do this retreat 100%. The heaviness was thick, and I didn't know how I could possibly step into an attitude of service. Two days after we arrived, one of Adam's co-workers casually asked us how it went dropping Sammy off, and I choked out, "I'm not quite ready to talk about it," and then I turned my head as tears quietly made their way down my face. It was a hard week being in retreat mode, and then we had to face our first week at home without Sammy once we returned. 

We got home at 9:30 at night from a very, very long day. We were quickly ushering the boys to bed, and I saw Sammy's room, door wide open, and I had to catch my breath. We're home. He's not. 

But with each passing day, our new rhythm was more firmly established. Life with two little boys instead of three continued to be odd, but I mentally began to make the shift.

In the weeks leading up to this transition and in the weeks after, I cannot count how many times people said to me, "I don't know how you do it. I couldn't. I couldn't let them leave." 

It's a hard thing to hear over and over. Because most of the time you have no choice but to smile and nod and clinch your jaw. 

But the thing is, there's nothing special about us. This is hard. And it should be. But what you realize about fostering in literally no time at all, this whole thing is not about you. It's just plain not about you. The moment Sammy came into our home, our efforts have been towards his wellbeing, his healing, and his growth. He deserves to have people attach to him because it is for HIS good. It's ok that this was hard on us. It's ok that we got attached. Because taking in a child who has no one was never about us. And Sammy was never ours to keep. This broken system of fostering often means someone gets hurt. But the hope is that  these kids who have already experienced trauma are better off because of the pain we experience once they leave. 

We have lived through the part that everyone dreads. We've lived through the loss, and now that I'm on the other side, I'd absolutely do it again. We have every intention of doing it all again. 

We are now a month post transition. Sammy came to our house last week for a few hours because his foster parents needed childcare. And it was the oddest thing. There will always be a special place in my heart for that little boy who wrecked me in ways I needed to be, but there was this confidence in my heart that he no longer belonged with us. I could tell that I was no longer carrying the weight of his wellbeing. Now I get to be on the sidelines cheering his foster family on. 

We made it. We loved. We lost. And we're okay. 

My Birthday Boy

Happy Birthday (a few days late), Isaac Dean!

This was the first year you got excited about your birthday, and it was so cute watching your eyes light up as we got closer and closer. Other than presents and cake, I'm not sure what birthdays mean to you at this point. But it was so fun to make your day special in little ways.

You are often quite easy to please, little boy. Your little legs start jumping up and down, and you tilt your head back as you squeal. It's just precious to watch your excitement. 

This year you were a gift to me in so many ways. You're always a gift, but this year, I took the time to treasure it more. Even though you love to keep up with every single thing Nolan does, a part of you hung on to your littleness more than Nolan did at this age. You still found the most comfort in being with me, and there were times your lingering hugs were exactly what I needed. 

I got to watch you become a big brother to Sammy. You were a young two when he joined our family, and it was a shocking shift for all of us. You frequently looked for reassurance from me about all this change, but you stepped into your new role so well. Your affection and attention to Sammy's needs were different than Nolan. You had a companionship with Sammy that Nolan didn't know. You had two mornings a week when it was just the two of you. Though you often and easily got frustrated with Sammy's inability to read your mind and play exactly as you wanted him to, you did thoroughly enjoy his nearness. It was a sweet thing to watch. 

And it was sweet to watch your bond with Nolan deepen. The animosity and arguing also grew, but I think that's just part of brotherhood. 

Isaac, I love you so much. You have such a tender heart and are so easy to love! There is something about your smile that is irresistible. You are fun and silly and a joy to our family. I often pray that you will be a striking combination of brave and tender. You have the potential to soften people with your kindness and tenderness, and I want you to be brave enough to be exactly who God created you to be. 

You are a delight, my little boy! You've really turned things up a notch as far as training you, but I knew this was coming. I'm thankful those little legs still come racing at me for hugs and kisses. I love being your mama, baby bear!

I love you. I like you. I enjoy you. I'm proud of you.
Happy Birthday, Isaac!

Love you,
Mommy

Three Years of Isaac

Three years old. How can it be?! Three years old turned out to be a very trying year for me and Nolan, so I come into this age with Isaac with a little bit of fear and trembling. Though he and Nolan are so different, Isaac has become an expert imitator. Help me, Jesus. 

For most of the last year, Isaac was still sweet as syrup. Terrible twos were no where to be found. But we eventually discovered them in winter. He still tells me several times a day without being provoked that he loves me. Every night when we talk about what we're thankful, he always, always says Mommy, Daddy, Nolan, Sammy, and Ezra. He loves holding babies. He really can be quite tender, especially towards me.

Which leads me to this: Isaac is absolutely still a Mama's boy. I don't know how much longer this will last, but he still wraps his whole body around me in big hugs. He tells me often after I cook dinner, "Mommy, you're a great maker!" Each night Adam and I alternate who snuggles the boys at bedtime, and every.single.time. that it's Adam, Isaac does something to let it be known he wishes it was Mommy. I usually find his devotion sweet and adorable, but there are times that it's not. I'll just leave it at that.

That cute little belly of his that you can see poking out- it's gone now. The squishy toddler physique has turned into slender little boy. The kid can still eat more than Nolan. His appetite is unreal. He loves pizza, pasta, meatballs, sweet potato fries, scrambled eggs, donuts, cheese, and all the fruit. He's an excellent veggie eater, too. 

Isaac is generally a very lovable little boy. He's silly and quick to laugh. He's got a smile that will just turn your heart mushy. He's full of expressions and full of energy. 

A few months ago we decided that we wanted to begin breaking Isaac of sucking his thumb. So, we told him he could only suck his thumb at naps and bedtime. He used to come find me, suck his thumb, and hold my hair several times throughout the day. We figured this habit would be a tough one to break. We were wrong. He just stopped doing it cold turkey during the day. In the several months since we started this, I've only had to remind him probably a handful of times that he can only suck his thumb for sleep times. Quite impressive, in my opinion! 

This sweet boy became a big brother with no warning at all when we opened our home to Sammy. The first couple of weeks, Isaac became quite clingy and was unsure of the new set-up. But he settled in so much quicker than I expected. Sammy and Isaac were only 15 months apart, so it was much different than if we had a newborn for him to get used to. He did fall into a big brother role very nicely. He was still incredibly rough, but he often had good intentions. He has missed having a little one around the house since Sammy has transitioned out. 

My little mysterious blue eyed, blond haired wonder! Isaac is full of mischief and often times TROUBLE! But he is irresistible! I'm so thankful for this little boy who continues to bring laugher and joy to our days. 

Dear Sammy,

Typically, I write my boys a note on their birthday, but you won't be here for your birthday. And since you very much feel like one of my boys right now, I just wanted you to know that these last 8 months will stay with me forever.

You opened my eyes to new vulnerability and new brokenness. All sixteen pounds of you wrecked me in ways I wasn't ready for. I remember the first time I put you to bed, I had silent tears streaming down my face as I thought about freshly one year old you who didn't have his mama to celebrate his first birthday. You! A wonderful life worth celebrating!

In the weeks that followed that first night, you pushed me to surrender to Jesus in ways I hadn't before then. I prayed for you more in the middle of the night than I did for my kids, but I felt in my core that you needed it. In those middle of the night struggles, when I'd feel you collapse into my chest from exhaustion, only to return to the screaming protest the second I laid you down, I knew you needed the comfort and security of Jesus more than anything else. So we prayed you through those fears. I say that casually, but it was a battle. A battle worth fighting.

That could be said of pretty much the entire 8 months here. It's been a battle worth fighting! Fighting for your wellness, your development, and mostly your joy. Fighting to see that smile light up your face, which it so frequently does now. 

Sammy boy, your huge grin and gleeful laugh are a delight. Your expressions make me laugh every day. Your new words and new signs have me literally jumping up down and throwing you in the air as we celebrate your achievements. I've never been so happy to see a little one sign "more." The first time you did it, you were met with cheers as if you had just hit a homerun. 

You are loved, sweet boy. I wish I could assure your little heart that this transition happening is for YOUR good. It's in YOUR best interest. We are all doing this for YOU! You are loved. You are treasured. You are wanted. You belong in a family. For 8 months, it was with our family, but now it's time for you to be with your brother and sister. We are so excited for you, Sammy. But this Mama Bear is nervous for you. But just like those middle of the night battles, I'm not done fighting for you.

Sammy, I will continue to fight for you and plead for God's mercy and protection on your behalf. And I will keep cheering you on as you continue to achieve new things. 

I love you, little one. Our family will have a Sammy size hole from now on. You have changed us. And I'm so, so glad you did! 

Love,

Your Mama for the last 8 months 

  

The Final Countdown

We are in the final week of being a fivesome. 

From January to May of last year, we hustled through the process of getting approved to be a foster family. May through July we waited and waited for our first placement, saying, "yes," to several possibilities that didn't end up happening. The final week of July we said yet another, "Yes," and that resulted in Sammy being placed in our home. 

Now, eight months later, we prepare to transition this little guy out of our home. In the fostering world, an eight month placement is actually very short. A biological parent has at least 13 months to work a case plan, and most cases go far beyond that. In reality, Sammy's case isn't even close to being completed. He and his siblings could easily be in the system for another year. This past Christmas, I was sure that Sammy would still be with us the next Christmas. 

But DFCS had other plans. 

As we prepare our hearts, our heads, and our house to exit this little boy, it's been hard. And something about handing Sammy over has also reminded me that I just grieved the loss of a baby. 

The thing is, I know Sammy is going to do just fine, be just fine. He'll thrive in his new home. I know that big picture, this is 100% the right move. We would not adopt Sammy if/when the opportunity presents itself, so he really shouldn't stay any longer. I know that God loves this little boy perfectly, and He is trustworthy in this next step. 

I also know that little boy looks to me as his mama. And that is the piece that brings me to tears just about every time. My friend told me once that kids are excellent imitators and terrible interpreters. Thankfully, Sammy boy is quite young. But it pains me to think about his interpretation of this move. And that's where I trust God to cover Sammy's heart and mind with His relentless love. The ladies I meet with twice a month to pray with were so bold and faith filled in their prayers to ask God that Sammy would even feel loved in the transition. It seems literally impossible. 

But God!

There were many (many!) nights of praying fervently for Sammy as he screamed in protest and fear of sleeping alone in a crib in a home he didn't know. I literally paced his room, pleading for God's mercy. I pictured massive angels standing shoulder to shoulder as they protected Sammy in his crib, shielding him from any evil thing. And that's what I'll continue to pray for this little guy as he adjusts to life in a new home with a new mama who could potentially stay in his life forever. 

I stood at church yesterday and just cried through the worship songs. This loss feels so different than the baby we lost in December. But it still stings. 

I'm so glad we said, "Yes," when we did. It's been a hard, "Yes!" But eight months later, I want to keep saying, "Yes," to these kids. We're going to take a break. But so much about the last eight months has just solidified in my heart that the foster system needs more families in the trenches fighting for these kids. 

On Friday we hand our Sammy boy over. We leave that day to head down to Florida for a Lighthouse trip. Adam and I agree that the person who will need the distraction the most is me. The absence of that tiny but fiery one year old will be felt by all when we return. 

Here we go. It's the final countdown. 

Say Yes

I'm finding that my memory is getting worse and worse. There are a lot of things Adam and I often say from Nolan's toddlerhood. Isaac recently asked us to tell him some of the cute things he used to say. 

I had nothing.

And the thing is, Isaac was supremely cute as he began talking. I mean, he was basically 1 year old perfection. But we had to reeeeeeeeally think about some cute Isaac-isms. I ultimately decided I need to write more things down. So, I'm working on it.

Anyways.

This 2018 year has started off heavy. Between the miscarriage and the emotional weight of Sammy's always evolving situation and some other life happenings, I've felt maxed out. Nolan and Isaac have hit new strides in their disobedience and their energy. The two combined can be exhausting. Suffice it to say, I was having a hard time enjoying them in the mix of the heavy stuff and their new found love for pushing (bulldozing, pummeling, ignoring, etc) all the boundaries. There's truly nothing that sends me down the spiral of mom guilt like failing to enjoy my kids in these "precious little years." 

I got to take 4 hours away from the crew one Saturday morning recently, and it did wonders for my overall well being. The next day felt loads lighter, even though the children behaved no better. 

Since then I've looked for ways to cherish small moments even if the large, large majority of my day is correcting, training, disciplining, and threatening to throw ALL THE TOYS AWAY. You get it. This is as simple as giving Nolan a good bear hug before he climbs into the van to go to school. Or smooching Isaac's still so very soft cheeks after he goes pee standing up (when did he get so big?). It's finding even one thing to compliment them on, even if the whole ding dang morning has been a cat fight. It can be so hard to "soak in these little years." 

I listened to a podcast while prepping dinner one afternoon during nap. Lisa Harper was the guest, and she mentioned that she got to ask Beth Moore her one golden piece of parenting advice. She was expecting a mind blowing truth to come from THE Beth Moore. And Beth said, "Say 'Yes' as much as you can!" And that really stuck with me.

So, tonight, while my better half and absolutely the fun parent has been out of town, I heard Nolan obnoxiously calling out for me after I put them to bed. I say obnoxiously because it was clearly his fake cry. I opened the door asking why he was crying, and he mostly calmly said, "I just wanted you to snuggle me for a little bit longer."

Say yes as much as you can.

I quietly closed the door and climbed into his bed. I confess I was still annoyed with the way in which Nolan cried out for me, but I savored the few extra minutes to lay by my growing first born. And I don't normally want to give up my time after that final goodnight. But I thankfully heard the quiet reminder in my head, "This won't last forever." There will be a last time that he calls out for me to snuggle him at all. 

As I laid my head on his pillow with him, Isaac called out asking if I was snuggling Nolan. I told him that I was, and he asked, "Why?" And I answered honestly. "I'm not really sure. But I am!" So of course he asked, "Will you snuggle me, too?" 

Yes, Isaac.

Nolan's breathing slowed to a steady pace. I got up to move on to the next one.

Isaac was basically giddy as I picked him up to sit in the chair and hold him. He laid his head on my shoulder, put that thumb in his mouth, and he snuggled close. He eventually turned his head toward me, putting that sweet face of his in my neck. We both exhaled deeply. There was no rushing these moments. 

I sat in that chair with Isaac against my chest and his face in my neck. And I prayed over his little heart. And I wondered how many more nights of snuggles I'd have with him like this. He'll get too big before I know it.

I put him back in his crib, and I kissed Nolan once more. And I walked out. Thankful. Thankful that Nolan obnoxiously whined for me because I've been looking for opportunities in my days to say yes more. I've been looking for the delight in the middle of the discouraging days. 

And I chose to write it down because this ordinary happening will likely slip from my memory, but I'll get to look back and remember it now. 

Being Mommy is hard and sometimes so consuming that I feel like I get lost in it all. But it's also an honor and a blessing to have these little ones call me Mommy. 342,098 times a day. 

Fostering Families

Over the course of the last six months, I've had a lot of thoughts about Sammy's mom, and there's one that has been the loudest and most frequent. And I'll get to that in a minute.

We had court last month, and prior to that, my frustration with his mom was pretty high. It seemed like visits with her children were not a priority. She'd either end them early or skip them all together, sometimes cancelling them just an hour before it was supposed to start. There have been other issues with her that strongly affect Sammy's older siblings. Knowing those ongoing issues were adding to my frustration.

Then I met Mom. 

The morning of court, we had to wait in a waiting room for an hour and a half before our case was called. So, I got to watch this mama interact with Sammy (don't even ask how I felt about bringing an 18 month old to court) for quite a bit. And it was gut wrenching. Sammy didn't really want to be around her. He'd toddle over to her for a few minutes at a time and then race back towards me. I gave his mom a bag of goldfish, hoping to keep Sammy by her side, but it only worked for a little bit. I did this with the little toys I brought, too. 

I felt so sad for this mom.

I brought a couple of books because Sammy genuinely loves books and being read to. I gave them to her to read to him. This whole experience was so emotionally draining for me as I felt such sorrow for this mama. 

When I came home and tried to talk to Adam about it, I choked back tears and forced the sobs down, all the while declaring, "That's her baby!!! She had to watch her baby pick a different mom over and over!" This isn't right!" 

And I said for probably the 79th time over the last 6 months, "She needs a foster family!!"

This is what I keep coming back to. Not anger. Not frustration (though that rears it's ugly head). Not judgement. 

Compassion.

These kids are in care because this mom had literally no other person she could ask to take her kids. She has no relatives here. NO FAMILY ANYWHERE TO BE FOUND. She has no one who loves her kids that she could reach out to  and ask for help. 

I can't even begin to know what that feels like because I have a full list of people who would take my children in a heartbeat before DFCS would ever need to find an open home for them. 

So, what I keep asking over and over is this: why are we not fostering the whole family?

Who is cheering mom on? Who is making sure she gets healthy? Who is modeling to HER what a healthy family looks and functions like? What if she's never known anything but brokenness? 

What would it look like to put this whole family in foster care? What could it look like for this whole family to get help together? Or maybe not even together but if mom had a shot at some intentional and loving care for her own well being in efforts to restore this family. What if mom really knew that as Sammy's foster mom, I'm rooting for her success, for her health, and for her future. 

[There are certainly situations where parents are 100% unfit and unsafe to parent and cannot be near their children because the situation is that dire. I'm not talking about that situation.]

I keep dreaming up what this could look like. And I don't have a solution, by any means. But I can't help but wonder if there's a better way for some families to be restored. I struggle with feeling like we are setting Sammy's mom up for failure. Because even if she does work her case plan and the judge decides she is a stable person, ready to parent, then we throw these 3 kids back into her care and say, "Good luck,"? Is it realistic for these parents to be able to thrive after reunification when they did figure out how to get their own life stable but they do not have the emotional, mental, physical, and financial demands of their children to also meet? This seems ridiculous. 

There has to be a better way. For everyone.

Because Sammy's attachment to me gets stronger by the day, while his attachment to his mom becomes less and less. If this family really does reach reunification, have we done even Sammy a disservice? As he'll lose the mom he knows best for his actual mom he just barely knows? I'm not a psychologist and have not done any research. I just have to wonder, is this the best we can do? 

After Sammy's visit with his mom this past Sunday, he came home with some new toys and shoes from his mom. And you know what else she got him? She got him a book just like the one I gave her to read him that morning we waited for court. It was by the same author and looked very similar. 

Tears just came to my eyes again. 

I have to believe she wants to do this thing right. And I can't help but wonder how much closer she'd be to getting this thing right if she had someone loving her and coaching her through it.