Like a ton of bricks

Sunday in church I got very teary during one of the first worship songs - this is not unusual at all for me by the way - but it ensued into a tears-streaming-down-my-face, hiccupping crying that totally caught me off guard. The songs were wonderful but didn't seem particularly relevant, the message was good but not one of those oh-my-gosh-that-was-just-for-me days, and the cloud followed me home. Hung around most of the day, in fact, and has been hovering at the edges ever since.

This morning it hit me that this was THE week, four years ago, that we brought home Kiki and Terran, two beautiful little children that we expected to keep forever. The picture of our future was completely changed (we were practically empty nesters with one grandchild and another on the way). We had sought God with all our hearts, believing that He was leading us to be the family these two precious little ones had never had - their "forever family."


The reality is that we had them for what felt like forever, but was in fact only a few months. Long enough to find out that sweet Terran was severely mentally ill, a fact that the agency had neglected to mention to us. Long enough to realize that as much as we loved these babies, as much as our hearts were completely given over to them, we were simply not equipped to handle Terran's needs.

We got to celebrate Christmas and both of their birthdays with them (they turned 3 and 4), and we got to endure endless hours of medical and psychological testing for both children. You see, they were so severely damaged at such a young age by their living conditions, both by their birth parents and then Terran by foster parents, that they were seriously developmentally delayed. Kiki was still recovering from extra-pulmonary tuberculosis and will be forever susceptible to bronchitis and pneumonia, which she developed from eating feces out of a bathtub because there was no food. Terran was three years old and weighed 25 pounds. Both had severe reactive attachment disorder, an inability to attach to caregivers because they were not cared for as babies and toddlers.

We truly believed that with God's leading and loving and teaching we could overcome the horrors of their young lives. What happened was that Kiki began to respond, and Terran disintegrated into a nightmare for us. He destroyed our home. He kicked, bit, and punched me on a regular basis. He would tantrum for hours, during which I had to restrain him for his own safety.

Finally, completely broken and exhausted, we asked that he be removed from our home, acknowledging the fact that we were doing him no good, perhaps even doing him harm because we just didn't know what to do most of the time. The State of Kansas has a policy that siblings may not be separated until there are two "disrupted" adoptions, so we lost them both, in February.

Only three months. Only a little time ... shouldn't we get over it quickly? No. Tears are dripping into my lap as I type this, remembering the gut-wrenching heartbrokenness that follwed. Opening the silverware drawer and seeing that we had too many spoons now that we didn't need. Unloading the dishwasher the first time and seeing unnecessary sippy cups. Putting them into a car with the social worker, knowing that we would never see them again, but unable to communicate that to them, watching them smile and wave at us and tell us they loved us, still thinking we were their "forever family." Knowing that we were just another couple in a long string of people who had abandoned and rejected them.

Where was our God? What did we think of Him now? Were we wrong in believing that He led us into this pain? Why? WHY? WHY???

The well-meaning Christian friends, telling us that it was "God's will" and that "He would take care of them," that we had done our best ... but you see we really knew that already, and there was no comfort in those words.

The lashing out, crying out to God for comfort and peace, the distance between my husband and I as we grieved this in our own ways. The pain caused to our other foster daughter, our biological children, our extended family, who had warmly welcomed and attached deeply to these precious ones.

The learning, six months later, that another couple had taken them intending to adopt them. And that until that time they had been in temporary foster care (translated group home). The discovery that this new adoptive placement not only resulted in another disruption, but also that child abuse charges were brought against this couple as they tried unsuccessfully to deal with Terran.

The wondering. The grieving that went on and on that no one seemed to understand - we only had them for THREE MONTHS! The insinuations that we should be "over it."

The pain.

The distancing myself from God in disappointment and anger and questioning.

And then the rainbow.

Kiki was returned to her first foster mother, who brought her home from the hospital after her removal from her birth home and after her tuberculosis was under control. Who nursed her back to health, who always wanted to adopt her but couldn't because of the "siblings can't be separated" policy. Kiki is now part of that forever family.

Terran was adopted by his special needs teacher, who is indeed trained and equipped to handle his issues.

These two moms are best friends, are both believers, and attend the same church, so the kiddos get to see each other regularly. In fact their formal adoption proceedings were held at the same time on the same day.

Still grief? Yes, probably always to some degree. But now JOY. Finally we realized. We realized that we did NOT hear God wrong, that He did NOT lead us astray, but that His plan was just different from ours. We were a necessary step along the path of getting them to where He ultimately wanted them. So now we praise when we grieve, knowing that God is faithful, He does not make mistakes, He will never waste my time, and He never turns away from me even when I turn from Him.

Praise His name!