Just a little pick-me-up… God does not call the qualified. He qualifies the called!

I know He is equipping you with more than enough! I am praying for you now that God would bring a peace to Wilbur’s softened heart and that He would give you wisdom in the days to come. You know that He will provide for you everything you need in the moment you need it!

Blessings… and it was good to “see” you again!

Adoption is a hard thing. And foster care adoption in particular is born from a lot of pain and trauma.

As a mom to two little RADlings, I long for the day that my boys will reach the point where they CAN grieve at this level and face all that they’ve lost. Unfortunately, their response to their past trauma is to dissociate – or feel nothing (except anger and fear and shame.) This is a skill they perfected in their former life – and one that was necessary in order for them to survive. But now, it just keeps their little hearts locked. Nothing gets in, and nothing gets out…except through the cracks that are starting to form. They are healing and I know that joy is on the horizon. I’m confident my kids will someday reach the point where they are ready to feel at this level again. And when they arrive, my heart will break with my kids and then I will do the biggest happy dance ever and cheer and thank God with everything in me, for it is through HIS power and HIS grace that the healing is possible.

So where is His glory? It’s in the light in your children’s eyes. It’s in their precious smiles. It’s in their laughter and song – and it’s also in their tears of grief and heartache that allow them to move forward.

Just one little caution for you as the Mama…pay attention to your own feelings of sorrow and grief, especially over the next few days. No one can carry a load like this without being affected. Just as your son had to go through it, so do you. If you try to skirt around it or “be the strong one”, I guarantee that life will be rather unpleasant at your house for the next little while.

One of my favorite techniques for dealing with my own feelings about stuff like this is to write a letter. Don’t worry about grammar or spelling or even how the letter flows. Just write whatever comes to your mind however it comes. Write out the sad, the happy, the angry, and yup…you can even use all those nasty words you’d never use in real life and call them every potty-mouth name in the book if you want. When you’re done with the letter, print it out (but don’t save it on your computer if that’s the writing method you choose.) Stomp on it, spit on it, scribble all over it with crayons, rip it to shreds, or whatever else you feel like doing. Then put every last piece of it in an envelope and mail it…not directly to the people in question, obviously, but somewhere else. Yes include a stamp (I figure it’s payment for the postal service eventually destroying it for me,) but not a return address. Don’t mail it from your house, either. Drop it in one of those blue postal boxes. I’ve sent many a letter addressed to the target person c/o a real dry cleaning establishment in some weird place like Kalamazoo. I’ve even sent them to Hawaii as there’s a nice big ocean between me and the letter. Yah, you can use fake addresses if you want, but I’ve grown rather fond of sending my stuff to the cleaners. After all, it’s nothing but dirty laundry. :-)

I also conducted a “funeral” for a girl I went to school with a little while back. I didn’t mail that letter, though. I ripped it (along with a really obnoxious picture I drew of her) in tiny shreds and flushed it down the toilet. I actually wrote about that little funeral on my blog. There’s a link to it on my sidebar. The post is titled “Miranda’s Funeral” if you’re interested in reading it.

And when all the drama is over, your last sentence says it all – He DOES understand and He will bring you peace.

Blessings to you!