Productivity and ..... Seeing the big picture

Lately, my family has been very...busy. We have finalized an adoption of our third (and I'm now convinced final) child, we have sold our home and moved into a mobile home on rented property. I have accompanied our teens to church camp. Next week my husband will help bring the kids. 

There's one thing in particular that has captured everyone's attention. A lot of people seem to be focused on the fact that we sold a "real" house to buy and live in a mobile home. They don't understand it. It's counterproductive to what we are taught is the end goal in our society. "Powerful,handsome, successful, happy", we chant to ourselves before we rush out the door in an effort to somehow make that chant come true for us. We need a bigger house. We need a nicer car. We need designer clothes. We need the "freedom" that comes from being an entrepreneur and able to take in limitless amounts of cash with minimal effort. 

In the past couple of years God has truly been the Potter in my life. One day during one of those shaping sessions, I was trotting (can't REALLY call it running) through an affluent neighborhood looking at all of the extravagantly lovely homes and daydreaming about "one day". One day when we can afford to give our family all of this... The Holy Spirit spoke to me (in that way He has) and asked me to look closely. What would I give them? Four beautiful walls to shut us in from the ones we should be broken for? Holy as I am, I immediately presented my side of the argument. I mean, if we were able to have a home such as this just THINK of all the foster children we could take in! Then God slapped me in the face with it. I was doing myself a service and disguising it as charity, because again it made me look golden. 

Am I saying the 'haves' have it all wrong? No. I'm saying that we really have to examine ourselves. God wants to grant us the desires of our hearts...when they line up with HIS will and plan for us. We are so easily swayed and so shortsighted. We have to be careful of our motives. To chase after Jesus isn't to better our selves and look out for us. Jesus himself was the epitome of self sacrifice. When we run hard after the heart of God it doesn't always make sense to the naked eye, but oh the experiences we will have, the difference we will make and the true happiness there is to be found. 

For some, running hard after God looks like leaving everything behind to go into the mission field. For others, it looks like being our own boss to free up time and money to donate to worthy causes. And for others still having a heart like God's looks an awful lot like selling your house and buying a mobile home so that you have your resources freed up for what's next...even when it's not clear what it is. 

And you know what's funny? When I gave up what I thought I wanted and surrendered to what God has in store for us, He blessed me. Not only with the peace and contentment that just confirms I'm where I need to be, but He granted me the soaking tub that all tired Mamas dream of. Because He loves me. Because He wants nothing but the best for me. Not just here and now, but for eternity. 

I have a long way to go, and maybe that's why God hasn't revealed the next part of His plan just yet. He knows I might faint. But here and now I'm learning to surrender. 

716 days

A lot can happen in 716 days. 716 days ago, my phone rang. The lady on the other end asked me if I was ready for another baby. (We had just sent our last foster baby back to his mom the month before). I told her my husband and I would pray and get back to her. We called her back and said yes. 

I ran to the hospital to meet a two day old baby who would not eat. The nurses asked me to try and give him a bottle. He was so lethargic, the only milk he drank was what dripped from the nipple as I held it in his mouth. The nurse took him away to put a tube down his nose, through which to feed him. He is having drug withdrawal symptoms they said. He needs to be in the NICU. My heart broke for him and I began to pray for this little boy who had yet to receive a name from his parents. He was just "baby boy". 

I prayed fervently for "Baby Boy" for days. I called the NICU for updates. Then, one day, I told God "he is a PERSON. He needs a name. Please God give me a name to call out to you." I found the name Ezekiel, which means "God strengthens". This baby had lost a whole pound due to his withdrawal symptoms. He still was not eating. He needed God to strengthen him. And so I prayed for "Ezekiel". 

Immediately, his condition improved. He began taking feedings by mouth. His symptoms began to fade. And then they called me one day. "His parents have named him. He has a relative that will take him. We don't need you after all." I was disappointed, but I thought that maybe God wanted me in his life just long enough to have someone interceding for him. "That's that," I thought. 

My phone rang. "That relative can't handle him. Do you still want him?" And so I rushed to the hospital once more. And this time I didn't leave without him in my arms. It's a strange sensation. Leaving a hospital with someone else's baby cradled in your arms. Or it felt like someone else's baby then. I kept waiting for a nurse to chase me down and tell me there had been a mistake; that I couldn't actually take home a baby that didn't belong to me. We made it to my car, however, and drove away. Me and a baby boy in a pink car seat. 

My heart grieved for all his parents were missing. Babies grow so swiftly, and they were missing it! Every week I would bring him to a cold, impersonal office to visit these people to whom he was supposed to belong. They would coo and ooh and aah over him, but they did not know him really. They didn't understand that he was fussing because he was unaccustomed to being cradled on that side since I'm left handed. They didn't know that he loved baths and hated to be burped. How is he theirs? 

I tried to hold myself apart. I really did. I did my best to be hands off when he was with his family; giving them the chance to bond with him. He's theirs after all. But babies are so intoxicating. I fell in love anyway. I prepared myself for the eventual heartache of having to return him to his rightful family. I even prayed for them to get better so they could all be reunited, and I meant it! But they didn't get better. And my heart broke for him. 

He grew into a happy baby in those 716 days. He reached for me when I tried to give him to his parents at those weekly visits. He didn't know these people. I could tell it was getting to them when his mother tossed him into my arms; so annoyed was she that we had to end the visit early because he wouldn't stop crying for me. "He's spoiled. You should put him in day care." I cried that day. Not for me, but for him. "It's not his fault that you're a stranger to him," I wanted to scream! Instead, I muttered something apologetic about him being tired, and I bundled up my baby and left. 

Yes, that's when it started. He was MY baby. Not theirs. But I didn't dare say it out loud. His relative (who decided not to take him) asked to house him over the holidays. I reluctantly agreed. A drug exposed baby is a difficult undertaking and I was tired. I sent him to their home, outwardly hoping they would get a taste of what it feels like to be whole and that it would motivate them. Inwardly, I was terrified it would work. 

The holidays were over and I went to pick him up at a meeting spot we had arranged. They drove up and the baby was buckled into the car seat, but the car seat was not buckled into the car. The baby, seat and all, was lying on his side. I was livid. How dare they be so careless and endanger MY baby! There it was again. Not my baby. Their baby. No, MY baby. It didn't matter. The holiday together changed nothing. I talked to his parents. I encouraged them. I prayed for them, but that downward spiral is something only Jesus can fix and only from the inside out. So I prayed for them. I still do. 

The time came when everyone involved had to come to face the fact that this child (and his siblings) need stability, security and a loving, safe home. It seemed highly unlikely that his parents would ever be able to provide these basic things for their children. So the court made the difficult decision to terminate the parents' rights to their children thus making them free for adoption. We were asked if we would consider adopting. Just try and take this child away from me! Just. You. Try. 

A lot can change in 716 days. Despite my efforts to prevent it, my heart had been expecting. 716 days ago, my heart became pregnant with hope. Today it gave birth. The most difficult pregnancy I have ever experienced has finally come to fruition and produced a SON. His name is Ezekiel and he is with his rightful family. 716 days ago I met a baby. Today, by the grace of God, he is MY baby. 

Here I Am

I'm re-discovering a lot about myself lately. Things I knew about myself, but I forgot. Like, I am not a distance runner, but I'm exhilarated by speed. I am inherently lazy and, if I do not exercise self discipline, I will never exercise again. (I have not had self discipline for quite some time now.)

 I miss knitting. I miss writing. I miss leisure reading. I like junk food and don't have any self control where it's concerned. I miss feeling good about my food choices. I want to learn French. 

Where did all that stuff go? Where did I go? Well, I brought my daughter to dance class. I brought my son to soccer practice. I brought my foster child to visit his biological family. I home schooled. I led a home school co-op. I ran a home. There wasn't time for all that other stuff. 

Or was there? What about all those minutes wasted on social media? What about those minutes "surfing" the net? 

What about all those grocery shopping trips where I could have bought good food, but I bought what was "cheapest" instead? What about all that ice cream I ate after all those bedtimes? Junk food eaten while staring at a screen. 

My life is full of choices. I made them. When I made the wrong ones I lost pieces of me. My hobbies, my dreams, my health (to some extent). I've been grumbling about being overly busy. About not having time for what makes me smile. Have I even tried? Have I made choices that will allow me to do what I love? To participate in what interests me? To make me a better me? Have I? 

The beauty of life is that every moment is a choice. You make choices right up until the moment you leave this earth. Our choices affect who we are now and who we are for eternity. We just have to be mindful of making the right choices. 

So here I am. On the precipice of more choices. Big ones. Little ones. Every day ones. Life altering ones. Here I am. Where will I go?