Swept out to sea

I can’t help but stare at the picture of this family swept out to sea. I know what it is like to attempt to parent children from “hard backgrounds.”

And yes, I have often tried to assuage my deep grief about the damage caused by my adopted children by telling myself that we have survived (so far).

None of this is fun to talk about, but I did talk–sometimes unsparingly, because I hoped that if people heard our story they could do something to prevent tragedies like ours.

More than the average mama, I can put myself in the shoes of these mamas, and I have two things to thing to say–

  • Why weren’t the children removed from the custody of the Harts in 2011 when there was a child abuse conviction?
  • And when a mother chooses to murder her children all the rosy adjectives no longer apply.

Just: a story of the lost and found https://www.amazon.com/dp/1468123459/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_JPNWAbDZT3TR5

Hypothetical Questions

Imagine you thought you could change the world. No. Not the whole frickin’ thing, just bits and pieces…

Imagine you thought you could do it by taking care of troubled children–oh, sure, it wouldn’t be fun…

There would be the loss, for instance.
People would treat you like you had the plague.
Your family would say you must be doing something wrong.

But you would plough through. Deeply imperfect but there. And, yes, better than the alternative.

You would do it because you believed. You believed in nurture. You believed in God.

Imagine if you did all that and then, well, it seemed like the little tikes turned out to be losers. Yep. Remarkably similar to their genetic roots. Real bonafide knuckleheads.

Well…

If you got discouraged I would tell you what I tell myself.

We are all losers without Jesus.
And…it ain’t over till it’s over, girl.

Can’t drown love. They tried once. He just rose again. My kind of Loser.

All Our Happy Endings

Been readin’ some quotes–GK, CS, JC…the usual dudes, and then a couple off the beaten path.

Hitler, for instance, said that it was harder to overcome faith than knowledge.

And Christopher Hitchens recounting an anecdote about a Rwandan survivor who had lost everyone–her whole history and future wiped out.

Faith indeed, to say there is a God to answer that.

But I do believe, not in spite of the Hilters and Rwandas littering the floor of history. No. I believe because of them.

See– if adoption is a mirror of our relationship with God we should face the raw stink of the adoptees–us.

We stink.

We kill
We maim
We steal
We lie about it.
We do it again.

But that is the heart and soul of the story–a perfect and compassionate Parent adopts the worst kids in the universe.

A real mess.

Only His love can change us.
And it does.

But remember–no faking. He can tell when we are lying about the state of our deadly hearts.

And we are all gonna get a bath eventually–one way or the other…

Better the hands of Love

What We Stand to Lose

She has her back to me. She is telling the children a sort of fable–if fables started if instead of once upon a time.;. And if the princess were a royal pain in the….well, you get the idea.

So Princess is unravelling a story. What if we had no mom or dad, no one to tell us what to do… Her voice conveys the magic of this scenario. Thanks to public assistance she has now had a few years to live the dream, and I will not venture to comment on how that has worked out for her.

It is her life.

And I was once just a random woman willing to wipe her…oh, you, get the idea again.

You could look at the things she has lost playing out her orphaned-with-cash fantasy. But that does not matter as much to me as this—

This world is God’s house and we may presume he has just run to the store for grapes. But I would not be so foolish as to underestimate Him. He owns this house and will return to clean it.

You can live your whole life without a mother and somehow muddle through. But to stake your forever on the dream of autonomy is risky precisely because you may just get exactly what you wanted…

Forever.

Forgiveness is not the same as lying about the past

A friend asked me, do you put the kids to bed and at least get five minutes to yourself?  No, I say, not really but I like them all…

Hours later I realize how strange that must sound, how incomplete.  What I see in my head is thirteen years of eidetic episodes of unlikable events–bullying, tantrums,  swearing, violent protracted rages, physical assaults, homicidal imaginary friends, routine larceny, and lies, cursing of the most egregious kind.  Some stories so awful I do not want to write about the hurt.  And all of this before the years of C’s sexual felonies were dragged to light.

Most sane and normal people would have known better, right?  We believed if we did not give up on m and c they would be good, or at least better because of love.  Because of Love.

Jesus said, greater love has no man than he lays down his life for his friend.

Somethings are easier than others to lay down, I say beneath the shadow of the Cross.

Those 13 years took things that did not belong to me from the most precious people I know.  To say I like my children is an understatement.

They are my heroes.