Ba bye, birdies!

Beginning next week, for the first time ever, all three of my birdies will be leaving the nest for eight hours a day.   Since I became a mother in November of 2005...but arguably never...I have not experienced such extensive solitude.  I have had glimpses.  Tim takes the kids camping for a weekend every spring while I spend the weekend alone.  Every year, I revel in the peace and freedom these days afford me.   You know I love my children.  I have a wonderful brood of angels that (unless the TV is lulling them into a glassy eyed stupor) never cease moving, talking, asking, snuggling, fighting, hugging, running, loving, shouting, wrestling and imagining.  But, hey...mothers are as diverse as people and this particular mother struggles like mad with disorganization and inconsistency.  Both of these shining personal qualities exacerbate the organically chaotic atmosphere that emerges when siblings share space.  In other words, motherhood has allowed me to experience a depth of love I never knew...but it also kicks my butt.

Yes indeed.  As I look ahead to my life of solitude, my heart swells with relief and excitement.  I am looking forward to doing all the things I have neglected for ten years...like getting haircuts and planning supper prior to 4p.m.    And my children...I look forward to showing them what it's like to be loved and cared for by a mother who is physically, emotionally and spiritually healthy.  A mother who relies on God for every breath. 

God can read.

 
There are a ton of helpful books in the world on every topic.  They are written by wise and eloquent people and are meant to help the reader learn and grow.  In fact, I own several of these books.  They sit undisturbed on my bookshelf with their stiff bindings and treasures of truth trapped inside.  I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder a few years ago.    I was diagnosed as an adult, so I have many memories to review through the lens of an ADD diagnosis.  

"So that's why I couldn't study in college unless I shut myself in a deep, dark, quiet hole!"

"So, what you're saying is....not everyone suddenly feels super focused and motivated to work after drinking a cup or two of coffee?" 

One part of my life that has been impacted by ADD is the time I (don't) spend  with God.  It has always been difficult for me to take time each morning to pray and hear from Him.  I would sit down and try to focus on what I was reading or hearing or saying.  Two sentences in to my prayer and I would catch myself thinking about what I should make for supper that night.  These times often ended in resignation to the dysfunction.  I would continue with my day, feeling empty inside and angry with my brain.    It felt like such hard work!   I  just had to think of things I want to say to God, remember them and present them verbally in a way that helps me connect, learn, remember, grow.  Be quiet and still in His presence.   It should have been simple, but it felt impossible.         

A few weeks ago I was advised to check out podcasts of sermons by Timothy Keller.  So, I sat down one morning, coffee by my side, pen and notebook on my lap, and listened.  As I listened, I wrote down the words I was hearing so that I could keep them organized in my mind.  I also recorded my thoughts and questions about the message.  When I was finished listening, I had filled four pages with writing.  The message on the podcast had been clear, enlightening and supported by God's Word.   Beyond this, it had penetrated the thick fog that fills my skull.  Then, something (not so) profound occurred to me: 

God can read.  

God is not confined by space or time.  He hears prayers when they are just groans and tears.  He hears them when they are eloquently spoken aloud and he hears them when they are scribbled in a notebook. Since that first morning, I have filled nearly two journals with words about the gospel, explained to me by one of God's wise and gifted servants.   My notes are trimmed with thoughts and prayers that flow easily from my pen.  All the while, I know that God is peering over my shoulder, listening to every word I write.   I am so thankful that God completely understands and accepts my ADD brain.  I am thankful he sends wise pastors to explain the message of the gospel out loud in a way that passes through my mental fog.  I am thankful that He hears and treasures my written prayers.

 Click here to listen to podcasts of Tim Keller's sermons.

Five Story Fall

Paula Freeman, MSW

http://www.paulafreeman.org/

We don't expect a person who falls from a fifth-story window 

to walk away unscathed; they'd be lucky to survive!  

As bystanders, we might help mitigate the damage.  

Medical training and a willingness to get involved would help.  

I believe it's fair to assume a five-story fall survivor will never be the same.  

They may not walk again.  If they do, there would certainly be a noticeable limp.  

They would also sustain other wounds, some visible and some invisible.  

We don't expect them or their caregivers, 

to look and act like someone who had not endured such a tragedy. 

 Many of our children survive such falls 

emotionally, spiritually, mentally, or physically. 

As parents, our responsibility is to mitigate the damage, and help them achieve their greatest post-fall potential. 
Some have suffered irreparable harm from biological parents; others experienced damage due to drug and alcohol abuse before they were born, or bear institutional scars. 

All have severed relationships with at least one mother. 

The farther we move away from God’s plan,
the more drastic the consequences can become.
I frequently wonder
what God’s original design was
for our adopted or foster care children.
Did it grieve His heart when their mom drank alcohol
or did drugs in the midst of their creation?
Through no fault of their own,
some children must endure lifelong consequences
similar to surviving a five-story fall.
Expectations need adjustment
(ours and those of the support community upon which we rely).
We must prepare for battle, spiritual battle.
We need to applaud those families who undertake raising these children.
We can’t do that well without understanding there are significant differences.
Broken hearts, broken bodies, and broken spirits
don’t fit into the same molds our healthy children do.
 Many rage. Some withdraw. All feel abandoned.