Coming to terms – 1) a place of reaching acceptance or 2) the arrival at an agreement between two parties on an issue. That very accurately sums up the wild rollercoaster the last 2 months has been. So many changes. So many opportunities to flee or fight or grow and accept. Ups and downs following each other in such quick succession that its given me whiplash. There has been grief and there has been joy. Sometimes they’ve chased each other like a frenzied puppy after his tail and sometimes they co-existed, side by side silently holding hands. But now, at least for the moment, we have come to rest and catch our breath, so I thought I would take a moment to catch up here.
The days from January 31st to March 2nd contain the bulk of marked moments – both the deepest losses and the greatest joys – in my life. The losses of my mother, my two angel babes, and the painful decision to not pursue pregnancy again are laid to rest here, interwoven between the celebrations of the births of my two miracle boys and the amazing man I have the privilege of calling my husband, best friend, and life partner. One wouldn’t think that we could pack more life-altering moments into those 31 days, but apparently it can be done.
For a good part of my life, I have dealt with chronic back pain. A low, continuous hum that thrums in the background. Sometimes so steady that I manage to forget it for a while. Other times it becomes a clanging cymbal that cannot be ignored. And for most of my life, I have accepted it as normal, my concerns often minimized or my questions dismissed. During my teen years, when it all started it was easily explained away as “growing pains”, not being “active enough” or just needing to “toughen up”. But when things didn’t change as a young adult and I was done “growing”, eventually, acceptance that this was the norm moved in and for the most part, I stopped saying anything. Owning that it was probably my own doing for not being too sedentary or that this was either all in my head, or just part of growing older. When my children arrived and sleep and energy depleted, I figured this was all just part of being a busy mom to energetic young children. In fact, I became so used to the pain that unless it flared up really bad, I hardly noticed it anymore.
Then came 2020. The year we will all remember as the year the world shut down. And the schedules became less busy and the extraneous “noise” quieted. The year that the silence spoke. I started doing yoga in the mornings and made a bunch of diet and lifestyle changes. Reading more on a variety of topics including health and wellness, and I started tuning in and listening to my body. That is when I realized that the pain was constant and that it was what was sapping my energy and interrupting my sleep. Fast forward to this year, January. I was reading an article about inflammation in the body and I came across a list of symptoms for an auto-immune disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis. And as I read, things began to click and seemingly unconnected dots began to connect for me. A few phone calls to my Dr, and some tests later, and I sat grappling with a new diagnosis that both relieved me and added a whole new layer of processing its implications. One that I am still trying to wrap my head around, if I am honest, but I am making progess. And knowing what I am dealing with and how best to treat it has meant that there are days that I now have minimal to no pain!
But, why stop there? Apparently more change was in order. So with this all still swirling in my head, it was time for our foster son’s case to return to court and be laid out before a judge again. The place it had been ambiguously bouncing in and out of for months, like a yoyo. And like so many other times, decisions about his future were supposed to be made this time. We have journeyed with our two little fosters in their continual uncertainty for almost 3 years now and we have learned to hold the “supposed to” very loosely. So, we started the day, expecting another setback, another delay in to permanency planning for our little guy. What happened instead was quite the surprise. An agreement was made and a decision was actually reached!
When the news came in, I stared at the message with a sort of numb unbelief. I had to read it 3 times before what it said computed in my brain – that our little guy had just become a permanent ward. We were cleared to pursue adoption with both of our little boys now. And then the wave of emotions hit like a tsunami! Joy and exhilaration and grief and sorrow tumbled over each other with violent force. Because the reality is that in gaining, there is also loss. And the tears of delight mingle with those of pain.
I recently read that in adoption, there is grief that all parties must process and I have come to see the truth in this. There are so many layers to foster care and adoption and my views on both have changed so much since starting this whole journey. I still have so much to learn and I am trying to practice looking outside of myself and how it impacts more than just me. The voluntary signing of a permanent order, opening the way for adoption and allowing roots to grow down deep, is fraught with a love and anguish that I can’t even imagine. I am grateful for the relationship that we have been able to cultivate with our little guy’s birth mama over the last few years. Grateful to be able to give her the assurance she will always be a part of her son’s life and that we are committed to preserving his connection to her. Grateful to her for having the courage to put the needs of the child that we both love ahead of her own and grieving with her what it cost to do it. Grateful that I have finally come to a place that I can say those words. I cannot say that it has been easy to get to this point, but I am coming to terms with what this all means and what it will continue to mean as we move forward from here.
Over the past several months, I have undergone the beginnings of a major paradigm shift. The kind that leaves you feeling a little lost and unsure of where you are going in the beginning. Confronting deeply entrenched ideas and thought processes. A stripping away of layers and exposing what is underneath to the Sun. And somehow it is timely that this excavation should be encompassed in the season of Lent.
This is the first year that I have learned about and participated in Lent and it has been transformative. It’s a time where we create space to allow God to work in our lives, to remove things that keep us from pursuing and deepening our relationship with Him, and devote ourselves to scripture reading, prayer, and the practice of spiritual disciplines. It has meant being intentional. While doing a “deep dive” on the passage in Mark 14:32-52 – where Jesus is praying in the Garden of Gethsemane – the words suddenly came alive in a way they haven’t before. “Not My will, but Yours be done.” I have read these words before and found them meaningful, but reading them in this place of intention, through the eyes of what has transpired in my life over the last year, they became powerful. With all that Jesus knew He had to face in the coming hours. With the weight of the world’s sin and agony and the knowledge that He would soon be completely torn away from His Father’s Presence crushing down on Him. His burden driving Him to His knees. His sweat dripping down blood. Yet, He still chose His Father’s will. He still chose to go to the Cross for me. He accepted the cup given to Him. And in His surrender, He received the strength to get up off the ground in that garden and do what He needed to do, no matter how difficult the path would be to travel.
The battle for control has always been one of my greatest struggles. The lack of autonomy I had growing up and my countering need to acquire some certainly did not help me establish healthy boundaries, habits, or thought patterns. And so I strive to control it all, lest I be subjected to another’s control. But that is not what Jesus taught. It’s not what He lived for us. And when we grasp for something that is forever out of our reach, we are destined to live buried in anger, unhappiness, and disappointment. Because we cannot come to a place of acceptance until we have come to surrender.
It seems fitting now that so many of the transformative moments that have taken place in my life are eclipsed by Lent. That in order to come out of the wilderness of these parched places and cataclysmic events, I have had to come to terms with them. Lay them down to rest in another’s Hands. This coming to terms has been more than just coming to a place of acceptance. It has meant coming to a place of full surrender. Surrender to my Abba. The only One Who has remained constant. Surrender to the One whose Love wraps me secure. A Love that surrendered for me, no matter what it cost Him. Complete abandon to His will, not mine. Knowing that He meets me where I am and provides me with what I need to take the next step. Knowing that He is Emmanuel and has already walked the road He leads me on. Knowing that His plans are for my good and I will never walk alone if I keep my hand in His.
The last few months have not been easy. If you read my first post for this year, you will know that my word for this year was Flourish and there have been times I have said to myself – how can that be right? This doesn’t feel like flourishing at all. But when I stop to look at it, flourishing has to do with growing. And you know the beautiful thing? It’s that I can look back on these last 60 days and see growth. Change. New beginnings. And that makes all the hard stuff in the middle feel like it was worth walking through. Because I don’t just want acceptance. I want Metamorphosis.
Of Shattered Things 