Hard to think about much else, so forgive me if my blogging sinks to an all-time low in terms of both quality and quantity.
I will be utterly transparent and admit that I care about not much else right now, here, in the moment, TODAY other than making sure that this sudden development in no way interferes with adopting Oliver and Manolin. All else pales in comparison, as you can probably imagine.
We will survive. We will move forward. God WILL provide.
I just pray that the provision includes the two little men I've come to love so deeply.
The national numbers aren't looking very good, which means that the local numbers are even worse. My dh is currently in a holding pattern, wondering if his job will continue to exist into the new year.
I ought to be panicking. I ought to be feeling a wrench in my gut. I ought to be asking "Why us?"
Have I had those moments? In a way. I called Benny during a car ride shortly after getting the news and had a good fifteen minutes of, "Tell me this isn't happening when I've got two children I'm waiting to finalize on!" After a nice emotional dump, I caught a glimpse of Oliver sleeping in the rear view mirror. His head was cocked to the side, his arm resting on Manolin's car seat. The row behind him was filled with the beautiful stair steps that are my biological offspring.
How can I look upon the faces of my children and not know that God is good, all the time? How can I possibly doubt His grace and mercy when I take a moment to contemplate the blessings I never even asked for coupled alongside those for whom I have fought with all of my heart?
There's nothing wrong with His justice. His timing. His plan. No matter what it looks like in those moments of blindsided shock ... God is still God. The economy may be tanking, but God is still in the business of ruling the universe.
It's easy to forget that Christianity is not supposed to be a comfortable thing.
This Advent season ...
REMEMBER.
It's not about what your kids open. How beautiful the tree looks. How many tasty cookies you can bake. How you can keep the in-laws happy.
It's about JESUS.
I urge you to visit Advent Conspiracy and Rethinking Christmas. Because really ... what do you want your children to remember about Christmas? The full stockings and cool sing alongs? Or how God crushed the status quo with birth of a child?
One of my favorite things about homeschooling is the ability to utilize skills in context. So often, in classrooms, things are contrived. I offer up exhibit A: play money. Personally, I've never owned any of those faux "math manipulatives." I taught my kids how to count using (gasp!) real money. If we were in a pinch (because I frankly don't have any $100 bills just warming the kitchen counter), I nabbed a few pieces of Monopoly money and kept going. After the child seemed to have a decent enough grasp on things, I let them experience the joy of making their own purchases. Thus far, I have yet to turn out a child that seems somehow lacking in financial prowess due to my stubborn refusal to buy a bin of plastic coins at Lakeshore.
This desire to give kids a real-life, hands-on experience is what led homeschooling mom Felice Gerwitz to say "Go for it!" when her daughter Christina expressed an interest in writing a novel. I can only imagine Felice trying to put her finger on exactly what Language Arts skills were being perfected as her daughter undertook the daunting, self-assigned task of becoming an author. The end result is anything but a long-winded, plagiarized treatise on The Scarlet Letter. Together, Christina and Felice have published "The Truth Seekers Mystery Series"--a trio of youth mysteries with a Christian worldview.
Inspired by Felice, I chose to let my own budding authoress, Jo, wear the reviewer's hat here at Books and Bairns. I'm counting this as Language Arts for the day. And reading. And probably life skills/job training. :-)
The Missing Link: Found review, by Jo (age 11)
The Missing Link: Found is a positive and encouraging Christian book for kids 11 an up. This book encourages kids to talk to God and walk with Him every day. It also introduces scientific theories in a fun mystery. Readers will be refreshed by the fact that the main characters face big and small problems, but they always turn to God. This is one of the best Christian mysteries I have ever read! Plunged into a baffling real-life riddle, Anna and Christian Murphy find themselves in the middle of their uncle's archaeology dig. This is no ordinary dig: Mike Murphy believes he is excavating the supposed "missing link" that will prove that the theory of evolution is true. Anna and Christian are Christians who don't subscribe to the theory, but their cousin, David, is pretty sure that it's correct. After Uncle Mike is hospitalized, it's up to the Murphy teens and their father to finish the dig. "Arcadia Man"--as the fossil is called--holds more secrets than they suspected. Can the Murphys uncover "Arcadia Man," expose a gang of thieves and still trust God through it all?
This book is fun, fast-paced and exciting. It was a light read. If you like mysteries, you'll enjoy trying to unravel the puzzle before the author lays it all out for you. There are plenty of twists and turns here. I was kept guessing up until the very end.
One shortcoming of this book is found in the "Letter From the Editor" at the end of the story. Right before a whole list of resources that you can use to follow up on the science presented in the story, there's a note saying that most of the things written about are true and have evidence to support them ... except for the main ending zinger! I can't tell you what it was without giving it away but I was really disappointed. It made for a good story ending, but it would have been better if it was real.
Manolin's BioMom entered a guilty plea to the charges against her--the ones that left a seven week old baby with broken bones, a bruised spirit and a chance to break the cycle of neglect and abuse that has all but consumed the rest of his biological family.
A judge accepted the plea, and will be deciding her fate at a later time.
Pleading guilty looks good. It speaks to the optimistic, reform-minded members of the court who want to see change in the hearts and actions of the accused. It admits liability. It offers a glimmer of hope for a second chance. For the people who sit on the bench day in and day out, it is an uncommon breath of fresh air: culpability.
I did it. I hurt him. I shouldn't have. What next?
What next, indeed?
Manolin's V-Gal assures me that she is pushing for termination. His social worker is outraged at the entire case and says she is chomping at the bit to keep him out of the hands which perpetrated his abuse. Everything, everywhere says that this baby is home now. That the cradle he steals forty minute naps in will be a treasured part of his history. That the memories we have already made will be retold to him on his wedding day. That his last name will be the same as ours by next Christmas.
And yet, doubt lingers. My husband, reporting on the case today, gave life to the words that I really didn't want to hear:
"Be careful, Mary Grace. I'm not saying that you hold your heart back. I'm just saying that, well ... pleading guilty looks really good, babe."
Pleading guilty--admitting to sin--looks good. And why not? Coming clean before the Lord is one of the pivotal acts that cements our salvation. But the second step ... that's where the bluster of our good intentions is burned away and our surrender is complete.
What next, Lord? I'm giving it all to You. Lead me. You're in control.
Is Manolin's BioMom there? When the One who knit her together in her mother's womb looks into her heart, what does He see? Repentance? Manipulation? Fear? Anger?
I can't say what the judge will decide is an appropriate prison sentence for Manolin's BioMom. I won't allow my thoughts to wander to the places where my faith is stretched taut and I hand his round, wiggly baby body over to a person who once felt justified in repeatedly inflicting harm on the infant who had only weeks before floated safe and warm just below her heart.
Today, I am thankful that I am not the Lord. I am thankful that I do not have the job of defining fairness versus justness or of dispensing either righteous vengeance or undeserved mercy. But I am so, so thankful that there is EL ROI who does these things ... and who loves us, in spite of it all.
My hardest year of homeschooling was 2003-2004. Jo was a big first-grader: reading like a whiz, tackling science like a pro and antsy to get her hands on some "real writing" (that would be cursive to the rest of us). I felt a massive burden to be all things to this little beacon of academic brightness: the teacher she deserved, the mommy she needed and the cheerleader she looked to for support. Shouldering the responsibility of my own expectations was hard enough ... never mind the preschooler and toddler I had hiding under that SuperMom cape.
Atticus was three and Logan was one that year, and they were into all kinds of craziness. While I loved--relished, even--the activities that left my kitchen floor covered in soapy bubbles and an entire bookshelf dumped onto the living room floor, the fact was that I struggled to mesh teaching and parenting.
Of course, that season came to an end. Jo learned far more than I ever even attempted to teach her. Atticus somehow started reading three-letter words. And Logan--left to his own devices for larger chunks of time than I ever allowed Jo--discovered that his voice is best expressed with paint, a brush and liberal quantities of paper. It was a good thing, this frantic period of being all things to three small people.
I'm drawing on this knowledge again as I learn to balance life with five children whose needs range from warm bottles every three hours to sensitive counseling about the signs of impending menstruation. If it was that productive last time, surely, God will use it again, I tell myself as I let Mr. Demme carry the bulk of the math tutoring and head back to the laundry room to throw yet another load of diapers into the dryer.
In God's economy nothing--not even a season best labeled "how on earth am I supposed to do this well?"--is wasted. This time of clicking pieces into place will serve my family in ways that I can not even begin to imagine. Already, I'm getting flashes of the maturity and selflessness that is being built in the hearts of my oldest three children. I'm watching as I let little things that I've held onto slip through my fingers with the new found perspective of someone who once again has lost the luxury of micromanaging. Jo, Atticus and Logan are rising to the occasion ... just as Jo did in first grade, when her well-intentioned mother only managed to follow through on about half of her goals. Is that your plan, Lord? Is this less about me and more about them?
One day, I'll figure it out. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to comb my memory banks for exactly how you manage to get a full chapter's worth of reading done when there are diapers to change and noses to wipe. It'll come to me. Just like riding a bike, right?
