Chapter 23: Acting and Teaching

I wanted to be an art teacher since I was fifteen years old, and for three glorious years, I had my dream job.  I worked at the Christian school I graduated high school from, teaching Pre-K through 12th grade students.  I don't mean to toot my own horn, but if I am being completely honest, I was pretty good at it.  Its easy to be good at something when you love it so much.  I would wear cute artsy skirts, chunky beaded necklaces, and blow-dry my hair everyday.  I felt polished and prepared every morning.  It was just as important to look the part as much as act the part.    

After all, teaching is not just about sharing information.  It is also a performing art.  There is a song-and-dance aspect to it.  My mom always told me ever since I started helping to teach her craft classes when I was twelve, "Some days you are a good teacher, and some days you are a good actress.  You should be so good at both, that your students won't be able to tell the difference."  On days when I was tired or not excited, I would have to act the part for a few minutes, then my sheer love for teaching would take over.  Adrenaline would start rushing, and as I would be presenting the lesson, I'd get that feeling of, "Wow.  I can't imagine doing anything else.  Ever.  I was made for this.  I love this project.  And these students are going to love this too."  The performance would last a forty minute class period. We would start with prayer, and then I would slowly reveal details of the project layer by layer- not too much at once, to keep them on their toes and listening.  I loved adding exciting twists to mundane lessons.  

One of my favorites was our annual snowflake making day.  It was always done the week after Christmas break.  Every class made them- kindergarten through 6th graders.  It was, of course, important to teach them how to make a six sided snowflake.  We would discuss the word "unique," read a passage- maybe Psalm 139 or Psalm 51.  But here was the twist.  Each of the four tables in the art room had a small bucket in the middle.  While they made snowflakes, the small pieces of paper they cut would be all over the room.  I called these the "flurries," and at the end of the period, we had a flurry collecting contest.  (Ok- this in part was in sheer frustration of cleaning up paper for months after this project.  Two hundred students making 5-10 snowflakes each makes a LOT of flurries.)  You should have seen the students crawling around on the floor on their hands and knees "stealing" another table's trash to put in their bucket.  I would examine the buckets and make-up a winner, have a tie for second and a very very close third.  Then, there would also be scraps of paper from each student cutting out circles for their snowflakes.  These were to be crumpled up for "snowballs." At the end of the period, we had a 15 second snowball fight.  Sheer chaos.  Glorious fun.  But that's what art class was for.  My husband, who teaches P.E., calls specials teachers the "grandparents" of the school. Have fun with them... and send them on back to homeroom.  

I also loved decorating- filling the hallway with splashes of color,creativity, and life.   One year, I had each of the grades work on a different day of the creation story.  From one end of the hallway to the other, you could walk through and see the amazing work our Creator had accomplished in seven days.  It took a month for the students just to make the projects.  But it was magic when it was on display, and the students were so proud of themselves.  I still have the pictures, so I'll share some of them. 

It was more than just teaching that I loved.  I had a knack for being able to enter a student's world and relate to them.  After I would present the project, pass out the materials, and set them loose with a few rules and a license to be creative, it was time to show them how important each of them were- to put generosity and compassion into practice.  It was time to fix disheveled ponytails, sew on a button that had come lose, make up a special envelope for a lost tooth, tie a shoe, or turn down a collar of one of their uniform shirts.  I would sit at their table and have deep, theological discussions about pets, vacations, Suite Life, Sponge Bob, or Miley Cyrus- whatever they wanted to talk about.  I would rescue crying, frustrated second graders by showing them they could turn their paper over and have a fresh start.  I would praise artistically gifted students as well as ones that could only follow the directions.  At the end of the period, I would ring a wind-chime and have a contest to see which table would clean up the best and the fastest.  (Elementary students love contests.)

Oh, how I loved teaching!  I had very little time or energy left for creating art myself, but teaching was even better than drawing or painting.  I was creating creative people.  I can't even count how many of them have told me they want to be art teachers when they grow up.  I don't blame them- its the best job in the entire world.  

I miss it.  Don't get me wrong- I love love LOVE being a mom.  I am so fortunate and blessed to be able to stay home and be the mom that I always knew God wanted me to be.  If I were still teaching, I would be thinking about my little ones all day and how someone else was raising them.  I couldn't possibly enjoy teaching now as much as I used to now that Josiah and Molly are in my life.  

But being a mom is lonely.  I used to thrive on energy from other people.  I miss those magic moments of making kids laugh.  The high fives.  The 20 third graders practically knocking me over to give me a hug all at once.  I miss kids.  And I miss being who I was when I was around them.  It was the best version of myself that I knew.  

That's where Thursday comes in.  Stupid Thursday.  The worst day of the week.  The day I count down the hours and feel the knot in my stomach tighten until Josiah's aunt finally gets here and takes my baby away from me.  It is a social situation that I am not comfortable with because I don't know how to act or what to say.  I hate the awkwardness of it all.   

But not yesterday.  When Brenda finally came, out of her minivan popped three of her grandchildren.  Ages four, eight, and eleven.  Kids! This was a situation I knew how to handle.  I felt myself slip into the performance.  I greeted them with high fives and bent down to look them in the eye and learn their names.  They were here to meet their cousin.  

If I knew they were coming, I would have baked them cookies.  But since I didn't, I offered them tootsie rolls and apple juice.  I asked them questions about school and there was great jubilation when they all told me how much they liked to draw and paint.  More high fives all around.  I got to sit with them in the living room and watch them play with my little boy.  They read him stories, smiled and made funny faces, kissed Josiah and Mollly, held them both with such tenderness and compassion.  They said, "yes, ma'am and no, ma'am," and listened the first time their grandmother told them to do something.  I showed them the slideshow of Josiah's birthday party on my computer and they told me how much fun it looked and pointed out their relatives that were there.    

Dare I say I had fun...on a Thursday?  It was the first time in a long time I felt like myself again- the kind compassionate, giving person that I was when I was a teacher.  I've decided that the thing I don't like most about Thurdays isn't the situation.  Its me.  I hate who I am on Thursdays.  I am selfish.  I have a complaining spirit.  I worry about what other people think of me, my house, and my mothering ability.  On Thursdays I am wanting to grasp all that is "mine" and hold it close so no one else can experience it.  That's not me!  Atleast, I hope not!  If I'm trying to generate compassion and empathy towards others, what is it that I'm doing!?!?  Complaining that God is giving the opportunity to put those qualities into practice?!?  No, no, no.  

I refuse to let being uncomfortable dictate how I share Christ's love with other people.  Unfortunately, for now, its going to be about being a good actress.  But one day my heart will finally catch up to my head, and it will be about being a good person.    
                             

Chapter 22: Battle axed

    

A good portion of this post has now been axed.... I vented.  I'm over it.  I feel better.  In it, I talked about how Thursdays and Fridays are hard because I have to share Josiah with his family...


and this was the tail end of it in which I left as it is...




And then I think about why am I even putting myself through this?  I don't have to be a foster parent.  Most people have babies and get to keep them.  I don't want to share my babies with anyone else.  But then I am reminded why I started doing this in the first place.

Some people have asked me if I want to continue to foster children and the answer is "yes- ateast 2 more kids."  I have lost a total of 4 of my babies.  I've only heard 2 of their heartbeats.  2 of them have ultrasound pictures.  1 has a grave sight in my backyard by my favorite tree, but no one but Justin or I know where it is.  Only 1 has a name.  There are no grave stones.  They weren't even here long enough to get "a dash." You know, the born on this day (dash) died on this day. The world would never know they even existed, unless you look at my medical records. But I refuse to be connected to them through grief.  I do not want to live my life looking the calendar thinking, "This would have been their birthday.  This would have been their first Christmas.  This should have been the time they started walking."  Being sad for them doesn't honor their memory or celebrate their lives.  But I do still yearn to be connected to them in some way.  So badly.  I never knew them, but I love them.  And I am determined that this world will in some way be different because they were here.    

I resoluted that if there were two qualities I would want my children to have, it is for them to be compassionate and generous.  It is one thing to be compassionate and empathetic towards others, it is something completely different when you give of yourself and your time to make some one else's life better than it was before you knew them.  My four babies were never here for me to teach them that.  So in their honor, I want to be that for them.  Compassionate and generous- to four babies that DO have names and faces and dashes.  And I want to show Molly how to do that not just with words, but with actions.  The world WILL be different because they were here.  Okay- maybe not the world, but to four lives- we will strive to make a difference.      

Some days that goal is harder than others- like Thursdays and Fridays.  But it is neither of those days today.  It is Monday.  Glorious Monday.  No where to go.  No visitors.  A day to wear mis-matched socks.  Just me and my two babies... pretending like this is how it will always be.  It is a good day.

Chapter 21: Josiah's Birthday Celebration

I can't even begin to tell you how excited I was to celebrate Josiah's birthday.  In July when we heard that he was weeks away from moving to Georgia, we had a dedication at church for him.  Afterwards, we had a party in my parents' picnic pavilion.  It was a feat in itself that I waited until after everyone left to start crying.  Each time someone said goodbye to him, I thought it would be the last time they would see him.

When after a few months he was still with us, I was starting to conjure the Going-Away Party.  It would be an open-house.  No balloons.  No presents.  No cards.  It would just be an opportunity for people to see Josiah one last time and to pray for him.  It was going to be filled with lots of tears and heartache, but I knew it would be important to take pictures of him with everyone so I could add the photos to the memory box I would send with him- along with his first hat, first pair of shoes, and first blanket I wrapped him in.   Years from now, when he would go through it, he wouldn't know anyone's name or face, but he would know how many people loved him and prayed for him.  It was important for me to tell him how loved he was.

Never never never did I ever think we were going to have him for a WHOLE YEAR!  I could actually have a party with a real reason to celebrate.

That's what it felt like.  It felt like all of the itty-bitty victories and happy memories along the way came together in a culmination of one huge celebration surrounded by so many people that love him.  A year ago on the 19th, our Josiah was born.  One day later, we got the call that would forever change our lives.  And a year ago from tomorrow, we picked up a seven pound eight ounce five-day-old baby boy from the hospital.  It seems like it was yesterday. I know that's so cliche to say, but it really does.  I remember how long the car ride seemed to the hospital, how nervous I was to be a mom on such short notice, and how I tried my best to not fall in love too quickly before he was really "ours."  (That lasted about .3 seconds.)  This past year, I tried my very best to not look too far into Josiah's future- to savor each moment for what it was.  I didn't want to live this past year with..."This is our last Easter with him, our last Thanksgiving, our last Christmas...."  But with the kind of planner that I am, it's difficult.  Each holiday is bitter-sweet.  The sting of thinking that next year will be so dramatically different always adds just a small prick of pain to every happy memory I try to make with our little boy.

But a birthday?.... I was determined to make it a happy one.  I was hoping that I wouldn't be spending the whole birthday party thinking about his second birthday party that I probably won't be throwing him... and I didn't!  For once, I lived completely in the moment and was able to soak in all the glorious little things that happened...
- getting to decorate
- greeting our guests while I held Josiah in my arms- wearing his cute little Mickey outfit we bought weeks ago
- displaying his monthly photos I took with his bear
- Molly sleeping in her Minnie Mouse ears
-spending hours and hours and hours making a perfect slideshow of the hundreds of photos we took this year and watching people comment on what a happy, sweet boy he is
- watching him smile when the 40+ people sang him Happy Birthday inserting the name WE gave him into the song
- seeing his brother help him blow out the candle
- watching Josiah eat his cupcake so neatly and carefully and then me smearing frosting all over his cheeks, chin, and nose for better pictures
- tearing into his presents with him and his brother throwing away all the wrapping paper
- tickling him with tissue paper and hearing his belly laugh
- holding all of his birthday outfits under his chin and knowing I would most likely get to see him wear them.

It was a magical day.  There's no other way to explain it.  Every minute was one I never thought I would have, which made it that much easier to savor.

I just love him.  And I love being his mama.  And I loved being able to throw him a real party that when he looks at these pictures one day, he'll know exactly that.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all the people that helped to make this amazing day happen.  I tried listing all of the people who did so much, but it got too long and I didn't want to leave anyone out.  So to all of you who prayed and supported and celebrated with our family, I love you, and I thank you for helping Josiah know how important and special he is to all of us!       

Chapter 20: Of Court Rooms and Kindred Spirits

Josiah's court hearing was yesterday.  It was THE court hearing... the one that said what the plan for Josiah was.  THE PERMANENCY HEARING.  DUN DUN DUN...... It was a day I both looked forward to dreaded all at once because I thought it would give me answers.  I wanted closure.  I wanted THE plan.  And I got it...sort of....but not really.



I hate how so many people are involved in Josiah's life and how he isn't even more than a name to them.  And its not even the right name.  To them he is "Talen. Born March 19, 2009. Developing normally."  They don't see what he eats for breakfast or the favorite part of the crib he curls up in or how he giggles when you kiss his neck.  How does the person who knows him the best get the least amount of say about his future?  It baffles me.

But I am not the One who knows him the best.  God surrounds me with people who are brave enough to tell me that.

The first is Brenda.  My closest sister in Christ.  When I sit down next to her while we were waiting for three hours to be called into the court room, I want to lean over and tell her how I want things to go MY way, not hers.  I want to keep him for myself.  But I can't.  The words won't come.  Instead I say something like..."It's just not fair to Josiah.  He's getting the brunt of everyone's mistakes.  He's getting bonded to us, and we to him.  He's getting the short end of the deal."

And she grabs my arm and looks at me and says, "Don't think for a minute that he is what is getting the brunt of it.  He is getting the BEST of it.  By putting you and Justin in his life instead of him being stuck with his parents this year.  He got what God knew was BEST.... for this phase of his life."

The words were sweet... the last six were bitter.  I choked on tears.  I'm glad she saw how we were what was best for him, but she didn't always see it that way.  She of all people should know how I feel.  She is me, thirty years from now.

  How would she feel if one of her babies was taken away after she had one of them for a WHOLE YEAR!?!?  I love her because she loves God so much and shows it.  I'm angry because I want her to see what I see and feel how I feel. One of those emotions comes from God, the other does not.  I know which one is which, but I'm not ready to let that one go yet.  I will tell you when I am.  Today is not the day.

And then there is Jen.  My most kindred spirit.  The Diana Barry to my Anne Shirley.  She is the kind of friend that no matter how much distance or time separates us, when I hear her voice on the phone its like she is here and no time has gone by at all.  I met Jen at college through a mutual friend, (shout out to Carissa...I love you!) and I knew then that our lives were so closely intertwined, they always would be.   Our lives' paths are so similar, its as though God wove them together so we would know He ordained our friendship.  (Sidenote: when Jen wrote about me in her blog, she mentioned most of these already, so Jen, sorry if I stole some of your thunder here.  I just wanted to share it with my very few faithful blog readers too.)  :o)

*We are both the middle children of a set of three sisters.  Both whose older sisters are named Amy, and whose younger sisters love music.

*We married boys we loved from high school a week apart from each other.  Both of us moved back to our home towns, in the same town our parents live in.  

*We both went to a Christian high school, graduated from that school, and later became teachers at that school.  

*Our mothers share the same birthday, date and year.

 *We both had trouble starting a family.  Her with getting pregnant, me with staying pregnant.  We ended up having daughters two weeks apart from each other.  Molly was one inch longer and one ounce heavier than sweet Lydia.  

You can say that the similarities in our stories alter greatly after that, if you know Jen's story.  I shouldn't have the right to call her and complain about my day yesterday, if you know what she has been through these past few months.  But Jen, for some reason I still don't know why, is joyful for me in my victories and can grieve with me in my defeats.  She is just that awesome of a friend.  She is the kind of friend that tells me what I need to hear, even when its not what I want to hear.  She puts everything in perspective for me and tells me that its ok to feel two ways at once, and by example, she shows me how to cherish small victories though heartache hovers at the finish line.

Jen told me that if I were Brenda, and it was one of my sisters' children who were in trouble, I would turn my world upside down to help.  It wouldn't matter how old I was or what my health was like or even that I lived states away.  Family is family is family is family.  And that's what family does.  It wouldn't matter the obstacles, I would be there for my family.  And I know she is right.  For the first time, I looked at the situation through Brenda's eyes.  And the picture looked different.

All this time, I thought it was up to me to convince Brenda how to see what I saw.  I wanted her to see my house, see pictures that I had taken, see the family that he knows as his family.  To get to know me as "his mother."  But it is not my job to convince her.  It is not up to me to remove the briars.  God made the woods.

I went to bed last night feeling at peace after tucking my sweet Josiah to bed, knowing that God knows what's best for his life.  I was hoping to feel that way in the morning.

But I woke up with a jolt, hearing Josiah babble in his crib.  I wrestled with the thought of getting a few more minutes of sleep, and then was overwrought with guilt.  I think, "Months from now, when he is not here, I'm going to think back on this moment and feel guilty that I didn't hold him when I could have.  I chose sleep over snuggling.  A moment of peace rather than watching him smile when I went into his room and let him know how much I loved him."  I hate living this way, thinking today may be my last with him.  But isn't how we should cherish our children?  Soaking up every glorious moment God has blessed us with them?

I don't know.  I put chocolate chips in my breakfast cereal.  I don't have answers.  Chocolate and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with Josiah and Molly this morning will have to suffice.

Chapter 19- In Which Jesus and I go for a walk in the woods.

Me and Jesus. We go on adventures.  At the risk of sounding corny and silly, I want to tell you about how I pray, because it has become part of my Josiah story.

As you know, I am a visual person.  I can't remember anything unless I see it.  The same goes with praying.  Put me in a room all by myself with no distractions, and my prayer will start off something like this, "Dear God,
Thank you for this day.
Thank you for my kids.
Thank you for my food.
Bless so and so and so and so....
and what should I make for dinner tomorrow?
Oh...I need to do another load of laundry.
Are my jeans clean?  I need new jeans.
When can I go shopping next?
Oh sorry God...Bless so and so...
man, I liked the jeans SHE was wearing the other day.
 I wonder where she got those?"

Distracted.  That's what I am.  I'm sure I'm not alone on this.  So to help, I used to imagine myself standing before the throne of God with prayer requests like a grocery list, with cupped hands yelling my requests up a long staircase to where God was sitting.  Heaven was all white- white clouds, white stairs, misty air, and a very non-descriptive shiny gold throne.  He would lean forward, cup His hand around His ear and in His omniscience fill in everything that I forgot to pray for.  After my "amen" I would turn around and see all of my requests answered.  He would sit back and on His throne, fingers interlocked behind His head and say, "Yep...I'm amazing.  Look what I can do because I'm God."  

This was helpful because I could usually get through all of my prayer requests before I managed to fall asleep.  But this isn't who God is.

After my dream I had about the river, Jesus and I go places together.  Sometimes hand in hand, sometimes arm in arm, sometimes He leads, or I'm ahead of Him and He tells me where to go.  Sometimes I'm little and I'm on His shoulders, my hands under His chin.  Sometimes I'm old and He is patient to walk beside me with slow labored steps.  Each night when I lay my head down I say, "God...where should we go today?"  I don't know what Heaven looks like- I can imagine it, but I can't fill in the details, so we go to all of my favorite places where I remember what they looked like, smelled like, and how warm the sun felt when I was there.

We take walks to the beach.  Sometimes sandy white Caribbean beaches, sometimes rocky Maine beaches where we climb over boulders together where we can help each other up.

We go for horse-drawn carriage rides in Central Park.

We climb snowy mountains with snowshoes.    

We pick flowers in fields by streams.

We walk sandy paths lined by fall-colored trees.

We ride a surrey down the boardwalk.

We sit by a weeping willow tree and have a picnic.

We go swimming in my lake.

We ride gondolas in Venice.

I pick the first place that pops into my head, because I think its His answer.  And along the way as we go, I ask Him if we can pass all the people He wants me to pray for.  They don't usually see us, but we see them.  We stop and linger until I tell Him all that's bothering me and what I wish would happen for them.  He lets me talk.  He is patient and smiles.  And when He smiles, I know that He has everything under control, and we can keep walking together, because He has other things for me to see.  I think he likes me to tell Him about my concerns, not because He doesn't know what I what to happen.  He knows how much I'm hurting for other people.  He just wants me to know that He can carry the burden alone, and He wants me to be able to acknowledge it.

  
I know this is a silly way to pray.  That I'm probably humanizing our amazing, holy God too much.  But when I pray like this, He cares about me so intimately and is so patient with me and loves me like a Friend and a Father all at once.  Confidant and Consoler. Protector and Provider.  The Psalms tell me this is who God is.

The most amazing thing about praying this way is that sometimes when I'm about to fall asleep- in that place between sleep and awake, Jesus starts to say things that I never imagined He would say- things I couldn't  possibly put in his mouth because I wouldn't come up with them on my own.  And I remember Bible verses I never thought I knew.  This is when I know that my prayer walk has turned into something much more than a silly daydream.  When I wake up, He has taught me something about Himself.  It never contradicts His Word.  And it always affirms that He is in control and I am not.

I can tell you the color of leaves and how the waves sounded when they crashed and how blue the sky is, but I can never picture Jesus all at once.  My mind won't let me.  Sometimes I just see His eyes when they're crying like mine.  Sometimes I see his rough, capable carpenter's hands when he asks me to hand things over to him.  I see his sandaled feet when I am looking down when we're walking. He has sure steps that know where they are going.

Lately, we do a lot of holding baby Lydia.  I hold her and we walk and I cry, and Jesus asks if He can hold her.  I hand her over and we walk together.  And when I look up, she has grown and is a toddler and wants to walk herself.  And she skips beside us.  And she wants to go play with my baby girl Maggie, who is in Heaven.  And they pick flowers together and have matching blonde pigtails.  That one happens a lot.  

But yesterday was one of those sacred times where God takes over.  "Let's go swimming," I say.  We went swimming the night before and it was refreshing. I was hoping we could do that again.
"I want to take you for a walk in the woods." I think He says.  He usually wins.

We went into my backyard.  I have twenty acres of beautiful oaks, pines, maples, and holly trees.  I love trees.  Almost as much as I love birds.  But I can never enjoy them because South Jersey has too many ticks.  But in my prayer, Jesus takes them away for our walk.

Before I go on about my prayer, I have to tell you about my day.  Brenda came over.  Her first of many visits that are going to occur weekly now.  I made sure the house was spotless.  It smelled amazing from candles that were burning all day.  Molly and Josiah's room was perfect- every single stitch of clothing put away in their dresser and closets.  I made pink lemonade.  I had brownies ready.  I wanted her to know what an amazing place Josiah had been living.  How the house was filled with so much love and joy and creativity.

When she came (half an hour late) she didn't even say one word about the house.  The first thing she said was how fat Josiah looked and asked what he'd been eating.  (half in a joking tone, but one I knew there was truth behind.)  It felt like a jab at the kind of mother I was.  How she thought she would be a better mother than me.  She didn't want a brownie or lemonade.  She drank water, sat on the floor with Josiah and kissed him so many times, he couldn't even really look at her face.  She told me how she had gotten a house and was going out that night to buy a crib.  She talked about how God was making everything so easy and how everything was falling into place in His perfect timing.

I hated watching her kiss my son.  I wanted to just tell her how I felt- how I couldn't imagine him leaving.  He was a part of a family now...couldn't she see?

I had words for Jesus, but when we went for a walk in the woods, I couldn't think of anything to say to Him, so I just kicked the dry leaves with every step I took.  I wanted him to know how angry and confused I was.  I was in a place I didn't want go.   I think I fell asleep because usually when Jesus and I walk places in my mind, they are beautiful places.  The sun is shining, birds are singing, and He makes me feel better.  Its spring and leaves are green.  But the woods were not a happy place today.  They were gray and frustrating- filled with branches I kept tripping over and briars that got stuck to my jeans.  Jesus would patiently stoop down and carefully grab a strand of briars so I could take another step towards the place  He wanted me to go.  When I looked around me, there was no path- just endless amounts of trees and briars.

"There's no path anymore." I said.  "How are we going to know where we're going?!"

"I made the woods," He said.

"But I can't see where we're going!" Didn't He know how frustrated I was?

"But I MADE the woods."

I woke up.

He made the woods.....the words still lingered.

He knew where we were, where we were going, and how we were going to get there.  He knew if there was a path, I wouldn't need him.  He left every aggravating obstacle in my way so I would know that HE was the one to push them aside.

I'm still angry at Brenda.  I know I shouldn't be because she thinks what she is doing is the will of God.  And maybe it is.  Maybe I've been misreading the fact that I am called to be Josiah's mom.  I so much want to see where I'm going.  But God knows its more important for me to see where I've been and to know that He's with me.

And I'm sad today.  Court is on Tuesday and I'm bracing for heartbreak.

I know I'm letting the worry of tomorrow rob my joy from today.  But some days I need to let the briars prick me so I can remember what they felt like, and give God the glory when they won't be there anymore.

Chapter 18- In Which God Shows Me How Big He Is and How Big I'm Not

I was thinking about this blog and its dichotomist nature.  It seems as though it has separated itself into two parts:  My illustrations from Psalms and the Josiah Story.  I was debating starting a new blog to keep the two separate, but I decided against it.   It seems like every time I illustrate a Psalm to try to deeper understand the character of God, He is illustrating Himself to me in my everyday life.  When I think about it in that way, I am illustrating the Psalms, but more importantly, He is illustrating and bringing them to life for me.

Yesterday it happened again.  Just one of those silly things you can call a coincidence, but knowing How God is wanting to continually teach me how amazing He is, its nothing short of revelation in the deepest sense of the word.  

Yesterday was Sunday, and like every Sunday, we went to church.  Its always a mad dash out of the door- scrambling and tabulating the mental checklist numerous times to make sure we have all of the necessary items packed in the kids' bag.  We live a half an hour from our church, and I like to get there early so I can feed Josiah breakfast and nurse Molly...all this chaos so we can have an uninterrupted service where we can sit like normal people and worship and listen to the message in peace.  Unfortunately yesterday we were five minutes late, so we had to sit in the overflow room and watch the service on TV.  I was a little perturbed because our church now has a live stream of the service over the internet.  I could have stayed in the comfort of my own home and had this same experience, I thought.  All that stress to get there, and we sat huddled in the back room behind the sanctuary with a dozen other people who were running late and couldn't make it to church on time.  

The service, as always, was a good one, but I'm always anxious to get back to the nursery to pick the kids up.  I miss them.  I know it's an hour an a half and I'm ridiculous- but I still miss them.  (Plus, secretly... I really like when I pick them up and all the nursery workers tell me how adorable, sweet, and well behaved my children are.)  But this time when I picked them up, God met me there.  In an amazing twist and turn of events, He loves to show me how big He is and how He loves using my children to glorify and honor Himself.  

One of the nursery ladies' names was named Chris.  As I was struggling to put Josiah's coat on, she looked at me and said, "Did you adopt him from Shore Memorial Hospital?"  I explained the situation with his aunt and how we wanted to adopt him, but yes, we did pick him up from Shore.  She looked at me and smiled. 

"I was doing the math in my head.  I knew you were pregnant and I think I figured it out- I was the nurse that discharged you."                  

She was the first person to take care of Josiah.  I imagined her holding and feeding him when he was so itty bitty and praying for his uncertain future.  She was the one that spent well over an hour and a half showing us how to change him, feed him, bath him, burp him.  She was the one got me juice when I almost fainted that day.  She told us that day almost a year ago now how she was so happy that he was going to a good home.  

I told her how much she had blessed us that day- how stressed and scared and overwhelmed I felt when we got to the hospital, and how equipped and calm and ready I felt when we left.  There is something that resonates within you when you meet another Christian but never talk about it- like the Spirit inside that person relates to the Spirit inside you, and in some amazing way, you know that the work you are doing together is the work of God.  I felt that with her.  But now it was affirmed.  

When we left the nursery, she told me that she would be praying for the upcoming court date.

It gets better...

Later that day, Justin and I were taking the kids to JC Penny's to get pictures done of the kids for Josiah's first birthday that is right around the corner.  They turned out great as you can see....

         

But as we were getting ready, I couldn't for the life of me find Molly's headband that I wanted.  I tore the house apart, and in a frustrated huff, I left the house determined to just go buy her a new one.  In the store, I found one that would work, and quickly rushed into line to pay for it before our scheduled appointment.  Justin was signing us in and holding Molly, and I was holding Josiah as we were checking out.  

Josiah has just found that he will get the most attention when he screams.  Not yells.  Not raises his voice a bit.  Screams- this high pitched, ear-drum shattering squeal.  I was so embarrassed standing in line to pay for this headband.  I was trying to balance him on my hip as I searched my coat pocket for an extra binky.  I finally plugged his mouth when a woman behind me looked at him inquisitively and asked, "Is that David's brother? David squeals just like that."  

"Yes it is." I turned around open-mouthed and wide-eyed.  She was speaking to her daughter in Spanish and pointing and smiling at Josiah.  Somehow I caught the word "day care" and asked her if she took care of David.  She did!  We had a brief conversation on how much alike they look.  I told her to give David a hug from his brother when she sees him again and she said she would. 

Two women.  Two different places.  Two walks of life.  And me.  All meeting on the same day.  All brought together through this little boy I so desperately want to call my son.  Its times like these when God shows me how big He is and how He is just orchestrating this beautiful story to glorify Himself and show His sovereignty in my life.  I am just one of the small threads knit amongst the lives of so many others who are touched by Josiah and his story.  I am amazed how God is opening my eyes to see how the things He works around me isn't really about me at all.  

Once again I ask, "God can I keep him?" 

And God says, "I would rather you know who I am.... Just you wait.  I'm going to show you how I work all things together for your greatest good and My greatest glory."              

  

Psalm Eighteen: God is My Strength

written by David after his victory over his enemies and Saul

"I love you, O LORD, my strength.  The LORD is my rock, my fortress, my deliverer; my God is my rock in whom I take refuge.  He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold." v. 1-2


"To the faithful you show yourself faithful.  To the blameless you show yourself blameless.  To the pure you show yourself pure, but to the crooked you show yourself shrewd."  v. 25-26

God, I love you.  I thank you for being my strength when I am weak.  I can run to you when I need comfort and security.  You protect me from harm and save me from sin and those who want to harm me.  I realize your perfect and holy character most when I am trying my best to be like you.  I am quick to find my shortcomings and observe your holiness when I see how faithful, blameless, and pure you are.  God, please use my mistakes and weaknesses to reveal yourself to me more.

This drawing reminds me of the time my family and I went to Maine when I was about eleven or twelve.  My parents had bought us each a 35 mm camera and I remember standing on a beach with the huge boulders that lined the shore.  I was there for about half an hour trying to capture the exact moment when a wave hit a boulder with such force that it fan-tailed in the perfect display of the water's force.  (I had a whole roll wasted on duds until I got the shot I wanted.  A digital camera would have been most helpful!)

But this isn't an illustration of Maine- this beach is more like the ones I see often on the Jersey shore.  Here, we have huge jetties- gigantic rocks that are placed close together to prevent the sand from being eroded.  I drew the clouds as though a huge storm was brewing, stirring up the waters, which represents the trials and tribulations we go through.  It is only after we face these hard times that we see how strong God, our rock, is.  He protects us from harm, delivers us from falling into despair, and shows Himself faithful and trustworthy.  

Psalm Seventeen: Apples and Shadows

"I call on you for you will answer me. Give ear to me and hear my prayer.  Show the wonder of your great love, you who save by your right hand those who take refuge in you from their foes.  Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings." v. 6-8
"You still the hunger of those you cherish; their sons have plenty, and they store up wealth for your children.  And I- in righteousness- I will see your face; when I awake, I will be satisfied with seeing your likeness."  v 14b-15


God, I pray you hear me when I call- that your love will be so evident, that I will not question your faithfulness.  Please do not forget me, and satisfy my longing for wanting to know "why" all of the time.  I thank you for the hope of seeing all things through your perspective one day, and I know that when that time comes I will be satisfied with how You have worked everything out for good.

I love the idea of a refuge being a nest.  For me, it is the symbol for security, fruitfulness, and hope of new life.  Here I used the three eggs to represent the three babies I had lost up until this point in my life.  It was reassuring to think of them- not as unborn- but as though they were waiting for me under the wings of protection of their Heavenly Father.

And I love when the Psalmist talks about us being in the apple of God's eye.  "The apple" refers to the pupil of the eye.  When we first got Josiah, his eyes were so dark brown, they were almost black.  I would look deep into them and only see a perfect reflection of myself.  What a beautiful word picture that God loves us so much, we are what He is completely focused on.

  It is because the psalmist is focused on the face of God that, as he writes in verse 15,  he displays the character of God in his own life, and therefore is satisfied despite all circumstances that surround him.

Chapter 17- One long letting go and then changing my mind

I can't begin to tell you how much writing this blog has helped me see how much God has been working in my life. There's nothing like seeing how He's been faithful in your past to assure you He will be faithful in your future. I was finally coming to terms with losing our little boy. It was our prayer that if Josiah wasn't going to be a part of our forever family, that he would go to a Christian home. And God answered that. I was praying he would keep his name. And God answered that. I was praying that as the time was coming to an end I would be able to savor each day and not worry about tomorrow. And God answered that. I was doing ok- not every day, but most days.

I was still a bit guarded though. We were waiting and waiting to buy Molly a crib because if Josiah was leaving any day, I did not want to stare at his empty one. Poor baby girl was sleeping in the bassinet next to me for four months- until she would move an inch in any direction and bump into the sides. A crib was way overdue.

Our meeting with our new case worker in January changed everything.

She told us that Josiah had been 2 weeks away from going to Georgia if Brenda wouldn't have moved. It was now going to take seven to eight MONTHS for her to get approved in New Jersey. And even after that, it would be six months of him living between both of us for him to get acclimated. But.... (the happiest "but" I've ever heard in my life) DYFS would be asking for the judge to leave him with us. (yeah...go ahead and read that sentence over again and let it sink in.) They said he may be too old and too bonded by that time to move him.

Roller coaster of emotions. All aboard!

Seven to eight months. Seven to eight months!!!! I begin to daydream about all of the things I would get to do with him and see him do now that I never thought I would.

Every time the phone would ring, I wouldn't have to worry if this was THE call.

I could buy him clothes for him to GROW IN TO. I didn't need to be sad that he would be leaving before he could wear them.

I could see him walk.

I would hear him talk.

His book of photographs wouldn't say "Josiah's Baby Book." It would say, "Josiah's First Year."

AND we would get to throw him his first birthday party. I let my mind wander to where we could possibly have it so it would hold all of the people I wanted to invite. Somehow my daydreaming put it in our school gym with bleachers full of people with balloons and signs and everyone chanting his name when we walked in.

Before, on days I would struggle, I would think about the good-bye party I would have for him. And now we would be having a BIRTHDAY PARTY!!!!! I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about it.

Everyday he is with us, I can't imagine him going anywhere else. And then Brenda calls and wants to see him. And I feel myself pulling him closer and not wanting to share. But he's still not mine.

When I asked Justin what he thinks will happen, he said, "I don't want to think about it. If I think about him staying, I get my hopes up. If I think about him leaving, I'm sad. So I choose not to think about it at all."

That's probably a healthier attitude to have. But I find myself daydreaming all the time.

About Josiah and Molly hand in hand as they walk into the same class at school together.

About building an addition on our home so they would each have their own room. I think about the murals I would paint in each of them.

I think about the lifetime of sharing him with his biological family and what that would mean for Molly.

I don't know how to pray. This whole journey I've always wanted the family God wanted to give me. I would pray for His will, dig my heels in when He would have a different plan than I did, and finally accept it- even be happy about it. I've lost babies before. But not like this. Josiah has a name, a face, a personality. He calls us "Mama" and "Dada" now. I ask God to let us keep him. I should know better by now to pray that prayer, right?

We have never felt comfortable hiring lawyer and fighting for him. After knowing his family like we do now, how could we do that to them?

His permanency hearing is March 16th- 3 days before his birthday. I'm praying for an answer either way. The "planner" in me just wants to know. Isn't it funny how much God has had to say, "Trust Me" and I still struggle? I'm such an wandering-in-the-wilderness Israelite.

But....Josiah is here today. We're watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse together snuggling on the couch as I type with one hand. Molly is still asleep in her two-crib room.

God is so good.