Reflections, Part Five: Looking Ahead

     The term "looking ahead" has changed significantly in meaning for me as the years have passed:
Eleven years ago, when Mercy was born, the term "looking ahead" meant looking forward to a time when rest would be plentiful once again.
Nine years ago, when Nick was born, the term "looking ahead" meant praying that my children would grow into healthy, God-honoring adults.
Five years ago, when we first received the children under the foster-care arrangement, the term "looking ahead" became extremely blurry and associated with confusion.
Four years ago, when Lexy was born, the term "looking ahead" began to carry with it a knowledge that our family was not yet complete, even in spite of my medical limitations. Three years ago, when we adopted the five children, the term "looking ahead" carried with it a range of hopes and wishes, from hoping that I survived the present month to hoping that the adopted children would somehow grow up to become functioning members of society and that the biological children would not be damaged or scarred by the upheaval and turmoil.

     Today, the term "looking ahead" has a much different feel to it. Of course, I still long for days when rest will be plentiful (although I begin to wonder if such a thing exists outside of childhood), and I definitely hope that my children will grow into functioning and productive members of society! However, there is a new depth of hope and optimism regarding the future that was not there before. For most of my life, I have felt like I was simply surviving, a waste of oxygen and carbon. I felt restless, purposeless, and useless. I felt like a failure, especially during the foster and early adoption years. But now, that negativism has been displaced by a new optimism. I am beginning now to feel alive, to feel that I have some purpose, that I am accomplishing what I was put here to do. 

     I believe that each person on this earth has a God-given desire to know that they have a purpose, and to accomplish it. However, more often than not, we struggle with the overwhelming fear that perhaps we have no purpose, and begin to wonder if our lives mean anything at all. As a person who has struggled with this fear for much of my later childhood and all of my adult life, I have to realize that I will probably still have my moments of weakness, when the fear gets the upper hand in my heart and in my mind . . . but it is a major step for me to be able to honestly say that feeling useless and purposeless is now the exception rather than the rule. 

     In essence, it would be fair to say that through me, God gave my children a home, a family, and unconditional love; but He has used them to give me a purpose, a mission on this earth, a reason to be alive. I cannot say that giving me a purpose and fulfillment is more important than what I have given them, because I would never want to minimize or discount the pain and the heartache that came with being abused and abandoned. So I will say that God has given each of us a gift that is equal to the others; He has indeed given each of us the desires of our heart.

     Today, the term "looking ahead" means watching to see how each of us can grow and mature to live out our purposes, to walk in our gifts, and to glory in His amazing blessing on our lives. No matter how deep the darkness may be that we will have to walk through from time to time in the course of our lives, we look ahead to the light that draws us ever on, nearer and nearer to Him, the Author and Finisher of our faith.

     So here we reach the end of this series, and for the record, this has been my first attempt at such an endeavor. I hope to become a better writer as I get more and more practice . . . and that is where you can help me. If you have any comments or suggestions, please feel free to leave them here for me. Also, if you have any further questions regarding our adoption journey or anything else that I may be of any help to you with, please don't hesitate to ask! Thank you for reading my blog! 

Reflections, Part Four: Overcoming The Overwhelming Feeling Of Being In Over Your Head

     You stand at the edge of a deep, clear pool. You can see the bottom; it looks deceptively close. You repeat the words that you have said so many times to yourself: "I CAN do this! I WILL do this!" You look over the surface of the water, seeing the clear reflection of the morning sun. The water looks so inviting, so calm. The bed of deep blue beckons to you, promising a pleasant time in the cool water. So you take a deep breath, and plunge into the abyss.

     The first thing that strikes you is how far away the bottom really is. Then, looking up, you realize how far away the surface now is. Your feet kick in vain; there is no foothold, no handhold for you to grasp. For several dreadful seconds, you flounder in the water, going neither up nor down. The fear descends upon you like a leaden weight chained to your heart. You panic; for a moment, you cannot even think, cannot rationalize. Then the thought comes, "How could I have been so foolish to think I could do this? I'm going to die here." But slowly, from somewhere deep within, the urge to fight comes back to you. You remember to kick your feet and paddle your arms, and slowly, very slowly, you begin to rise to the surface. At last, you break through, and inhale a lungful of delicious oxygen. But just as a feeling of victory is bubbling up, it is replaced by surprise and confusion, as once again, your head sinks below the surface. You don't understand. "I thought I had beat this", you think to yourself in anguish. You try kicking and paddling again, and find yourself moving toward the surface once again. Little by little, you learn how to balance the kicking with the calm, the fighting with the giving; you eventually realize that it is only in the balancing of the two extremes that you will keep your head above water. 

     The scenario described above is something that I believe many people can relate to. Most of us have felt that drowning sensation in the midst of overwhelming circumstances. When the children came back to us after that year of being away, there were a number of things that had to be dealt with, and all in a certain order. I have explained in previous posts about these things, especially concerning the emotional issues that the children struggled with. I suppose working full time made it a little easier to put off the knowledge that I was in over my head, but it was short-lived. The month after the adoption was finalized, I resigned my position at the assisted living facility and became a stay-at-home mommy. It was shortly after this that I began to realize the enormity of the change. No longer was I able to put any distance between myself and the chaos at home. No longer was I able to make myself believe that it would "work itself out". And right in the thick of it, I ignorantly decided to potty train the two youngest - who were six months apart - at the same time. That was like going from a bad storm to a hurricane!

     I remember one particular day in November. We had been potty training for a couple of months, but Camrie was having some serious stubbornness issues and was frequently ignoring her body cues in favor of watching television or playing, resulting in several unnecessary accidents each day. That time of the year was also an emotional challenge for Jymmi because of certain things from her past, and she was acting out in ways that surprised and angered me. That evening she blew up, Camrie had her third accident of the day, and the other children were complaining about having to clean the kitchen after dinner. I remember feeling my face getting hotter, and feeling like something inside me was going to explode. I grabbed my phone and walked outside. I sat on the porch and called my mother. When she answered, I was crying so hard I could not speak at first, but I finally got it out: "I think this was a mistake." It was the first time I had allowed myself to give a voice to that feeling, but it had been haunting me for several weeks. I talked with her for nearly an hour. When we hung up, I did not feel any more comfortable with my situation, but I felt more purposeful about it. My mother reminded me of what God was trying to do, and of what my role was in the overall plan. So over the next several weeks, I grappled with the question of whether or not I truly believed in my heart that it had been a mistake for us to take the children. I weighed it out, looked at it from both sides, and in the end, I had to admit that, although it felt like a mistake, it was the right thing for us to do. That was one of the major milestones in my faith, when I actually purposed to believe in something that I neither saw nor felt.

     I was not only emotionally overwhelmed, but I was also overwhelmed with the natural changes that had to be made in our day to day lives. We were living in a 1200 sq. ft. mobile home. We had four children in each of two 8x10 bedrooms, and my husband and I shared the master bedroom with all of the furniture, boxes, and miscellaneous items that had been in the spare bedroom. Our living room also served as the children's "shoe depot" as they had no room in their tiny closets for them. Our kitchen was also our dining room, schoolroom, and home library. With two tables (because we could not fit the whole family at one), two refrigerators, two trash cans and three small bookshelves, there was barely room to cook anything. Our laundry room was little more than a closet; in order to keep a laundry hamper in there with the washer and dryer (since there was no space for it in either bedroom or the bathroom) we had to block off the back door. With only two bathrooms in a house with ten people, there was no such thing as privacy. It took nearly half an hour just to get everyone pottied and changed each morning because we had to do it in shifts. At every birthday (which we had at least once each month except for November and December), we had to go through the toys and books and find things to give away to make room for the new gifts. It was very difficult for all of us, and grace was in very short supply.

     As the endlessness of my new situation finally rolled out before me, I began to feel overwhelmed. This was the crisis point that I believe everyone faces at some point. Depending on the individual circumstances, it may be reached sooner or later, but it always comes. It is at this moment that the real decision is made. Our initial "decision" to adopt the children was borne out of a knowledge of right and wrong, but it took reaching the crisis point to make it become a decision of the heart. We had agreed to something that we did not fully understand, so the depth of commitment was lacking. When we reached the crisis point, it forced us to make a new decision right in the middle of the darkest part of our adjustment period. Our eyes were opened now to what we were really facing. With our knowledge of right and wrong still there to guide us, and with our faith in our God Whom we knew is much bigger than our problems, we were able to dig our heels in much more deeply and face the issues head on. Like a battle-cry from a weary soldier, our new commitment came straight from the gut, not with joy and butterfly feelings, but with fortitude and determination.

     After we renewed our decision to unite our family, the feelings of being overwhelmed slowly began to give way to peace and contentment. A new sense of "normal" crept in slowly, and caught me unawares. One day, about eight months after the adoption, my husband arranged for us to go on a special date. My parents came and took the children in our van to their home to spend the night. I had three hours or so before my husband would get home from work. At first, I was ecstatic, but within thirty minutes, I was beside myself with boredom. I simply did not know what to do with myself, and I missed the children terribly. I was struck by the sudden realization that I no longer felt overwhelmed by the daily responsibilities of caring for them; I needed them, and I enjoyed their company. When the change took place, I cannot say, but I know that it did. Learning to trust God with outcomes that appeared to be hopelessly lost was not easy, but it bore some pretty amazing fruit.

     When you see a child every day, you do not notice their growth for a long time; when you meet them again after a time of separation, their growth and maturation astounds you, and you find yourself thinking, "When did he get so big?" That's always how it is when I look to see the work that God is doing. Perhaps I am too busy to notice, or perhaps the daily activities of life with a large family get in the way, but I can never see God at work so clearly as I can when I look back over a period of time. Comparing the current behaviors and reactions to those of the past always gives me a shock; there is such a stark contrast each time. However, having had experience now, I rest much more easily, knowing that He is working, even when I'm not aware of it. I no longer fall to my knees and cry out in desperation, "Father, why won't You move in our lives???" Instead, I now cry out, "Father, give me the eyes to see Your Hand at work, and the ears to hear Your Voice, and the heart to understand Your purposes!!" There are many things about me that have grown and matured since we adopted the children, but out of them all, I think my faith has grown and matured the most. It's such a coincidence - or maybe not at all - that I used to pray for exactly that: for my faith to grow.

     In my next and final post of this series, I will discuss the matter of looking ahead, and then I will open it up to anyone who may have questions or suggestions of any nature . . . who knows, perhaps I will find a new topic to blog about! 

      
    

Reflections, Part Three: Fighting With Devils (2)

    
     In my previous blog, I highlighted some of the issues that the children were facing as they struggled to adjust to all the changes in their new lives. Now, I would like to discuss some of the issues that I was facing. Let me forewarn you: I am going to be very open and honest with you. There are only a couple of areas of my behavior in which I do not look back with regret. It was very difficult for all of us, and we all made mistakes. As I have taken the liberty to divulge some of the children's mistakes, I must now divulge some of my own.

     In many ways, the whole process of becoming one family was like a battle. It felt like a battle for many months. I was fighting battles with children, spouse, and self, but I was also fighting battles with Satan. Every demon that he could send our way, he did: demons of envy, contention, mistrust, lying, cheating, stealing, cursing, disrespect, anger, and on and on and on the list went. I was battle-fatigued by the end of the first week. How I made it through those four months when they first came to stay with us, I have no idea, except to say that I felt like I was a dead person walking, but each morning, somehow, I still woke up and had to endure another day. There was very little joy; there was very little of anything other than exhaustion by the fourth month.

     The first major issue that I suffered from is the one that I denied the longest, and the one that I am most ashamed of now, but it must be faced. I struggled with intense anger and indignation because I had to suffer because of someone else's mistakes. Someone else had abused and mistreated these children, and yet I was the one suffering for it. I was angry with their biological parents for causing the issues in the first place. I was angry with the children for taking out their anger, fear, and mistrust on me, although I had done nothing to make them afraid or angry. I was even angry with my husband, because the children had come from relations on his side of the family. I hated myself because it seemed like such a cowardly thing to be struggling with these feelings. Unfortunately, the feelings did not fade until after they were taken to foster care and I went into the hospital to stay, but by then, it was too late.

     When the children came back to us a year later, the feelings began to surface again when all the issues started coming out full force. It was very hard for me to deal with them all. The first thing I had to do was admit the feelings to myself; I had to own up to my struggles. Then I began to repent. After that, each time I found those feelings bubbling up, I prayed something like this: "Father, I know that You understand this feeling. Jesus suffered and was sentenced to death for the mistakes that others had made. So I'm asking You now to give me grace for this situation. I have tried on my own to forgive and to let go of my anger, but I have no ability to do it. So I'm asking You to do it for me. I want to change, to be different, and I need You to help me." Over time, those words sank into my heart, and my perspective began to change. Today, any time an issue from the childrens' past comes up, I am able to process it in a more appropriate way. Thankfully, God heard my prayers, and He changed my heart, although it took several months. If you are struggling with the feelings of indignation and anger, as I was, I would encourage you to begin to take it to the Lord in prayer each time those feelings begin to come up. I would also encourage you to be patient and wait on the Lord; do not give up hoping in Him.

     The next issue that I faced was hardly a surprise to anyone but me. I suffered from anger. It had been hinted to me before by well-meaning family members that I had "anger issues", but that only made me, well, angry. However, when the children came to stay with us, and all the patience and grace that I had tried to muster up within myself failed, my anger came out like a tidal wave that had no end. I had not ever been prone to raging tantrums, but quickly found even the slightest provocation speeding toward that very unbecoming place. I often felt that I lost complete control, that I had no more ability to so much as lower my voice than I had to reverse time and avert the incident altogether. When people would say, "Yes, you do have control, you are just choosing not to use it," it stung me badly. I knew that they were right, but I also knew that this was a much different battle than your typical, "Just take a deep breath and count to ten" situation. This was more of a "fall flat on your face and beg God to put His Hand over your mouth" type of situation. People describe those who get angry easily as having a "short fuse". Well, I had no fuse whatsoever. Every moment that I was awake became a torment for me. My spirit was constantly striving to be better, to speak more gently, to be more patient, but my flesh was stronger. Always, my flesh was stronger. I cannot recall very many nights that I did not cry myself to sleep because I knew I had utterly failed that day. Perhaps God allowed me to be given such a heavy burden so that I would finally see the truth of my condition and turn it over to Him to be washed and cleansed. I can tell you for sure that I had never been so aware of my shortcomings as I was during those months, nor had I ever truly taken them before Him until then.

     When I stated earlier that I felt like a dead person walking, I was not exaggerating by any means. In fact, it almost does not even feel like a strong enough analogy. I was completely numb, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I wanted so badly to take a break, but I could not, for a few reasons. The most important reason was that the State of Texas said the children could only be with "approved" persons, which amounted to my husband and me, and my parents. With each one of the aforementioned people working a full time job except for me, it was obvious that my breaks would be very few and far between. Add to that the fact that I felt guilty for asking anyone to watch the children, being that it was such an enormous task to feed them, clothe them, monitor them, and deal with the inevitable meltdowns and fighting matches between them. I felt that if I could just barely manage them, then it was not right for me to ask someone else to try to do it. The end result was not very pretty, I am afraid. When I became overwhelmed, which was usually at least once each evening, when the frustration of dinner preparations, homework assignments, potty training accidents, and dealing with a colicky baby were at it's peak, I would run out the door and down the street. I was 5 months pregnant at the time, and usually wound up running barefoot, with no coat or sweater in the middle of winter, to an open field a few hundred yards from our house. There I would sit and look up at the stars and scream my frustrations to God. My heart was being torn apart. I simply could not bear up under such a heavy load. But the cries of Savannah, who would come stand at the door and scream after me, would reach my ears and pierce my soul, and with what felt like the weight of a thousand worlds on my shoulders, I would get up and trudge back to the house and try again. By the time I was hospitalized, I was completely fatigued, my physical and emotional reserves, depleted.

     I cannot explain why it was different the second time around, but I never again felt as drained as I had during those four months. Somehow, a change took place in the year that they were in foster care. It was as if God used those first four months to show me that I could not depend on my own strength. When He saw that I was finally ready to accept that, He began showing me His strength and His ability to meet my every need. By the time the children came back, I knew better than to believe that I could handle it on my own, which was exactly where I needed to be, spiritually, so that He could be glorified in our situation. His strength and His grace were definitely sufficient for us, as we seemed able to handle things more easily than before. Of course, we still struggled with certain issues; I still struggle with anger even today. The difference is that today, our home life is more characterized by laughter and love for each other than by strife and contention.

     If, during those first four months, you had asked me if we were considering adopting the children, I might have rent my garments and lay in sackcloth and ashes at the suggestion. I was not ready for it, even though my spirit knew that it was inevitable. If you are in a situation where your spirit is telling you one thing, while your mind, body, and emotions are telling you something different, please know that I understand that place. It is a very hard place to be - but it can be endured. I encourage you to try to see yourself in my situation, regardless of how the individual circumstances may differ. Surely we all know what it feels like to face a giant that seems immovable. Let me remind you, though, that God is the Mover of the immovable. He redeemed my tattered emotions, my broken body, and my scattered family. He can redeem yours, too, if you will wait on Him. With His help, you can conquer the devils that are tormenting you. 

       

Reflections, Part Two: Fighting With Devils (1)

     As I stated in Reflections, Part One, I would like to go more in depth regarding some of the issues that the children were facing when they were initially removed from their home and placed with us, and then when they were removed from foster care and placed back with us again.

     As you can probably imagine, the events leading up to the removal, and indeed, the removal itself, was very traumatic for them, as it would be for anyone. One of the children later described it as a "death", the same feeling one experiences at the passing of a loved one. All of their memories, their family, indeed, their entire lives seemed snatched away from them. When the events that precipitated their removal took place, nearly all the children were asleep. When they woke up, they did so to sirens, policemen, neighbors and a CPS worker. They were all told to pack a few changes of clothes quickly, and just like that, without even a chance to ask why, they were hurried out the door and to a safer environment. That, of course, is not to say that the rushing and the hurried preparations were uncalled for. They certainly were, but for a very young child, such an event is very, very traumatic. They were given no opportunity to ask questions, and they felt afraid to ask the ones that were forming in their young, confused minds. All they knew for certain was that their lives had been turned upside down. Everyone felt it, from the oldest down to the four week old infant.

     One thing that I heard over and over again was, "Well . . . at least the baby will be too young to remember any of it, so it probably won't hurt her like it will the older ones." There was a time when this sort of logic would have made some sense to me, but I now know better. Almost immediately, Camrie began having colic. She cried incessantly, many times even though she was being held. She refused to take naps, and she did not sleep through the night until she was four months old. She consistently fell behind in the "milestones" that doctors check and record during check-ups. When I began having severe pregnancy complications, I was hospitalized permanently (until Lexy was delivered), and the children went into foster care. Camrie was five months old at that time, and still had neither smiled nor laughed. When we got them back about one year later, she had several psychological issues, including an obsession with women's body parts, an obsession with putting her fingers in people's mouths, an obsession with eating non-food items, and a refusal to speak. In addition to all this, she suffered from extreme fear, and resisted bonding with me. It took about two full years before something clicked in her mind, and she began to behave normally. Today, she is nearly five years old and is a very happy, healthy child. She still suffers from a few minor quirks, but they are very small and insignificant compared to what they used to be.

     Savannah had some serious issues too, but they mostly all related to her extreme fear of being left alone. When they first came to us, she walked everywhere with her shoes in her hand and cried when we made her put them down. She screamed, and I mean screamed, each time anyone walked in the direction of the door, clearly terrified of being left behind. Most disturbing of all were her very frequent night terrors. At least 4 times a week, she would wake the entire house with her screaming, and we'd find her tucked away into one corner of the room. It typically took a few moments to calm her down. During those moments, she recognized no one and seemed to hear nothing we said. Any attempts to hold her or pick her up resulted in her hitting and kicking to get away. When at last
she started to "come out of it", the first thing she always said was, "Why am I here? I want to go home." She was two years old. When they came back to us the second time, the night terrors were gone, but her fear was as alive as ever. She would begin trembling if I even just looked at her, and would frequently start crying when I called her by name. The crying wore off within the first month or two, but the trembling never fully went away. To this day, she trembles violently when she has done something wrong and we have to discuss it, and when she's learning how to do something, such as tying her shoelaces, and makes a mistake. We've had many, many discussions about it, and there have been countless reassurances made, but the trembling is just something she has not yet been able to overcome.

     Lizzy was the trouble child when they first came to us. She was the thoughtless, careless bully of the bunch. Over the years, we've had many chances to discuss these things, and I have come to realize that her behaviors were her way of trying desperately to gain control of a situation in which she had none. Today, she does not remember many of the things she said and did to the other children, and she cries if anyone mentions the way she used to behave. We do not ever talk about it anymore; there is no need. She is completely a night-and-day-different child than she was then. I discuss this now in an attempt to help any parent who is currently dealing with a similar situation to understand that they are not alone, for it is that feeling of utter isolation that makes a situation such as this so difficult to endure. For those four months that the children initially stayed with us, Lizzy's behavior was horrendous. I constantly received calls from the school, saying that she "fell asleep" in class and refused to wake up. She often refused to respect the teacher and the other students. She stole things from other children's backpacks, and in fact, frequently "stole" things from others in our family, hiding them under her pillow or in her book bag. She was six years old, but she had all the cunning of a twenty-six year old sociopath. She constantly manipulated the others to do what she wanted them to do, often times telling the younger children that if they did not comply, she would call "the people" to come take them away from their families. She lied without remorse, cried only if she thought it would get her something, and intentionally tried to make the other children miserable. When she was placed in foster care, these behaviors caused such problems that her doctor prescribed a very powerful anti-psychotic medication for her - in fact, when I researched that medication, it plainly stated that it was not recommended for use in children. The first thing I did when they came back was find a different doctor for her and begin the process of weaning her off of that medication, which took four weeks.

     Although things never got as bad as they were before, she did still exhibit some of her old behaviors, especially the lying and the bitterness. I was committed to helping her overcome these issues, and I distinctly remember the day the bitterness broke. She and my biological daughter, Mercy, who is 3 months older than Lizzy, had been having some sort of disagreement. I spoke to both of them privately about it, but when I was speaking to Lizzy, she began to cry, and finally, out of frustration said,  "Well, I'm trying really hard to be just like Mercy but it doesn't work!!" I felt that "Aha!" moment as I realized I had found the key to her bitterness. I asked her why she wanted to be just like Mercy, and the answer confirmed everything: "Because I already know that's what you want from me!" She looked so angry, so defiant, but so hurt. I gently said, "Lizzy, I already have one Mercy. I don't need another one. I want you to be you. It's ok for you to like different things than Mercy does, to wear different things than she does, and to do different things than she does. I need you to just be Lizzy. I want you to be different than Mercy." I watched something inside her break down, and her attitude was seriously different from that day on. Several months later, we were discussing it, and she told me, "I hated myself, because I knew I was always doing bad things. That's why I couldn't stand Mercy, because all she did was remind me of how bad I really was. And I always wished that she would get in trouble so that I wouldn't look so bad." Perhaps I was too busy or too preoccupied to truly understand, although it seems so obvious to me now. Three years later, she is a very truthful, very intelligent, and very compassionate girl of 11, and she and I share a very special bond which I would not trade for anything.

     Daniel was a different story altogether. He was very quiet, almost apathetic. It did not matter if things were falling apart or if we had just experienced a miracle - his facial expression almost never changed. He rarely looked angry, and he rarely looked happy. He was just there, biding his time until he would be going home. Most of his issues, oddly enough, seemed to stem from his academic issues. He was very far behind, and he was told there was little hope of him catching up. This negativity overflowed into every other area of his young life; he was always too afraid to try anything challenging. He resisted challenges like the positive end of a magnet opposes a negative end. He would say and do anything to get out of it. Unfortunately, at that time, trying to talk to him about it was futile. He merely nodded nonchalantly, and then went off into his own world. When they came back to us a year later, he was still expecting to go back to his biological parents and was absolutely devastated when he at last realized that it was not to be. Shortly after this realization, he began having flashbacks of the abuse that he had witnessed and endured while living with his biological family. This resulted in him having an unhealthy obsession with Jymmi. He needed to be with her constantly, cried when he had to sleep in a separate room from her, got upset when he had to go play with the other children, began to say that he wanted to be just like her, and in fact, began to take her authority over mine. Jymmi had been the person who mostly took care of him when he was younger, so I understood this natural reaching out that he was doing. It was a long and unpleasant task to get him to realize that what he was doing was unhealthy. He refused, at first, to believe that there was anything wrong with it. We had many discussions, and eventually I began to see a change in him, although it would be nearly two and a half years before he would completely relinquish his dependency on her. When we discussed it again recently, I asked him what had helped him change. He said that he had always thought, "Jymmi was the only one who took care of me". But he had come to realize that there were many people who had cared for him and loved him. He had been only wanting to recognize Jymmi because he was afraid to let go, since she was the only attachment to his old home that he had left. But eventually, he realized he did not need that attachment anymore, and was able to let go of his dependency. Today, his closest sibling is his younger brother Nick, who absolutely loves and adores him.

     Although Jymmi's story is facinating, I will not share it here. I feel that it would be too much an invasion of her privacy, as she was much older than the others and suffered from issues of a more sensitive nature. Perhaps in time, she may be comfortable enough to allow a candid discussion, and at that time, I will share her journey through the time that she was with us.

     In my next blog, I will discuss my perspectives, both then and now, and how I dealt with all the turmoil and confusion as we all tried to adjust to this enormous change.

Reflections, Part One: A Look Back

     On the fifteenth of August, our family celebrated our third Forever Day. I feel that this is a good time to take a step back, to reflect on all the changes that these three years have brought.

     At this time in 2008, the children had been back with us for five months. The idea of being adopted took some time for them to get used to, as they had been led to believe that coming to our house was the final step before being reunited with their biological mother. In fact, there were a great many details concerning their future that had been withheld from them. I discovered quickly that they were completely unaware of many facts that I had been privy to. My first order of business was the unpleasant task of aquainting them with the facts. Gentle as one may try to be, ugly truths cannot be made beautiful. We took a few weeks to share the most important aspects of what was now their reality. Many, many family discussions, countless hugs, endless tears, and a plethora of sleepless nights accompanied those few weeks, but at last, the children all understood that they, in essence, had become orphans.

     Then came the first awkward, and ultimately unsuccessful, attempts on my part to bring healing from the abandonment that they felt. It would take a couple of months before I would realize that no matter what I said, no matter what I did, and no matter what I gave . . . I could not make their pain lessen, let alone, go away completely. That was the beginning of my personal education on healing - it is God's business, and His business alone, to bring healing. I may be an instrument, but healing does not, will not, and cannot come from me.

     Once the painful facts were out in the open, we needed to discuss the idea of making them a permanent part of our immediate family. This was a decision that we forced on none of them, although a fitting argument to the contrary could be made in the case of Camrie and Savannah, who were 18 months and 3 years old, respectively. We asked Savannah if we could be her mommy and daddy, to which she gave a playful nod, then continued playing with her stuffed animal. For Camrie, I held my arms out to her and asked, "Come to Mommy?" Of course she came, and I figured that would be the closest we could get to a consent from her. For the older three, however, it was quite different. One child enthusiastically shouted, "YES! I don't EVER want to go back to her again." We found later that her young ears had been subjected to an unhealthy dose of disparaging remarks regarding her biological parents in the time that she was away from us. I made a mental note to discuss this with her at length when the timing was more appropriate. Another child simply cried out in despair, "But I really wanted to go back home!" Before the end of that discussion, however, he accepted the reality and said he would prefer adoption over having no parents at all. The third child seemed a mixture of the two. While she plainly did not want to return to her prior home, neither did she want to be adopted. She wanted to simply be left alone, to be who she was - nothing more, nothing less. We told her that no decision needed to be made immediately. After a few days or so, she overcame her fears and chose in favor of the adoption.

     The next task at hand was the issue of choosing names. It was agreed upon by all that the names of the youngest two would definitely be changed, as they had been given namesakes that brought up painful memories for the older children. The oldest also expressed a desire for a name change, as she, too, carried a namesake which brought up ties to her former family. Another one, not wanting to be left out, expressed a desire to change her name to anything and everything, from Dynasty to Victoria. The one remaining child resisted any changes, save the addition of a middle name. None of them had a middle name, and all wanted one. There was some awkwardness over the change in the last name. None of the children really seemed comfortable with it at first, but, alas, that was the one name that HAD to change! Eventually, the awkwardness wore off, and it became a non-issue.

     Although our adoption was still nowhere near being finalized, we realized the importance of beginning to gently insist on the use of the new names, including our "new" names as "Mommy" and "Daddy". This took a lot of time. The words seemed foreign, forced, even disgusting at times as all the emotion and turmoil from such tremendous change was poured out. It was not easy to constantly remind someone, "That's not their name anymore" or "That's not what you should call me anymore" in the middle of disagreements - which occurred frequently. Nor was it easy for me to think of myself as their "Mommy" and of my husband as their "Daddy". I don't look back on that time with much regret though, because I feel that God poured out His grace in a very special way on all of us. I felt that He kept a good control on my words and my emotions during that time of transition and adjustment so that the children would not experience any more hurt than they already were by any insensitivity or ignorance on my part.

     Throughout all of this, I was also working full time. That was usually the hardest part of my day; leaving to go to work, knowing that they were left with a babysitter who was probably so overwhelmed she didn't even know where to begin trying to deal with the issues that were constantly surfacing. Phone calls and trips home were more frequent than I desired, but I was very blessed to be in a work situation that could allow it.

     At last, our court date was set, and when August 15th finally arrived, we were a tentative, yet happy group. We were unified at last . . . and then came "life after happily-ever-after". At this time three years ago, we were still so awkward as we were learning how to deal with the logistics of having a family of ten. Things rarely went smoothly, and six weeks after the adoption was finalized, I resigned from my job and became a desperately-needed stay at home mommy. I faced an onslought of issues that had not been dealt with, due to my absence from the home, but I put my game face on and began to wade into the deep, tackling things as best I could.

     At this time three years ago, I was extremely over-whelmed, and was seriously (though very painfully) considering that it may have all been a big mistake. My edurance and my determination had been depleted during the previous five months, and I was just at this time beginning to get my first slippery grasp on just what a huge, life-altering decision we had made. I was not quite to the stage where I realized that I had actually "gotten in over my head", as the old saying goes, but I was not far from it. I was still clinging to an ever-dimming belief that I could rally my strength and make it through. It was not until I stopped working and began staying home that I passed through that very dark place, although that is a topic for another blog.

     I am happy to report now, however, that the doubts and the confusion have completely disappeared, along with most of the issues that were so overwhelming in the beginning. In future blogs, I will discuss these things at length, but for now, suffice it to say that they are resolved and, as my husband sincerely remarked as we celebrated our third year together as a "Forever Family", I wouldn't have it any other way.