What if?

There's a really cool guy who's written this book called: Stuff Christians Like.

His blog, also called SCL, had a post today that I want to share with you folk who read my blog.

I think it's a worthy idea and wanted to put it out here for all of you to see and decide if you'd like to help. Many folk spending little money make for much money that can do a good work.

Please take a moment to check it out:

What if?



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I Have a Confession. . .

I have a confession to make:  I haven't been to church in months.  Really, months.  Since Rain's wedding in July.  That's a very long time.

Why?

Lots of reasons, I think.  None of them good, none of them important enough to keep me from worshipping in fellowship with other believers.  I think.

Maybe it's just enough trouble within my heart and just enough difficulty getting there. I still haven't re-established a healthy communication with God; still not praying/talking with Him regularly; still not "in the Word" as we Christians like to say. . . I used to devour His Word.  Literally eat it up. 

I miss that.

I miss talking with Him and hearing from Him.

So, why am I resisting?  No clue.

I haven't stopped believing.  I know He's real.  I know He is good. I've walked with Him for twenty years. . .

Every Sunday, the kids ask if we're going to church. 

We don't go. 

It's always been difficult to go to church.  Well, not always.  Mostly since we moved to Colorado Springs, that's when the "difficult" started.  At that time, it was just me and Kelsey and Kris.  A young, firey white girl with two little bi-racial children (who were adorable!).  For years, I discounted the polite looks, the quiet exclusion from conversations, the sense that somehow my little family just didn't fit in. 

I found myself switching churches.  I'd never thought I'd be one of those.  After all, we have trouble relating in our families, why would a family of believers be any different?  But somehow, it was.  Somehow, my heart just couldn't take not mattering.  I was in Bible studies, in choirs, led children's worship with my trusty guitar, went on ladies retreats, joined small groups, led small groups. . .and still failed to make strong connections with anyone.

I was a single mother, going to the denomination's Bible College, working full time and taking classes full time, and still "ministering" in the church . . . and I never felt so alone.

It certainly didn't help when I bought a huge house out in the country and filled it up with handicapped children.  My enthusiasim and passion and belief carried us far - especially in making all the parts of the house and care for the children work - but even then, I couldn't truly connect to the Body.  When I approached the Pastor about someone from the fellowship helping with my special needs children in a Sunday school class (both for the children and for me, so I could attend services and not be sitting on the pavement outside holding an unruly child on my lap listening to the service over a speaker); his response was that if I felt there was a need, probably God was calling me to that.

Naively, I thought well, okay, and started a Special Needs Children's Sunday School class.  So, not only did I get to care for my kids 24/7 at home, I got to take care of them and other kids on Sundays, too.  And, I now had the extra job of finding helpers for the class.  Wow.

But, I don't want to go into all this here.  I mention it to say that I'm pretty sure that a huge part of why I am not going to church today is that, while I've found a Pastor I respect, and going to his church completely satisfies my heart - I am still very aware that my special child (now only Kameron), is a little different (well, alot) and doesn't fit into any nice age group of Sunday School children.  With his mental and physical delays, he's better suited for a first or second-graders class than his chronological fourth grade one.

In short, he takes more effort.  And, even in our large church with all it's many many ministries, there doesn't seem to be anyone who wants to take on this little child, even for a few hours on Sunday.  And it breaks my heart - again.

He benefits so much from God's Word and from the music - he memorizes scripture like crazy, and he's the first one to ask if he can pray for you if you have a problem.

But, he is different.  He is in a wheelchair and talks funny and is in diapers. He can have inappropriate behaviors (like throwing the playdough around and laughing like a lunatic).  He isn't an easy child, I know this.

But doesn't he matter to God?  Of course he does.

Shouldn't he matter to a body of believers? Of course he should.

He is the least of these; one of those Jesus spent time with while here.  Kameron matters greatly.

I have to say that I hate writing this.  I feel like I'm being horribly disloyal and expecting too much and that the problem must be mine, not anyone else's.  Like if I really want to go to church with my handicapped son, I should go - full speed ahead and damn the consequences.

But the zeal and fervor that kept me plowing ahead like that for so many, many years is pretty much gone, now.  I am tired.  I am tired of fighting to be included - heck, not even included, just to get in the door (there's no handicapped access to the children's ministry).  I'm tired of cheerfully smiling at the pretty young couples with their beautiful children who all quietly step back a few paces and try not to look like they're checking us out.  I get it all the time out in public, twenty years of it.

It hurts too much to see it in church, too.

And so, another Sunday is spent at home.  And I hurt.  I hurt for Kameron, I hurt for Kobi and for me.

At some level, I hurt for those missing out on getting to know Kameron, too.  He is a very special little boy.  He deserves that love and acceptance.  But, I'm just too tired to fight for it right now.

One of the comments I get a lot when people find out that I'm a single mom to high needs kids is, "I don't know how you do it". It's right up there with people saying how special I am and what a big heart, etc. etc.

Not to denigrate those of you who have actually said these things (I do appreciate compliments!), but believe me, I'm human. I'm NO saint.

I have days, like this very day, where I want to pull my hair out. When Kameron - for the fifty millionth time - bothers the dog (enough that the dog is about to bite the hell out of him), and is cackling with laughter over the increasing growls, and I am not near him (perhaps on the toilet, perhaps in the laundry room), and I am saying (over and over, louder and louder), "Kameron, leave Ricky alone. Kameron, leave Ricky alone. KAMERON, leave Ricky ALONE. KAMERONLEAVERICKYALONE".

And am ignored. Until I come storming out of where ever I was, get all up in his face which scares him more than Ricky's growling and snapping, and he says, "okay, mom."

And then we start it all over again in about five or ten minutes. However long it takes me to get started on some other chore in some other area of the house and for Ricky to leave my side and meander back to Kameron.

Kam thinks it's hilarious.

We do "time out", we do "three strikes", we do IAMABOUTTOKILLYOU, nothing ever, ever, ever works. And if I ignore the resulting clamor, I've found it increases. Kobi will start jumping on furniture, Klaryssia will start telling Kameron to leave Ricky alone (she, the Queen of animal pestering), and will tell Kobi to stop jumping on furniture (while she laughs along). . .

The very persistence and stubbornness that makes these "special" kids survive in spite of all odds, is the very persistence and stubbornness that makes them HUGE pains in my hiney (and by hiney, I'm assuming you know what I really mean).

So, next time you think I'm up for sainthood - think again. I lose my cool regularly.

That's the hardest part of being a single mom. No breaks. In fact, any of you who know of single moms (sorry, dads, can't speak for you, never been a dad), you would be doing her an IMMENSE favor if you would take their kids for a few hours every once and awhile. Throw them in the car with you and your kids for a run to DQ or the dollar menu @ Micky D's. Or just drop over and have coffee with her. Bring her a latte; boss her kids around for her. Help her get some of the stress out.

She will probably kiss your feet.

I know I would.

Love, peeps. Thanks for listening!

Letting Go

A few weeks ago, I declined a placement. That means I said "no" to a nine-year-old, needy little girl who's been in a residential treatment center (like a step above a mental hospital) since she was six. Three years of growing up institutionalized. Not in a home. Not with a mommy or a daddy, or any facsimile. Not with her brothers or her sisters (she has five, all in foster homes). No one to tuck her in at night. In fact, according to her paperwork, she often has great distress around bedtime, and has to spend time in the "quiet room". Think a little bigger than a closet. Empty so the child won't hurt herself.

How horrible is that? Put a six, seven, eight year-old girl in a "quiet room" by herself right before bed time? Doesn't the staff have time to read with her, pray with her, kiss her good night? Oh, that's right. They have ten other children in their Cottage (cute name, like a fairy tale or a vacation resort) to get to bed. Oh, and there's no religious indoctrination, so no prayers to comfort the little girl.

Hey, grow up kid. This is a tough world if you haven't figured that out yet. Maybe the fact that before you came to us you were ripped from your home by policemen, medicated, restrained, and moved into several different homes before you landed up in our "treatment facility" should have clued you in. No wonder you don't want to go to bed at night.

The agency I work for brought me her packet. The packet is the thick pile of paperwork that covers much - not all - of a child's life in the system. It includes things like Psych evals, school IEP's (Individual Education Plan, for the "special" kids), and various social worker weekly, quarterly, and annual reviews of her behaviors, placements, medical stuff, etc. It also has court records, that talk about the circumstances of her removal from home and her parent's progress (or lack thereof) toward getting her back, visitation orders, blah blah, blah. They're pretty scary things. Even for an experienced foster parent.

But something in her packet spoke to me. Her age, for one thing. She's still so darned young. My other kids at home are four, eight and nine. She could really fit in. Plus, I have another bedroom. And most importantly, I am pretty certain I could help her. I have years of experience with damaged children. She's at an age where she could definitely stabilize given some serious family time with lots of love and boundaries and hugs. I've seen it happen, and something in her packet called to me.

Now here's the stinky part: I just couldn't say yes. I thought I could. I mentally planned getting the extra bedroom ready, who to contact at our local elementary school, checked into how her visits with her siblings went, talked with my agency about getting a special approval on my foster license for her. . . and the morning of what was to be our first meeting, I canceled.

This hurt on so many levels. The little girl didn't know about me (thankfully), so it wasn't about letting her down, but it really killed me to recognize my own weakness. To actually admit to myself and to the professionals I work with that I couldn't, in fact, do it all. It hurt to leave her there, to not be her rescuer. This thought led me to a twinge of self-awareness: why do I think I am the only rescuer for her? Then I argue: I know the statistics. I know she is unlikely to find a home given all her needs. It's hard enough to get people to take one typical kiddo; these more "involved" children rarely get placed in good, loving homes.

But I can't do it. I can't take another baby girl with intense, high needs and: a) take decent care of the brood I already have; b) get my own act together; which leads to c) a is dependent on b. And adding baby girl would lead to: d) me moving into a state hospital. The whole house of cards would collapse.

My heart is heavy, though. I want so badly to be the instrument God uses to reach this little girl; and that one, and that one, and that one. . .

"learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
bring justice to the fatherless,
plead the widow's cause."

Isaiah 1:17

May is Foster Care Awareness Month: My personal prayer is that every family, every person who can, would check his or her heart and see if he, if she, has room for just one child. Just one. Please consider it. Please honestly consider what you can do as part of your community to help one hurting child in a way that is meaningful and maybe sacrificial. They are our children, and our future. Thank you.