Fostering Faith

Yesterday my daughter tantrumed for over three hours.  It was loud. It was long. Too long.  After talking through what caused this, hours later, she told me that when I was touching her chin to talk quietly, giving her direction for a transition we were making, she didn't see me. She saw her birth mother trying to choke her. She wept as she sat in my lap, while telling me her birth parents tried to choke her every day.  She told me that everything goes black and she has flashbacks at random times when I would never imagine this to be possible.  I was not even close to her neck, I gently touched her chin so she could be at my eye level and hear my soft words.  Transitions are so difficult for her and I was handling this one as all the therapists and counselors have instructed me over the past nearly four years.  My heart broke. We cried together as we held each other tightly.  She went to blow her nose and asked for a minute to write a note to me before coming back to sit on my la

Man, I get so ANGRY sometimes and it really ANNOYS me. I mentioned to a friend recently, that I long for the day when I can rise above the nonsense. Rise above the frustrations of unmet expectations placed on me by others. Rise above the anger I feel toward others due to a lack of interest in fully attempting to understand a point of view before making me feel completely worthless. There's more, but I'll spare you the gory details. I know that NOT rising above this "stuff" can easily cause isolation, bitterness and discontentment. Rising above is certainly what God would want for me, and if that's the case, then why do I linger here? In frustration. In anger.  Isaiah 40:31 says, in so many words, "I was made to soar." "But those who trust in the LORD will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint." If I was made to soar, then, why, oh why would I ev

After years of trying to conceive with no success, we became Foster Parents with hopes of adopting. That's a really long story for another time. Over the past several months I have been more reflective than I can remember being in my entire lifetime, and I'm forty, so that's saying something. At the root of my musings, I find the unstoppable thoughts of "I must fix it!". Fixing me. Fixing my thoughts. Fixing my expectations. Fixing my messy house. Fixing my routines and disciplines. Fixing my children's behaviors. You name it. It's been my burgeoning passion to fix it. I thought being a Mom would be easier. I mean, how can I ask God for the blessing of motherhood to wallow in thoughts of not regret, but resent. You know, the overwhelming guilt you feel when you get something you wanted but it's not what you thought it was supposed to be. I know this could be said of far more than parenting. That job you wanted. The husband or wife you