A letter to my Daughter

My sweet girl,
You celebrated your second birthday last month.  And in a couple of weeks, we will celebrate two years of having you in our home.  This is HUGE.  This is extremely emotional.  This is a post I NEVER thought I'd be able to write.  You see, you were only supposed to stay in our home a short time, weeks at most.  We were okay with that because that was the norm for us.  Babies would come, stay awhile, we'd spoil and love on them like crazy, then they'd leave.  It was the rhythm of our house.  It worked well.
But you were different.  Almost instantly, our entire family fell in love with your crazy rockstar hair, your deep brown eyes, and your sweet disposition.  We felt this need to wrap you in our arms and protect you.  We claimed you as ours, although you were weren't.
The next few months turned into a battle.  A battle to keep you safe.  A battle to keep you in our home.  A battle to have your voice heard and to have those that would be making decisions about your future look out for your very best interests.
Those months turned into more months, then a year, then a year and half.  We were weary.  Tired of repeating ourselves.  Tired of mourning your impending departure.  Tired of getting a pit in our stomach every time the phone would ring.  We were scared.  We were so scared that you would leave.  Scared for our sadness and the pain we would feel, but even more scared for you.  We were so worried for you.  The worry made a pit in our stomach that made it almost impossible to look at you without getting scared and panicky all at once.
As we approached the almost 2 year mark of your sweet little life, a true miracle happened.  We saw hope.  We heard a judge's voice speak up for you.  We heard a room full of people in agreement.  They all confirmed that you were safest and best off to stay where you were at.  We were in shock.  We let out a breath of air that we didn't even realize we had been holding for the past 22 months.  You were going to be ours! Our second daughter and fifth child.  Ours!
We went from being to scared to think of your next birthday for fear you wouldn't be with us, to dreaming about your future.  We pictured what you would be like as an adult.  We finally inserted ourselves into those dreams.  Your future had us in it.
I'm not sure if you will ever understand how very much we love you.  All of us.  Your brothers and sister love you so fiercely.  You are protected and cherished and safe.  We will not forget the fear we had.  The pit in our stomachs.  The sleepless nights.  The begging, pleading, and bargaining with God to keep you safe and in our home.  We will not forget that moment we realized that you would be ours forever.
We love you so much sweet girl.  We are forever thankful that you are in our family.
 You are ours.

Love,
Mommy

I guess 8 months is enough time for an update...

To say blogging has been a struggle lately would be a gross understatement.  It's not that there hasn't been anything to blog about, because there certainly is- it's that life is happening so quickly, and time seems to be slipping away.

Let's do a quick recap of the last 8 months....
1.  We found a house for the facility! It's a darling 4 bedroom house in the heart of Walnut.  Nestled in a golf course community, this house is perfect for a treatment center.  We have two cribs set up in each room and it is the perfect space for babies.
2.  Our House Mom/Facility Manager moved in! She truly is the perfect person to run this facility.  Not only is she amazing with children, she has such a leader's heart.  She is training and running our staff with ease and has so many wonderful ideas.
3.  We hired our caregiving staff! These 12 are truly the cream of the crop!  Not only are they educated and intelligent, they have a heart and passion to help others.  Watching them interact and share their stories is so incredible to see.
4.  We have submitted everything to the state and county!   It truly is just a waiting game until we open.  Unfortunately, we can only move as fast as our Licensing Analyst moves.  While we wait, we are finishing up training our staff and prepping and organizing the house for the final walk through.

We are so thankful to everyone who has come alongside of us on this journey.  There have been so many who have come to the house to help at workdays, bought us items for the babies, given financially, and supported us through prayer.  We feel overwhelmed and blessed by everyone's outpouring of love.  People truly have been the hands and feet of Jesus.

So as we (not so) patiently wait to open, we pray for the babies.  We pray for their little hearts and bodies.  We pray that we would be well equipped to help heal and care for these precious ones.  We pray that though their time at Bithiah's will be short, we would be able to have a lasting impact on their lives.  Our love for them already runs so deep and we cannot wait to hold them and love on them.

A Word from the Bios

Our biological children are 6 and 8.  They were 2 and 4 when we got our first placement (who we would later go on to adopt).  I would be lying if I said I was never worried about how our decision to do foster care or adopt would affect them.  While we were in the process of getting licensed, I would have these panicked moments where I would envision them in therapy someday lamenting about how their parents took in children and it destroyed their life.  I could picture them saying that they never bonded with the adopted or foster children, and how they wished they were never part of our family.

 

And boy how I was wrong.  There is a brotherly/sisterly bond like no other.  They defend one another, love on one another, and pick on each other as if they were all from the same womb.  They have loved and lost, and have come out standing.  They have joined us in prayer for our foster babies, pleading with the Lord to keep them safe or asking for favor from the various judges.  They have raised their hands at their brother's and sister's adoption hearing and taken an oath to love their new sibling as a forever member of the family.

It hasn't always been roses.  There has been jealousy, fighting, and harsh words spoken.  In the beginning, there were  moments from my oldest where he has shared his frustration about how difficult it was to love a foster sibling when there didn't seem to be any love given in return.

I thought I would interview each of my biological children to see what they really thought of our foster care and adoption experience.

Me- "Do you boys know what it means to be a foster parent?"
Jack-"It means that we take care of babies that have parents that can't take care of them"
Ty-"It means that we get babies and sometimes we get to adopt them"

Me- "What is your favorite part about adopting some of your siblings?"
Jack-"That they will never leave our house"
Ty-"When they give us a teddy bear at the adoption"

Me-"What is the hardest part about foster care?"
Jack-"Sometimes the babies cry a lot"
Ty- "When the babies leave"

Me- "What do you wish you could change about our family and how we take in babies?"
Jack;" I wish that some of the babies wouldn't have to leave and I wish we would adopt a couple more"
Ty- "I wish you would let us get 1,000 more babies but you always say no"

Me-" What are you most excited for about us opening the shelter?"
Jack-"We could work there and help the house"
Ty- "I could put all the babies in their jammies and lay with them on the floor"

So while the years of adoption and foster care haven't always been flawless, I'd say we didn't damage our kids in the way we had feared.  I'm sure they will be in therapy someday for something else from their childhood, but I don't think it will be from us adopting and stepping in to fill the gap with foster care.

An open letter to the Donut Store Lady

Dear Donut Store Lady,
I love your donuts.  They are as close to perfect as can be.  Your fast service, crushed ice, and vintage video game machines are the reason we come back week after week.  It's because of you that we have deemed Friday, "Friday Funday" in our house.  We drive to your store, get our donuts, spend three quarters on games and head off to school.  You even know our order! We don't have to even tell you anymore!  You just start naming off our donuts!  You were the first to notice when I had quit Diet Coke.  Although I miss your crunched ice in my extra large Diet Coke, your Iced Tea has suited me just fine.
I'm almost hesitant to share with you about our experience.  I'm hoping it was innocent and you never meant to make any of us uncomfortable.  I'm hoping that you just had curious questions about our family and never meant to bring up any pain.
When you asked me which of my children were real, I wasn't caught off guard.  In fact, I get it quite often. People frequently have questions about the makeup of our family but aren't sure how to phrase it.  When I clarified to you that you might be asking which one of children are biological, you didn't hesitate to reiterate that you wanted to know which of my children were MINE.  After I explained to you that all of my children are mine, but some of them are biological and some of them are adopted, you began to point at each of my children and tried to guess on your own which were which.  This is when I shut down.
You see, adoption is beautiful.  In fact we celebrate it in our family.  It is no secret to my children that some of them are adopted.  We even have the most amazing relationship with our son's biological family.  However, with adoption comes pain.  Especially how the adoption of my children came about.  It was through heartache, abuse and neglect, that I met some of my children.  And while innocent questions that have no underlying meaning can seem harmless, they can actually be quite painful for my children.  It is their story.  They can choose when they want to share it and how much they want to share.  They might be smiling on the outside as you pry and prod, but inside it might be a trigger to something painful for them.  Especially for my son.  He is at the age where he just wants to belong and fit in.  He's not as quick to shout, "I grew in my mommy's heart, not her tummy!" like he would when we was four.
While I appreciate that you had the courage to ask about our family dynamic instead of making assumptions, I only ask that you would consider the little ones that stand before you as you ask your questions.
For the record, we still love your donut store.  We will continue to frequent it every Friday (and sometimes more).  We just hope that your curiosity would be shared in a way that was a little more sensitive to my five little donut lovers (and their mom).

Sincerely,
Michelle  

A Devastating Diagnosis

We've had our foster daughter for a year.  From the first day we met her, we've been in love.  She is the sweetest baby with the most easy going personality.  At her first doctor's appointment, something was noticed.  A very scary diagnosis was mentioned.  Other appointments were made.  Specialists were contacted.  We held our breath.

As she grew older, and we fell deeper in love with her (if that was even possible), we started to notice the diagnosis everyone had been talking about.  Therapy was ordered.  Time passed.  Our fears for her development and her future started to weigh heavy on our hearts.

After 7 months of waiting to see a specialist, the day finally came. We were told we were seeing the best of the best.  This doctor is well known in the field.  An expert.  We knew that she would have answers for us as well as a clear gauge on how the future  would look for our little one.  They were right.  She is an expert.  Compassionate and understanding.  Knowledgeable and kind.

Her words shattered us.  Severe Brain Damage.  The diagnosis was the same it had always been, but those three little words made her future seem so much darker.  We absorbed everything she was saying, committing it to memory.  The following morning, the doctor called my cell phone to connect.  She explained that she was writing her report for the baby's court hearing and was including in the report that the best interest of the baby would be to stay in our home where she was loved and is thriving.  She went on further to say that after hearing the news the day prior, she wanted to make sure that we hadn't "changed our minds about her permanency based on the prognosis given". I explained that we still desired to keep her and hopefully adopt her, but we were devastated over the news.  I thanked the doctor for her time, hung up the phone and wept.  I wept for her future, I wept for the challenges that she will have to overcome and the struggles she will have to face.  I know that the Lord has mighty plans for her and will use her sweet little life to do incredible things for Him, but I still worry.  My flesh takes over, and I am filled with anxiety, anger and sadness for her.  My flesh wants to curl up in a ball and live in my very own pity party.

As tempting as that is, it's not an option.  I have 5 little ones that need my attention and presence.  I need to practice what I am always saying to my children, "we can't chose our circumstances, but we can chose how we react". I can't do anything about her brain damage.  I can't change her past.  I can't undo the hurt done to her.  But I CAN do lots of things.  I can rejoice at the milestones she is hitting.  I can enjoy her sweet little personality.  I can research my heart out to try to learn more about her syndrome.  I can set an example to my children that even though life is unfair, we make the best of it.  I am determined to turn this devastating diagnosis into a story of hope.

While I'm Waiting

Foster care sometimes feels like endless waiting.  Waiting for a call back from the Social Worker.  Waiting for the next court hearing.  Waiting for birth parent's confirmation on a visitation.  Waiting, waiting, waiting.  The child's case seems to move at a snail's pace with little sense of urgency.  These children wait many months and sometimes years to have  permanency in their lives.  It seems as though the waiting will never end.

For me, waiting comes with anxiety and anxiety comes with sleepless nights.  After years of tossing and turning and trying to settle my mind enough to sleep, I have finally found something productive to do during the waiting.  Prayer.  While I wait, I pray.  I pray for the social worker. I prayer for the judge.  I pray for the safety of my foster child.  I even pray for my foster baby's parents.  Yep, that's right.  I pray for them.  Everything inside of me is screaming to pray that they would lose rights to their child or that they would disappear. I so desperately want to manipulate my prayer to satisfy my own desires for my foster child.  Sometimes all I can muster is, " Lord keep my baby safe."  And then I wait some more. Prayer has helped to quiet my mind and calm my heart.  If the years of sleepless nights have done nothing but nudge me to spend more time in prayer, well then I'd say it's been worth it.

Fear

 This past weekend we launched our nonprofit. Surrounded by close friends and family, we shared our hearts and  vision for the shelter.  We've been taking some pretty big steps towards opening its doors for the past six months however this past weekend has made it frighteningly real. While we are so excited to make this dream a reality, the fear is almost crippling at times. What if we don't raise enough money? What if we don't find a house to hold the babies? What if the state of California doesn't approve of our group home?  So many what if's.

This process is reminding me a lot of our foster care journey. Compelled to help, yet almost paralyzed with fear.   We have had our foster daughter for almost a year now and if I let my mind wander to the unknown about her future, I am almost crippled with fear.   So instead of letting the fear take over, I just keep on loving her and taking small baby steps to fight for her and keep her safe. It's the same with the shelter,  instead of focusing on all that could go wrong with it, we are taking small baby steps towards opening the doors.   Every time my brain wants to wander into the fear of the unknown, instead I will think of the sweet babies sitting in their car seats in office buildings all over LA County just waiting to find a foster home.   They deserve to be loved and held during those scary moments.  If I just curl up in a ball on the floor,  not helping for fear of failure, I am doing a great injustice to those little babies.  The same goes for my foster daughter. I will fight for her until there is no fight left. My fear for her will not overshadow my fight for her.

 So yes, we are shaking in our boots. That's not going to stop us. As long as our feet keep moving towards our goal, the fear can nag at us all it wants.