Chapter 40: Humble Conversations

It's been a dark couple of weeks for me- a time when I've been questioning my calling as a foster parent, wondering if I have gone before God's hand of provision and provided something for myself because I was too impatient to wait for His perfect timing.  It seemed as though we stepped in a deep pot hole along the way, and I thought that it might be a sign that we were not on the right path at all.

It all stems from the controversy we had with Josiah's grandparents.  It feels awful to be hated, and even worse to be accused of something that we know we aren't. ("bad Christian people")  We felt we were in God's will by creating some protection for Josiah from people that he only knows as strangers.  And maybe we were protecting ourselves a little too.  Either way, it felt as though we were floundering.  We had gone above and beyond anything any regular foster parent had done by allowing Josiah to see his family in the first place.  None of us imagined it would take so long for Josiah to be placed in a permanent home, and any relationship we made with his family was an investment in the future:  Josiah's future, and ours too.  (We wanted to know them so if Josiah was adopted by them, we wouldn't have to break ties with our little man.)  Because it had taken so long and DYFS named us as their primary choice for placement, that's when things got ugly.  All of us hate how long the process has taken.

We had such peace about getting into a relationship with his family ....and now?  It felt wretched.  Every time I saw a PT Cruiser on the road (Josiah's grandfather's car) I got a knot in my stomach.  But Justin and I decided we should have our case worker handle things.  It wasn't our place to reconcile, right?  We thought we did nothing wrong.  But- our case worker has been on vacation the past two weeks, leaving the severed relationship feeling like a splinter in my eye.  I felt like it was all my fault.  I had been the one nagging Justin to call the grandfather, telling him what to say, even practicing the conversation with him. (Justin is very good at talking to people with eloquence and resolve and with great wisdom and patience.  He is the Dean of Men at our school, and is in charge of discipline for the boys.  He talks with parents and students everyday, righting wrongs, disciplining, discipling, and reconciling relationships.)   When the "we need to stop visits for a while because its not what is best for Josiah for now" conversation between Justin and the grandfather finally did happen, Justin, was just awkward.  ( I know because I eavesdropped.) :o)  He didn't feel like he got his point across to him very well and left the conversation feeling like, "well... at least its over.  It's in their court to pursue visitation if that's what they want."

So the past few weeks, although I felt awful for not calling up and explaining ourselves further and why we made the decision we did, I knew it wasn't my place to do anything.  It was Justin's.  

In my devotions this week, I've been in the book of Ruth.

(Sidebar:  I'm doing this amazing book in a women's Bible Study.  5 stars.  2 thumbs up.  Awesomeness.  If you're looking for a Bible study to do...this is it.  Look no further.)

In this particular lesson, the author writes about the conversation Ruth had with Naomi in convincing her with resolve and humbleness that she was going to go with her to Bethlehem and not stay in Moab.  She writes, "Sometimes we need to speak the hard word.  Sometimes we need to speak the word of forgiveness or the word of accepting forgiveness.  Other times we need to speak the loving, determined, or committed word. Always the humble word."        

In a personal response question following that statement, the author says, "I know we're wading into sensitive waters, but do you need to speak a word to someone?  Matthew 5:23-24 talks about the importance of not delaying in certain circumstances.  If you are sensing the Holy Spirit's nudge, write it here:"

Nudge?  If you push any harder, Holy Spirit, you're going to send me over the edge of a cliff!   


And I wrote, "I feel convicted to have a conversation with Josiah's family.  I feel we have wronged them unintentionally.  I don't feel I will be able to make them see how I see and feel what I feel- and I don't know if that is important.  But it is uncomfortable knowing someone disagrees with our decision concerning what is right for Josiah.  I feel powerless. Justin is the one who needs to have the conversation, not me."  

Every conversation we had prior to this, Justin and I said that we were going to allow DYFS to be our third party mediators.  Let everything be documented.  Let everything be "civil" and not "personal."  Let them decide what is best for the situation.  We're not capable of talking with the family and it not being ugly.  We wanted ourselves protected.  Justin was fine with it.  But the more time passed, the more uncomfortable that decision felt.

So I did something I've never done before.  I didn't tell Justin how I felt.  I didn't nag.  I just prayed.  I prayed that if God wanted Justin to reconcile this relationship, He would lay it on Justin's heart to do so.

And then, God answered.

On our way to church on Sunday, and out of nowhere Justin turned to me and said, "I need to call Josiah's grandfather today."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I feel we're supposed to make things right."

I answered, "Whatever you feel you need to do, I will support you.  If you want to wait for our caseworker to talk to them, that's fine.  If you want to talk to him yourself, that's fine too.  Any way you want to handle it, I will support you."  I could hardly believe the words that were coming out of my mouth.  I'm usually the first to chime in with my two cents and let Justin know the way he should handle things.  And when we got home from church, I didn't hand Justin the phone, I didn't look up the phone number, and I didn't ask when he was going to call.  Justin usually waits until the evening to call people anyway.  The grandfather was probably working and Justin likes to stew about things for a while before he talks to people.  But at 12:45 he asked me to look up the number on the computer, so I did, and I gave it to him.  "Do you want me to practice with you what you're going to say?" I asked.  He didn't.  He just dialed and went outside on the patio.  The grandfather wasn't home, but his wife said that he was probably on his lunch break and that he would call Justin back.  He did twenty minutes later.

I can't tell you exactly what was said in the half-an-hour long conversation.  (Usually I make Justin rehash every word, recounting not only what was said, but how it was said.)  I can tell you that when I peeked at him on the phone through the window, he did a lot more listening than talking.

Justin told me that the week before, he had made a wrong decision about how to discipline a certain student, and a parent came in and complained.  He had to admit that he was wrong, and with humbleness and sincerity, asked for forgiveness from the parent.  He saw how they reacted, watching anger dispel and a relationship between them restored.  That incident paved the way for this very conversation with the grandfather.

Justin said that right before he had called, the grandfather said he was sitting down at his lunch break and writing us a letter to apologize to us.  He didn't know how to approach us and ask for forgiveness on what he had said, nor did he want us to think he was "harassing" us.  He thought we were taking his grandson away from him, and hated how DYFS was handling things.  He was so frustrated with the situation and he didn't know what to do.  He told Justin the whole story- about why he didn't take Josiah in when he was born and the whole story of his dysfunctional family.

Justin never apologized for the decision we made, but he did say he was sorry for how he handled things  and that didn't explain himself well the first time- that we didn't want to stop visits altogether, but we were concerned with the frequency of them.  (He was asking every weekend!)  And we needed time to be a family together too.  I still don't think the grandfather understands our side completely, but everyone was forgiven, and plans were made for Josiah to go to his house on Saturday.  Hopefully now, the precedent has been set about being forthright and honest when it comes to how we feel about Josiah going over not so frequently.

An hour after Justin hung up the phone, Josiah's law guardian called.  Justin was able to tell her that we had made plans for Josiah to see his brother, and the courts didn't need to get involved with scheduling visits (which were going to be overnight visits.)  In court the next day, she was able to report that information.

I am amazed at God's timing, how He is faithful in answering prayer, and I love to see what happens when we are yielded to His Spirit with humbleness.

Piggies

I have had a few ideas for posts that need to be written....

about God providing us with an amazing new stroller
about getting to enjoy this beautiful fall weather
about how blessed to feel to live where I do
about how how God has answered prayer in an unbelievable way
about some amazing and crazy news with what happened in court yesterday....

When I have more time, I'll write, but for now, I wanted to share the goings-on of our walk this morning with pictures.

This is my first attempt at two pigtails for Molly.  I admit, trying to do a squirmy little girl's hair who barely has any is rather difficult. 

Josiah was quite impressed with her new 'do.  

And for most of our walk, the pigtails managed to stay in.  

Until I looked down and saw this...

Hmmm...what happened, Molly? 

                                         

And then....

the evidence.  

Josiah=busted!

  

 Its a good thing you love your brother so much, Molly!  

My first Josiah

The first time I ever heard the name "Josiah" was in church.  I was seven years old and a couple that were college friends of my pastor came to visit for a special Mission's Conference for a week.  They had a baby boy named Josiah, and I remember thinking even then it was such a wonderful name. 

I have a vivid memory of my mom sitting next to me in a pew (on the left hand side, fourth row back, where we always sat.)  Josiah was on my lap, my elbow resting on the armrest of the pew, my mom's hand under my arm showing me how to hold his head just right without touching his soft spot.  His parents were up front on the stage singing.  I remember staring at his tiny shoes, his eyes, his nose, feeling his soft peach fuzzy hair with my fingertips, making sure the blanket that wrapped him was not falling off his little frame.  I was enamored.  

I whispered to my mom, "Do you think that if his mom sees how much we love him, that she'll let us keep him?"

"No, Megan," she chided, laughing under her breath.  "That's her baby.  She would miss him too much."
"What if we promise to take really good care of him?"  I pleaded.

"No, Megan.  He has a family already." 

I could see her point.  No matter how much I argued, it wasn't going to change the fact that this Josiah didn't belong to me and I couldn't keep him. 

It's funny how I can now look back and see how rediculous I was for thinking I could keep this baby if I loved him more than his family.

But now when I ask the question for MY Josiah, it doesn't seem so silly. 
Maybe it should. 
Just a thought.

A visit from the case worker

Every month Josiah's case worker schedules a visit to our home to check up on him.  She is late about 98% of the time, has helpful information to share about 40% of the time, and she leaves me feeling depressed about 75% of the time. 

This particular visit: 
Late: No (surprise, surprise)
Helpful:  Yes (again, surpirsed)
Left me fee ling drpressed:  Most Definitely

So the latest is that Josiah's grandfather is still boiling mad.  He wants to see Josiah (which I don't blame him) and now he told the caseworker that he's ready to fight for him (which we knew.)  The question everyone is asking is where was he for the past 19 months?

The caseworker told us that the judge has ordered more "sibling time" for Josiah and David, which means basically we have no choice in the matter to share.  Now we have to agree on a time when he can go to the grandfather's house, and I told the caseworker that basically we need her as a go-between because they're not "hearing" what we have to say.  And because the grandfather has David and is licensed, there is no reason why he can't request overnight visits.  And the argument that, "It throws his schedule off" apparently isn't a huge priority.

(Ok people- you deal with a screaming 19 month old who is throwing a hissy fit because he is so tired because he hasn't had a nap and tell me that sleep and keeping him on a "reasonable schedule" is not a priority.)  

And here's the kicker.... So the case is going to go to trial on November 8th and the parents have 45 days to appeal.

"Then how long do they have after that?" I ask.

Answer:  "Oh...it can take up to two years."

Me: "TWO YEARS?!?!?!? He can seriously be 4 years old and they would STILL consider taking him from us at THAT point."

Caseworker. "Yep.  They will argue that they are family and it wasn't their fault that it took them so long to get certified."

Me:  "What about the bonding evaluation?  Isn't that supposed to mean something?"

Her:  "They will still try to argue it."

I think I went on a 10 minute venting spree about the unfairness of it all for Josiah's sake, and how we're just trying to be a normal family and how we feel that his family has taken advantage of us.

She nodded and listened and seems to be on my side.  Who knows at this point though?  I imagine she is the same way when Josiah's grandfather is talking to her.

I am frustrated.  Just when I think we're making headway and are sprinting towards the finish line...nope.  We're running a marathon with no end in sight.

We'll just keep plugging along and enjoying every step till we get there.... where ever "there" may be.  

Username and Password

Dear Readers,


Thanks to the brilliance of my blog friend, Megan, I created a username and password that all of those without gmail can use.  (You can use it if you do have gmail as well if you want.)


2 Rules .....


1- I ask that you do not share this username and password without asking first.  I will probably say yes, but I'd appreciate you asking.  :o)


2- If you would like to comment (which I always read and appreciate the feedback) please just leave your name since it will all come up as the same name and I won't know who you are otherwise.


Thank you all so much for continuing to read and for supporting us with prayer and encouragement!!!  :o)

Username:  PI.blogreader@gmail.com

Password:  psalm139

Blessings to you!

~Megan  

Love casts out fear

I am afraid.  Not of loss, because I know one way or another in my life I am going to experience it.  Death of loved ones, loss of children (whether it be them leaving for college, or getting married, or sooner), loss of jobs, friends moving away.  Life is not stagnant.  I am not immune from pain no matter how much I try to brace for it or visualize it so in that moment that it happens I will be fully prepared.  In the mean time, I can try to hold on to all that God has blessed me with and experience as much enjoyment and fulfillment that I can from it.

Only one thing can take that away: fear.

It's so silly how many times I've allowed fear to extract joy from my life.  There are things that I have not done because I am afraid of the feeling of emptiness when a phase of my life has ended.

For example, I didn't buy Molly a crib for months and months because I was afraid I would have to stare at Josiah's empty one when he would leave.  I put off buying her a new big-girl car seat because I didn't want to have to take Josiah's car seat out of the car.  I didn't buy her a high chair, because I didn't want an empty one in the dining room.  Do you see a trend here?  I know all of these purchases are financially practical things to think about, but the underlying theme exposes a much deeper issue, one that I am ready to finally face by giving "fear" a good kick in the rear by doing what I love most.

Since high school, my favorite artist has been Norman Rockwell.  (It was a sad realization when in art school, they told us he wasn't an "artist;" he is an "illustrator."  Bah humbug.  Whatever.)  I love the way he could capture so much more that what a person looked like.  He extracted a feeling of nostalgia or humor or sadness or joy the way only a real portrait painter can.  Artists who can capture a likeness of someone are a dime a dozen.  They sit in shopping malls or street corners in Central Park.  But a real artist, in my opinion, can make the viewer of the work of art feel the same way they felt when they made an image.  They can convey a message about what it is they are drawing or painting or sculpting.  After studying hundreds of images of Rockwell's Saturday Evening Post illustrations, I knew that someday I wanted to be a portrait artist.  Out of all the kinds of artwork I like to do, this is by far my favorite.

I love to draw faces.  For me, it is both the most difficult and most rewarding of challenges:  to make a two-dimensional surface reflect the most recognizable three-dimensional object.  It is such an act of worship for me- to try to duplicate only what someone looks like, at the same time thinking that my God- the Creator of the universe- knew exactly what this person would look like before He spoke them into being; He knew the sound of their voice, and everything they would accomplish in their life. As difficult as it is to put every feature exactly in the place it belongs in the perfect color, perfect shape, perfect shade... God has made each of these features function.  It was the only thing God made that he said was "very good."  He invites me to be creative by being inspired by the creation that He loves most. 

And there is nothing more than drawing a face that makes me realize how big God is and how big I'm not.  I can mix a color from tubes of paint to match the color of a person's eyes exactly, but I can not swirl my finger in wet soil, and apply it to a blind man's eyes so he can see. 

I've been drawing portraits as gifts and for commissions for a while now.  Pictures of babies, pets, siblings, wedding portraits, images of old men for retirement gifts.  I've done two portraits just for me, just because I wanted to.  They both hang in my living room.  

The first is a wedding portrait.  It was a portrait I couldn’t wait to do because I wanted it to show how excited I was to put on a white dress and pledge my forever to my best friend.  The style was based on this portrait by Da Vinci. 

I loved how the colors came out so much, I designed the color scheme of my living room around it. (It looks kind of mustardy here, but the color is actually applesauce cake by Behr.)

The second portrait was a study of Raphael Sanzio's Madonna of the Chair.  After my sophomore year in college, I saw this painting in the Pitti Palace in Florence, Italy and fell in love with it- the composition, the colors, the gentleness and compassion on Mary's face.  I love how obvious it is that she loves her chubby bambino.

As much as I love the image that hangs in my stairwell, it was the lessons that I learned while I painted it that I cherish most.  I went through a phase early in my art career that I made myself an apprentice to Renaissance masters.  I would copy their artwork as exactly as I could, and I would feel like they were looking over my shoulder, handing their tools and secrets directly to me.

  

The way my professor taught my painting class to paint people was to mix up all of the flesh tones first.  Before our paint brushes bridged palate to canvas, we used our palate knives to mix 96 different colors.  The process took 45 minutes.  Colors ranging from olives to deep blues to pinks perfect for lips and creamy yellows for around the eyes- all of the colors were there for when we were ready to apply them.

 It was when I was mixing up the flesh tones, ready to apply paint to Raphael’s most famous tando, while I was getting ready to apply the oils to the image that represented the Christ child, an overwhelming sense of awe struck me.  It was this truth:  Jesus put our skin on.  I know it sounds weird, and it is a truth I’ve heard thousands of times, but it was through this act of creation that this fact touched me so deeply, that all I could do was weep with thankfulness.  God loved us so much, that He let His son become one of us.  It seemed awfully blasphemous that the same colors I was painstakingly mixing that I’ve used to depict mortal men were about to be used to depict the image of Jesus.  I know it’s a strange choice of images to hang in a living room, but when I look at it, all I can think about is how much God loves me. 

Allllllll that to say, I love portraits.  I love what I learn about myself and my Creator when I am creative.  Ever since I started drawing when I was in 9^th grade, I was obsessed with drawing mothers and babies.  I couldn’t wait to draw my own babies, while matching the style of my wedding portrait, and thus completing the theme of “family room.”  Now that I have my own children, I have yet to let myself draw them.  Why?  Because there is a preciousness and permanency with portraits.  Photographs seem temporal to me- they can be put in frames and taken down as time passes.  And I do have photographs of my babies in my living room. 

It is fear that paralyzes me.  It is the fear that something I will spend hours on observing and recounting the minutest details of Molly and Josiah’s faces will someday need to be taken down.  The fear of taking Josiah’s portrait down because he won’t be in my home forever- that feeling of emptiness as I grab the edges of the heavy frame and remove it and look at a blank wall with an lonely nail sticking out- it seems overwhelming.  I can foresee the feeling of void and I am eager to stay as far away from it as possible.  

But recently, we’ve done a little furniture rearranging in the living room, exposing a bare wall. (A big  no-no in the home of an artist.)  The wall seems like it is gawking at me, begging to be filled with something precious.  I know what it is that needs to be there.  I have the frames.  I have the paper.  I have the pencils.  But I am afraid. 

But how silly it is to neglect doing something that I love so much and have looked forward to for so long in order to save myself from the possibility of pain!  Crazy, right? 

So I decided to write about it to convince myself how ridiculous I’ve been.  Mission accomplished.  And now I’m accountable.  Molly and Josiah’s portraits will be drawn, and I’m actually looking forward to it now...  because even though none of my children will live in this home permanently, the lessons that I learn about myself and my Creator while I draw their images will hopefully grace this home for a long time and remind me of God’s graciousness and loving favor. 

And when I'm done, I promise I will share the images (and the lessons I'll learn from them) with you.   


And P.S.....  While I was looking at the image of Mary today after writing this post, it seems to me like she is truly happy.  She is enjoying a precious quiet moment with her son.  She is extracting all of the joys of the moment and savoring them, though heartache and brokenness loom in her future.  I just thought that was cool.  Yay, God, for lessons from art!  

Hello, friends!

Welcome, faithful readers!  If you can read this- you are officially in the loop.  My blog can no longer be read by anyone who is not specifically invited to do so.  I'm so excited you want walk this journey with me.  If you know of anyone who would like to be included on this list, please let me know.


By the way, I'm sorry you all have to create gmail accounts to continue access after 30 days.  I didn't know that would happen.  If anyone knows of any other ways to protect this site without having to make you do something bothersome, please let me know!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

~Megan

Molly wanted to say hello too.  

A day's worth of insight

I must have rehashed the story of our day in court over a dozen times, to various people- friends, family, students, faculty, other families who foster, and a few DYFS workers.  I just need to process things.  Each time I tell it- the feeling of highest highs and lowest lows- I get more distance, more perspective, and I gain insight from the wisdom of others.

The most helpful advice was what Justin told me our pastor said to him.... that what we are dealing with is a man who is hurting.  He is hurting because his daughter made poor choices.  He is hurting because he finds himself in a situation as being a father instead of a grandfather to his grandson.  And he is hurting because the plans that he made for Josiah are crumbling before his eyes.  When I look at him in that way, I don't see him as someone who is accusing us of doing something wrong. I see him as a broken man, who has no one else to take his anger out on but us.  (Like they think we somehow rigged the bonding evaluation and made DYFS say that he should stay?)

It is uncomfortable to be the target of someone's ridicule when I know what we did was right:

We told the state that we had room in our home and love in our hearts to take in a child that didn't belong to us and treat him like he was our own.  

We went above and beyond the duties of foster parents and allowed that boy to visit with his biological family when it wasn't convenient or comfortable or necessary.

And when we felt that those visits were a detriment to the health of that boy and our family, we told the grandfather that we would be stopping the visits for a short time.

Now that DYFS has named us as the primary recommendation for permanency, all teeth are bared.  We always made it known to the family that want to keep him.  But they always laughed it off saying, "We know, but you can still be the godparents."  I'm sorry, that's a sweet gesture, but a lame consolation prize.  

I guess I never let myself think about what it would mean for Josiah to stay with us- that building our family would mean breaking someone else's.  But... someone's family was going to be broken.  If it is not ours, it is theirs; someone will arise victorious, the other defeated.  I don't want it to sound like whoever gets Josiah will be "winning," like he is prize to be fought over.  But most certainly, someone will be losing him.  I still don't want that someone to be us if God wants him to stay here.

I guess all we can do is keep praying that God's will will be done and be accepted by all parties involved.  In the mean time, the plan is to involve DYFS as a third party mediator in hopes of reconciliation when things cool off a bit.  In the least, Josiah should know his brother and if he is to stay with us, it will always mean we are somehow forever linked to this family.

We need to  "Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord." Hebrews 12:14

-------------------------------------------

So tomorrow is the big day.  I'll be officially signing off to the public.  I do want to invite you to still remain a part of this journey with us.  Please don't feel like by reading you are "stalking" us, even if I've never met you personally.  This is a story that needs to be told, and I am honored that you take the time to read it.  Please drop me a quick note (meganbenson81 at gmail dot com) and leave your email address, so I can still link you to our page.  I want to express my sincerest gratitude for all of the prayers and words of encouragement.  I feel honored that you are cheering for us on the sidelines from multiples states, countries, and continents.  Blessings to you all!  ~Justin & Megan, Josiah & Molly

Chapter 39: Bitter Sweet

Court was, as I suspected, awkward and uncomfortable with Josiah's family there.  Because we had told them that we were stopping visitation (Josiah going over to their house all day) for a short while until after this court date when we were going to revisit the issue, they were not too happy with us.  They avoided eye contact at all costs and there were a few polite "hello's" but nothing beyond that.... until it got worse.

We were called first and shuffled in like cattle into the court room.  Long story short, I heard the sweetest words I've ever heard uttered in court before when the DYFS side reported, "The bonding evaluation recommendation is for Talen to remain with the foster parents."


The victory was short-lived when I heard cursing come from Josiah's parents sitting at the table infront of us in the "important people" section, and his grandfather storming out of the court room in a huff and making a scene.  The aunt tried to stand up and defend herself and the judge wouldn't hear any of it.  I wanted to stand up and do a little happy dance, but I felt bad that it hurt the family deeply to even consider for a moment that their grandson/great-nephew might be better off staying with the people he knows as "mama" and "dada."

They scheduled another pre-trial case management court date for October 25th and the trial is still set for November 8th.  I don't think we're going to go to the next one....you'll see why in a second.

When we were leaving the court, the grandfather was sitting out in the hallway texting on his cell phone, so we rushed past him, thinking he didn't want to talk to us.  Then, muttering under his breath he says loud enough so we can hear, "Yeah.  Good Christian people."

Justin turns around and tries to defend us.  The grandfather's voice got loud, and we were accused of trying to keep Josiah from his family and now he is going to hire a lawyer to try to get custody.  It has gotten ugly.

Poor Justin beat himself up the whole way home wondering if what we did was right.  I tried reassuring him, "If someone was taking Molly, and she wasn't getting a nap the whole day, and we weren't told where she was going, would you allow visits to continue with her?"  He agreed that we wouldn't.  We really do try to have Josiah's best interest in the forefront of our mind, even if it is uncomfortable for us.

It is hard to have your character questioned, but it especially hurtful when you take the name of my Jesus and say it with disdain to label us as something we claim to be.  While I feel what we are doing is right, we aren't given the opportunity to defend ourselves, and I don't think we even should have to.

We are praying for wisdom.  Justin thought it best that because things have gotten ugly and may even turn into a custody battle, that I should no longer make my blog public for the whole world to see.  It pains me to do that.  I know that so many people pray for us and our sweet Josiah and I want to keep as many people possible in the loop so you know how to pray for us more specifically.  I also know that I probably share too much when it comes to legal stuff, and to protect us and Josiah, I know that Justin is right.

So starting Wednesday at 10:00 pm, I'm going to make my blog private.  HOWEVER, I would be HAPPY to give anyone access who asks for it.  I hope that this story and my struggle for finding God's will for our family inspires and sharpens your faith.  I want God to use our brokenness to heal others.  I covet your prayers on our behalf, but I also need to keep our family safe.

So I ask, that if you want access, please just shoot me an email.  It can be as short as, "I enjoy reading your story, and I will pray for you."  I thank you for your understanding and continued support for our family.    meganbenson81 at gmail dot com

Chapter 38: Pumpkin Picking and a Court Date

We have another court date tomorrow, Monday October 4th.  This is the last of the pre-trial court dates.  This is what has been described to me as "normal" court, meaning, "Nothing will happen, nothing will be decided, and nothing will be moving forward."  The judge just wants to see how things are progressing- what parties have performed court-appointed tasks such as visitation, drug testing, bonding evaluations, and counseling.

I have been told by the case worker that the aunt still isn't certified completely, which I'm not sure is true because we have broken some ties and created some "healthy boundaries" for our family.  I am anticipating things will be awkward waiting to go into court tomorrow if the family is there, so please pray that we are still able to maintain a Christ-like attitude and defend our decision (to keep Josiah on a reasonable schedule surrounded by familiar people) in a way that is God-honoring.

The next court date is November 8th, which that case will finally go into "trial", meaning that the state is moving to terminate parental rights for Josiah and his brother.  We are told after that, the family will have 3 chances to appeal the process that could stretch on another 5 months.  (Because apparently 2 years isn't long enough to establish that they are capable parents.)

We were given some encouragement from Josiah's law guardian on Friday when she assured us that the results from the bonding evaluation were weighted heavily in any decision that will be made.  In her words, "I don't see how the evaluation would show anything but him being bonded to you.  But who knows?  We never know what the judge will decide."

We thank you in anticipation for prayer on our behalf.  We know God is with us, and are eager to be used by Him, whatever His will may be for the future of our sweet boy.    

While we wait for His answer, we are filling our days with many precious family memories including pumpkin picking in Pop Pop's garden.

Josiah wanted to go shirtless like his cool cousins.  

Mi Mi and Josiah scoping out the Pumpkin Patch.  

Off to pick one...

Daddy and Josiah find just the right one.  

Pop Pop cuts the pumpkin loose! 

Molly finds her pumpkin... and Josiah.  

I think she is more concerned with getting her hands dirty.  

Playing drums.  

Decorating pumpkin cookies.  

And Josiah decorating his high chair WITH pumpkin cookies...

Happy Fall!

Psalm Twenty Nine: Your Mighty Voice Brings Peace

"The voice of the LORD is over the waters; 
The God of glory thunders.  
The LORD thunders over the mighty waters.  
The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars, 
The LORD breaks in pieces the cedars of Lebanon." v. 3-5


"The LORD gives strength to his people; 
The LORD blesses his people with peace." v. 11

Dear God, 

Your power can be seen through Your creation.  I hear your voice all around me.  It is amazing how even an utterance from Your lips can bring about change.  What a contrast to the blessing of peace that You bring to Your people!  But it is when we see this power and know that you have bestowed us with your strength that we can have peace in our hearts knowing You are in control.  10/27/09

I am fascinated by trees.  Justin and my littles and I live on a twenty-acre piece of land in a little 1850's farm house with thousands of trees as neighbors.  The trees tell the house's history.  Some have been planted by inhabitants of this home a few generations ago- the apple, pear, mulberry, cherry, and crab apple trees.  But most of the trees are a result of the natural cycle of the forest.  It is one of these trees that are my favorite.  On one of Justin and my first walks through our property, I came across this massive maple tree with the most magical curved limb jetting out of the bottom of the thick trunk.  I called it "our family tree" and I told Justin about how fun it would be to take family pictures by the tree every year, sitting our children in the crux of the curved limb and watching them grow along side of the tree.  I forget what he said, but I'm pretty sure he laughed and told me it was a good idea, just to appease me.        

I don't think a day goes by when I don't admire the trees that grow here.  Every morning, after breakfast and teeth brushing time,  I pack up Molly and Josiah in the double stroller and make a right out of my driveway.  Ten minutes later, we make a right into the driveway of  "Pop Pop" and "Gramby's" house.  The half-mile walk brings quiet and peace to an otherwise loud morning.  It is my favorite time to pray.  It is during these walks that I ask God to help me be observant- to hear what He would have me hear, to see me what He wants me to see, and to understand the lessons that He wants me to learn through His creation.

I can not count in innumerable times my feet have walked these same steps.  Having grown up on the same road my entire life, and living in this same small town with no sidewalks or stoplights, and no real place to go besides the town's general store and post office, most of my walks as a child were exactly this one: up and down Sooy's Landing Road.         

We pass two neighbors as we walk- one house on our right, and one on our left.  We pass a large field that usually have a herd of deer grazing.  I love watching their ears perk up and stare at us from 100 yards away.  Sometimes, they leap, tails waving like white flags of surrender in the air, and retreat in the woods if we look too menacing.  We see wild turkeys, squirrels, rabbits, sometimes a snake or two, turkey buzzards, chipmunks, red-tailed hawks, bluebirds, and sometimes even bald eagles.  I love this land.  I love knowing what things are- what songs belong to what birds, what leaves belong to what trees, what tracks in the sandy sides of the street belong to what animals.  

I think I'm this way because of my father.  If I ever don't know something- like what a certain bird is- I can tell him the exact color of its beak or tail feathers.  

"Burnt siena with a tiny bit ultramarine blue and ivory white," I'll say, trying to imagine swirling my brush into pools of liquid color to depict just the right gray.    

"Did it fly like this," he'll make an elegant rhythmic gesture with his two hands, thumbs intertwined.  

"Yes," I'll say.  

"Did it sound like this?" he'll whistle through his teeth in perfect pitch with the bird.  I'll nod affirmatively.  

"It's a ________" he'll say matter-of-factly.  I think he's most certainly right.  At least he says it with such confidence that I will have no reason to question him.  

He learned about the land and nature's inhabitants from his father, who learned it from his father, who learned it about it from his father, and so on and so on.  The Giberson's have lived on the same land since 1637.  (To put that into context, that's 140 years before the Revolutionary War.)  They settled in the town of Port Republic as Dutch shipbuilders. There are 13 generations of my family buried in the same graveyard, right next to the only church in town- the one I grew up attending, the place I was married.  

These generations all lived on this road, just like me.  There was a time when the road was a path cut into the woods that lead to the bay at the end of the road, and then it became a gravel road laden with horse's hoof prints, then a road with deep ruts made from carriages wheels, then a corrugated pot-holed dirt road for Model T's until it was finally paved in the 1940's.  It was painful for me to leave this place when I went away to college and for my first three years of marriage.  There was always something deep-rooted in me that knew I belonged here.  The nature that surrounds me here attests to that.  It is the same as me- unwilling to change unless acted upon by an unlikely outside force.

It is on our daily walks where the nature that surrounds me is predictable and unchanging from year to year, from decade to decade, from generation to generation.  Still, it is here that I ask God to reveal Himself, and I know that He hears me.  As leaves cling to their vibrant green of summer and warm air refuses to surrender itself to autumn, the change, I feel, is inevitable.  I find myself trying to brace myself and my family for the change I feel coming too.  

"Please, God," I asked as I glare at the dogwoods with disdain, the trees that seem the most willing to welcome fall. "I wish I was like a cedar tree.  I wish my family could stay the same from season to season.  I wish I could just keep growing without the constant hassle of harsher weather.  Can you please make my family immune from pain?.. from separation of the people they love?  Cedars are always together- springing up together in clumps and patches, the generations so evident as they plant themselves in concentric circles.  Can we please all be together like the cedar trees, growing up in the shadow of family?  That's the way I want it to be, as did generations and generations of family on this road have always been."

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, trying to push aside the feeling like God had other plans.  

God and I had this conversation a few days ago on one of our many walks together with the Josiah and Molly.  The answer I saw coming should have prepared me for what happened yesterday.    

Yesterday Justin came into the house to deliver devastating news.  My tree- our "family tree"- had been severed in a sudden gust of wind.  The very branch I was going to sit my children on year after year had been snapped off like it was a mere twig.    

I can not help think these instances are all linked together by a Divine thread, waiting until I could pull them taught and watch them fit together like three interlocking quilt squares.  

A tree that I named as "ours" over three years ago

A journal entry about a broken cedar tree written a year ago and

A prayer for permanency like a cedar tree a week ago

My tree.  My family tree.  Every tree on my property was left unscathed besides my favorite.  Why?  
I can not help but think it is God’s way of telling me that He is in control of who He will choose to sit on that branch- that permanency and security can not come close the feeling of peace that the King can give those who He chooses to endure brokenness for the sake of His own glory. 

 “The voice of the LORD twists the oaks

and strips the forests bare. 
      

And in his temple all cry, "Glory!"

 The LORD sits enthroned over the flood; 
      

the LORD is enthroned as King forever.

 The LORD gives strength to his people; 
      

the LORD blesses his people with peace.”

 v. 9-11

      

Blueberry Muffins

So things around the Benson household have been hectic and crazy with me going back to work.  I am loving the challenge of having to balance between being a good mom, wife, and teacher.  Here's how I rate myself so far.

Mom: A-
Wife: B- (maybe a C... I am a bit more cranky due to stress)  ...I'm working on it, Justin! ;o)
Teacher: B+

It's a learning process.  I find that the house has been cleaner, chores done sooner, and the quality of time I spend with my children has been better.  I will intentionally try to fit more in the day because I know I have less of it with them- more reading, more swinging on the hammock, more intentional play time, we take walks down the street to see Pop-Pop every morning, we have more giggles and tickles, and not to mention the absolute delight of seeing their faces when I get home.  It's nice to be able to miss them a little bit.

Perhaps my favorite part so far has been the prepping for Home Ec., which I've never taught before, and from which my family gets to reap the benefits.  Here was this morning's result of that...

*click*

Can I just take a minute to show you this amazing photo that Hannah took of my family?  I just love this. This is the epitome of my family to me.    

Messy.  

Confusing.  

Difficult to balance.

Requiring much patience.  

But oh so much love!  

This is exactly how I'm going to remember this season of my life.  

Thank you, Hannah :o)  

Grrrrrr says the momma bear

Josiah went to to his grandparents' and great-aunts' house again on Saturday.  They came to pick him up in the morning and then dropped him off later that day- an hour and fifteen minutes late.  I'm tired of the, "Oh look- he's running to his aunt!" kind of comments and I'm thinking, "No, he's not.  He's running to the driveway because he likes riding in the car.  He always tries to run in the driveway.  If you knew him, you'd know that.  But you don't."  

I'm so ready for this to be over.      

I ache for permanency for his family, for my family, for Josiah.  Until that happens, I really really don't want to be generous anymore and share him when it interrupts our life and more importantly, Josiah's schedule.   

I hate being the kind of person who has to say "no" to people (well- nagging Justin to say, "no," which is contrary to his generous and non-confrontational nature)... and therefore severing any kind of relationship we have tried to establish with Josiah's family.  But for the sake of trying not to torture my heart and make things harder for Josiah, that's exactly what we're going to have to do until the court says I have to do otherwise.  

Getting too involved goes into the "bad idea" column. 

But it leads me to this conundrum... 

When is being kind, and self-sacrificing, and generous, and loving, and giving outside of the will of God???  


When it hurts me too much to do so?  When it hurts the people I love most to do so?  


Oh please- I hope that's the exception. 


^"1Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, ²to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and to show true humility toward all men." Titus 3:1-2


Great. That's just peachy.   

A Year Ago Today...

A year ago today our sweet Molly Grace was born.  In some ways I can not believe an entire year has gone by since that day, and in other ways it seems worlds and worlds ago.  I can't begin to explain how blessed I feel to be her momma.

I spent far too long making a slideshow for her party- choosing just the right songs to say to her what I wanted to say-  and fiddling with effects of her pictures to help capture the feelings I feel about her.  Take a peek if you'd like.  It's about 13 minutes long- just to give you head's up.

Before you, Molly, good times never seemed so good.