On this particular Saturday, one of my kids had a really bad attitude. This is not an abnormal part of parenthood in general, or in our house really. Kids, like many adults, can harness their inner jerk on the drop of a dime if the situation suits them. But this particular kid on this particular morning was going for snark like it was going out of style over the teeniest little thing. By some miracle, I was able to call her out on it without losing my temper. I asked her what was wrong to which she replied “NOTHING” with one of the most exaggerated eyerolls known to mankind. Being theatrical is something all of my children have in common, blood relation or not. This earned her a trip to her room with the reminder she could either talk to us about it or keep it to herself, but treating people poorly was not an acceptable choice. I encouraged her to find an outlet that wasn’t a human punching bag and blow off some steam.
We continued about our morning cleaning, holiday prepping and planning for the coming week, while internally bracing ourselves for whatever trauma-triggered storm we were likely heading toward. About 40 minutes after being sent to her room, our daughter came to find us and quietly asked if she could talk to me. Ray took over munchkin duty for the toddler and I sent up a quick prayer for the strength to keep things from escalating. This was new territory. I was suspicious, so we headed on up to her room, hunkered down in her big bed, and I waited. I waited much longer than I thought I would have to, but at this point the lack of escalation was intriguing me so I gave her the silence and the time to gather her words.
I wasn’t ready.
“I think the presents under the tree are triggering me.”
If there are miniature “at light speed” conversations with God, be assured I had about 50 of them before I opened my mouth to speak. What do you even say in answer to that statement? It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a stated fact either. It was a brave leap taken by my child to see if I could help her fit the pieces together with the small bits she’d figured out on her own. She was asking me for help without asking.
I wasn’t ready. I’m fairly certain I opened my mouth just to close it again at least 10 times.
Instead of talking, I decided to lift my arms in an invitation because I couldn’t find the right words. She leaned in, accepting the comfort, and we just sat together. I imagine she was playing whatever memories she was having on repeat while I was preparing to hear whatever she needed to share. She went on to tell me of her memories of Christmases past. The good and some of the bad. She shared her pain. The pain that comes with missing her biological family and also the pain that comes with comparison, maturity, and memory. The then vs. the now and all of those complicated emotions that are just so big for a 14 year old.
In the midst of trying to help her with those complicated emotions I found myself dealing with some of my own. The truth of foster care is that they don’t remove children from homes unless it is really, really bad, you guys. Really bad. The truth of foster care is my children needed us only because someone else wasn’t able or willing to be mom and dad for them at that time, and, in our kids’ case, beyond. The truth of foster care can be ugly and lined with more ugly that can make you want to scream at God for allowing it to happen.
But in that moment, my daughter didn’t need me to be upset about the truth of foster care. She didn’t need me to champion her in a court battle or stomp out into the ugly and fight it back for her or scream to the heavens about how incredibly unfair it was.
In that moment, my daughter needed me to accept what was and love it. Because she loves it. She loves them and she always will love them because they are hers. They are a part of her story, her narrative, for better or for worse. They have played a part in who she is, and who she will be some day despite the hardship or pieces I will always struggle to forgive. But because she loves them, she needed me to love them too. So I could understand her, and help her, as she worked to put all those pieces into the right places.
So in that moment, even though I had plenty I wanted to say, I told her about how cool it is she gets to have more than one mom. I told her how special it was she spent some early years with one mom, and the later years with another. I told her sometimes I get sad I didn’t get to experience her first birthday or her first words, but I get excited about teaching her to drive and helping her apply for college. I explained it can be hard to have a story that doesn’t look like everyone else’s, but that her story is a beautiful one full of people who love her. I pointed out how cool it is that she lives with 3 other people who have more than one “mom” in their life (the wonder in that is not lost on me) and who can commiserate on how weird life can be sometimes. And I told her I was especially grateful I got to share her with someone who loved her enough to wish for the best for her, even if achieving that meant seeking out another family for her to be a part of.
It isn’t what I wanted to say. The human and the mama bear in me has a lot of really petty and angry things that still need to be dealt with. But by whatever graces were flowing through that room in that moment, I was able to stifle my own needs and focus on hers. It wasn’t a perfect holiday season this year: We still had challenges and rough patches, but it was the best one we’ve had in the 5 ½ years we have been a family. I can’t claim it all had to do with this conversation, but I do think this was a tipping point for our family this year. It kicked off a season of awareness, and acceptance, which brought with it a cautious understanding. With that understanding, love seemed to grow bigger and stronger. Big enough that even the resentment felt towards adults we wish had done better began to subside and make room for love.
This love we have for these children requires a death to our personal ideas of love, family, justice, and holding a grudge. Nothing that happened in these children’s lives changes their desire to love and be loved by their biological family. Nothing that happened in these children’s lives before they came into our home just goes away because they live here now. They aren’t a before and after. They are a full person with a past and present that is constantly with them, affecting them, changing them, influencing them. Our love for them is unconditional and we hope it helps in the healing, but it won’t remove the rejection associated with its giving. Our Christmas tree brings happiness to our family, but it also serves as a reminder of family that chose another path. And that’s hard stuff! The fact that my daughter has healed enough to reach out when she’s dealing with hard stuff instead of making life hard all around her was a reminder that I need to deal with it too. I need to remember that the life that came before is still here with her every day and we as a family have to find ways to rally around her so she knows we accept it. Because we love her. And because we love her, we have to love all of her, even the parts we don’t understand and can’t comprehend.
Thinking about and understanding the grief associated with adopting a child from foster care is a hard one to wrap the brain around. In many ways, it is easier for human beings to look at the day your child joined your family as the first day of their lives. It can be simpler and far less challenging for us to ignore the life that came before. It certainly is a lot less messy to just praise the foster or adoptive parents for giving the child the life they have now and move along.
But that’s not really how Jesus does business, is it? I can’t think of a single time in Jesus’ life where he chose the road that was less messy because it was easier on Him. If that was how Jesus expected us to approach our lives, I doubt he would have chosen the most difficult path in His own life. He definitely wouldn’t have called on us to love our enemies, shelter the homeless, care for the sick, and be a father to the fatherless.
But He did. And that means we need to answer. We need to love bigger. Even when it hurts.