Sunday, June 15, 2014

Fake it till you make it

I'm totally faking it right now. All of it. The smile. The conversations. Me. Because I do not have it together. No I do not have it together. Do not like green eggs and ham. Do not like them Sam I Am.

I talked some about the wall we crashed head first into in this post. But it's not over. No. And that's why I'm faking it. Or the main reason. I'm confident the months of upheaval (crazy move, parents' divorce, other intense familial issues, etc.) have factored in as well. I don't know. I guess it feels like a tidal wave right now. It's funny how even after things you've dealt with have long since been dealt with, that when other things come up...all those former things wash over you anew.

Like I'm just gonna say it: sometimes I look around me and I think, "Man! We have been through some sh*t! How come we've been through so much an Joe and Jane don't seem to have been through anything?" Yes. These are true thoughts. Judge me, judge-y Judgerton. Sometimes in the midst of me being worn out by life and my own thoughts I think how much we must wear others out with our insanity. Constantly beating down their doors going "We are NOT okay ya'll! We need prayer! This is fo real!" And, I mean, it's not because someone broke a toe. It's because there are lives at stake. There is a family. There are real emotions and battles and fear and this is heavy and we can't do it alone. It's totally ridiculous that in the middle of my heaviness, I only add to it by worrying about how much we're burdening others, but welcome to my brain. Awesome, yeah?

I don't understand it. I really don't. I've never claimed to. I would be lying if I said I wasn't praying for a season of rest for us. But that may not happen. Hear me on that: I know that's not a promise. I know when we said yes to Jesus, that was yes to all of Him. And the main thing that Jesus was and did and remembered for, and what matters is that He suffered and died. He calls us to take up our cross daily and follow Him. His will, not ours. His big picture, not mine. And the suffering in this upside down world is "producing for us an eternal weight of glory that far outweighs them all" (2 Corinthians 4). I don't even pretend to understand what that means, but I know it's good. That somehow all this sh*t is going to pale in comparison to eternity. Like pretty much not even matter. Like I'm standing in front of Jesus and I'm going, "Whoaaaaaa... Hey all you past sh*t! Talk to the hand." Can't imagine doing that right this second, but that's why it's called FAITH. You should try it. It is the only thing in this world that makes anything and everything worth it. It is the only thing that provides meaning and purpose and relief and peace. Get you some. Fo realz.

So back to my original thought. I'm faking it. Fake it till you make it. I'm preaching to the choir on a second by second basis here. I'm honestly at a point where unless you've been through some serious sh*t of your own, I'm kinda just glazed over when talking to you. I don't mean to be rude. I know it's wrong and selfish, but I'm feeling like Jesus when He was in the Garden of Gethsamane right before He was arrested and He asked his best friends to pray and they were all falling asleep and He was kinda ticked and like, "Dude could you please pray for me? I'm about to die! For you!" And I'm not planning on dying, but my flesh is doing that at the current moment.

All that I thought would be happening with our adoption right now is not. From the beginning, before we became foster parents, I was so prepared for so many things: caring for broken children, dealing with DCFS, dealing with bio parents, navigating racial issues, learning to love a child I did not give birth to, possibly having to say goodbye to a child who goes back to bio family. All of that I had confronted in my mind. I had no tangible way of actually knowing what any of those things would be like, but at least I had considered the possibilities. I never, not one time, by any stretch of the imagination, thought we would find ourselves in a role reversal where we were having to defend who we are, our character, our ability to parent. I never considered what it would be like to try to explain sin and redemption on a personal level to a secular body of people who have no filter for that kind of thing. I never thought that (long) past poor decision making would affect the very dynamics of our family in such a way that could mean we might actually lose the children God brought into our lives to make part of our family. I never thought I would experience the nauseating, cold sweat, gut wrenching phone conversations telling us of these things. I never dreamt I would imagine in my mind having to send these precious ones out of the very home I had promised them was theirs forever. Two years. It's been two years. We have raised one of these children from the time she was two days old and she will turn two years old this month. Her brothers have been with us for eight months now. In the grand scheme of a child's life that is like a million years. We are home. We are their family. I refuse to stop believing that or contending for that. I refuse to let them in on the upheaval we are experiencing (and do you have any idea how hard that is?). They need to know they are safe.

Faking it.

So we keep waiting. We are playing by rules we don't like in a game we didn't know we signed up for, but what is at stake are three little people who we've committed to. I would absolutely not wish this on anyone. And the strong sense of justice in me just feels like this is so impossibly wrong and weird and cruel and I can't even begin to understand it. What in the world? We are the good guys.

But that's not what is happening.

And God is certainly speaking. He is. I'm so very thankful for that. And the weariness in me wants to say, "Why God? Help me understand why this couldn't be peaceful and complete." And I have said that. But I get it. There is a lion out there seeking whom he may devour. There is one who has come to steal and kill and destroy. The enemy does not want these children in this family. He doesn't want them to grow up knowing about Jesus. He doesn't want God to bless our family or increase our joy. So this is a battle. It is brutal and ugly and bloody.


I know Who has already won the war. Greater is He that it in me, in this house, in this family, than that punk lion who is in the world. Jesus came to give life and give it to the fullest. So I'm battling.

No, let me digress.

All I have to do is abide. I have zero rights apart from Christ. And I am hidden in Him. I do not have to do a thing but abide. He fights for me. So the hurricane that is going on around me? I can ignore it. I can either sink into the water when I take my eyes off of Jesus, or I can keep looking into those eyes and not be afraid of what is happening. He knows. He sees. He has made so many promises. Those are the things I can cling to.

But just so you know, I'm totally off kilter. This is hard. Quite possibly harder than going through cancer. My brain is foggy. I am crying too easily. Please don't expect me to act normal. Don't ask me how I am if you don't want the whole truth, or if you don't want me to lie and say, "I'm fine." Give me a hug when you see me. Pray for us. Pray hard for us.

Until then, I'm faking it till I make it.
Preach preacha.

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