And now...the rest of the story

Our house is expanding...by 4 feet. Yes, just 3 months after taking J.T. into our home, 2 little girls will be adding their "patches" to our patchwork family.

Yes, it's quick.
Yes, it's crazy.
But we know it's right.

Just 6 weeks after getting J.T. I had a dream that there was a little girl who needed us. I brought it up to Jon and he just blew it off, saying it was too soon. The next week I had another dream about a little girl and he took it a bit more seriously.

"Well, I guess we said we'd know when the time was right. Let's bring it up with J. T."
He loved the idea and has been asking for a sister ever since.

So we were slow on calling the placement worker, just getting caught up in the busyness of life with a 4 year old.

Another week passed and another dream. This one was clearly a 3 year old girl who needed us,- but the window of opportunity was closing.

It didn't make a bit of sense to me. How could we run out of time? It's not as if they hold foster kids on the shelf for a bit. When they come into care, they place them. I woke up with such a strong feeling in my spirit I couldn't let it rest.

"Jon, you have to call Sara. And if you don't I will! We're running out of time.... it's a girl,- a three year old girl."

"Ok, ok, I'll call her now."

Dialing. "Hey Sara, it's Jon G.....yeah.....oh really?.....hmmmmm.....ok, maybe I should let you talk to my wife."

Sure enough, she had a 3 year old girl in mind for us. She was actually already in care, but needed a transfer in placement. She was going for a weekend respite with another family, but Sara expected to current foster mom to need the transfer in the next few days.

We said yes without a doubt. But when the weekend came and went, the current foster mom through she could make the situation work.

We were disappointed, but at the same time we all knew it wouldn't work. So we waited patiently.

And two weeks ago Jon got a call from Sara.

"Remember that little girl? We'll need to change her placement. For real this time, it's just not working where she currently is"

"Yes. we'll take her"

"Well wait....there's also a sister"

Yes, they are part of a group of 5 children who are in care, and many have been separated. The agency saw this as the perfect opportunity to reunite the girls.

That was  surprise to us, but we took the weekend to pray about  it. In the end we felt this was truly the right thing to do.

So they are joining us this weekend, first the 10 year old A.T. and then the (now) 4 year old Si-Si.

Crazy? Yes.

But we knew that was the journey we were signing up for.

And now you know...the rest of the story.

Torn apart

On the 27^th we finally got the call. I’d been very impatiently waiting for. I've reminding myself that it was all about timing and the right fit. We’d had a few calls but the kids were out of our demographics so we had to say no.

When we finally got the right call I was so excited. A little boy, 3 years old, - our first foster kid.

But immediately my excitement was conflicted with sadness. I realized that a family had been torn apart that day.

I prayed for his Biological mother, the sibling, his little heart. I couldn’t even imagine what that experience would be like.

 I would soon find out.

Little JT came to us that evening and we began the process of settling in- which I realize is anything but settling. It’s a mad flurry or introductions, immediate boundaries with a smile, trips to Meijer for everything the child did not come with, calls to the Foster Closet to find out when we can visit to get resources etc.

Saturday morning we did some errands and were driving home with JT in the back. We were on a main street, and the traffic suddenly got a bit congested. There were cars slowing and some switching lanes.

Garage Sale.

“Oh that’s weird, even a cop is at that garage sale.” Jon laughed.

Indeed there was. I leaned forward in my seat to get a better glance at what they were selling that had so many people’s attention. What I saw broke my heart.

A grandmother in the front yard fell to her knees. She grabbed her grandchild in her arms, as the little girl sobbed hysterically.

She had a large bruise around her eye.

A police man stood behind them with his hand on her shoulder as he gently tried to free her from grandma’s last goodbye.

I knew what I was witnessing.

“That little is being removed.” I said.

The deep sadness settled into my heart again. Everyday this is happening around us, but rarely does it touch our lives. Families are being torn apart every day.

And while I love everything about our little JT, part of me wishes it could be different for him. I wish he could be in his family, happy and whole. I wish things could be good for them, and they could be united. I wish he'd never had to experience the fear and sadness of being separated from his mother.

But I know for now that is not possible. So for now I will try my best to give him those things in our Patchwork family.

Due Date

So today we sign our final paper and will receive the final "ok" to take in kids. I wonder if this is how pregnant women feel. Waiting and wondering, "Will today be the day?" I'm overwhelmed with excitement, I can't really think of anything else. Yet sometimes I find myself thinking, "Well if they don't come for a few days then they can miss the rain and play outside." or "I hope they don't come that day, I haven't thawed out the hamburger...." So we're just waiting.....

So how did I get here?.....

To be honest I’d always grown up expecting to have my own kids. I never knew any other way. I thought I’d marry young and start a family in my early 20’s. But sometimes life doesn’t work the way you expect. By 32, I found myself well educated in both books and life, had built a career and left it all behind to live in Africa. So many wonderful unexpected things had come my way but not the one thing I’d truly longed for, - a family. After a while it began to stress me out! Year after year, still single and no children. All you hear about in the media is increasing rates of infertility, or struggles to get pregnant after 30! I have several friends who have gone through IVF treatments and I’d think to myself, “Oh that is definitely not for me!” I had seriously considered adoption, (after all I was living in Africa) but each time I prayed about it, I heard a resounding “NO.” He wasn’t even open for discussion. So I returned to the USA with no baby. More years went by and the stress piled on, and it felt like the opportunities were slipping away. There finally came a day that I was fed up. Me and God had to have it out. I felt like Jacob “wrestling” with God, and not letting go until I had some answers. That was a long tearful night but I remember throwing at Him “You’ve given me wonderful things and wonderful opportunities. You’ve given me all of these things, but I’ve never asked you for these. College and NC and Africa were all good, but why do you refuse to give me the one thing that I actually want? No answer. Not that day, and not for a very long time. But one night I woke up from a dream. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a dream, you know? And I can’t even remember what the dream was, but I remember waking up and understanding the meaning of the dream was that my children would not be my own. Ok. To be honest I wasn’t exactly thrilled, - but at least I had an answer. I could calm the flip down and not stress about my fertile years anymore. I took this to mean that I’d end up with a guy who already had kids and I’d be the stepmom. Ummm. Not my first choice. I’d get to spend my weekend with some other woman’s kids. They’d like me but love her. I’d always be second best. I’d been given the child consolation prize. More years went by. I’d accepted my fate. The biological part didn’t bother me, oh heavens no. I fall in love with other people’s kids all the time. But I didn’t want to be a part time mom. I wanted to be a real mom. A 24 hours a day mom. A mom who reads bedtime stories every night, and cleans up puke and teaches kids how to ride bikes and convinces kids there are no monsters under the bed. A mom who tries and tries all of the parenting tips she reads online before she snaps and loses her s@%! and screams, “I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it!!!” or “Do you see? Do you see? That’s why we can’t have anything nice!” And then there was a day. One day in April. I was praying about whatever, but my mind began to think about this topic again, - my kids would not be my own And I heard in my spirit as clear as day, “When God gives us something, it…is…good.” I sat numb thinking about that. It…is...good. I was not being punished. I was not given second hand children. I was not handed a consolation prize. It is good. It is good that I will raise children that are not my own. It is good that I not have my own biological children. For whatever purpose, yet to be seen, this was part of my journey. Part of my plan. Part of who I was created to be. In that moment, I had an epiphany. My mind began to race with all of those thoughts long forgotten. The times I used to beg my parents to adopt another child. The plethora of time in teaching, or in Africa when I’d look at the pitiful life of some of my kids and long “I wish I could just take them home with me.” The fear I had of childbirth. The indifference I had with babies. The times I’d encountered those who had been adopted and left thinking “that’s awesome!” My secret desire to be a house-mom of a Wototo Village in Africa. The desire to have 6, 20, 50, 100 kids. For the first time, the idea of having kids that were not my own made me…happy. It has made me happy every day since. And for those of you who know our story, 3 months later I stood in the buffet line at a wedding, talking to some random guy that I had met a few months before at church. He pulled out his phone and started showing me pictures of his family, - a very motley crew. “Yeah, my brother fosters and adopts. I want to do that someday too. I think it would be cool…” And the rest is history…..

Patchwork Parenting

My husband has a patchwork quilt that his grandmother made The colors are eclectic and I can't quite say they match. But there is something that is very appealing about this patchwork quilt. Maybe it's knowing that someone created it by hand,-hours of painstakingly planning, cutting, and stitching. Maybe it's knowing that a family member thought enough to put it all together and give it to Jon without ever knowing everyone who would enjoy it. Maybe it's the fact that when you actually climb under it, it is cozy beyond all measures of coziness. There is just something about that patchwork quilt that is good. It makes me think of the journey Jon and I are just about to begin. We've initiated the process to get our foster care license. This is the beginning of what I will refer to as Patchwork Parenting. Our family will be pieced together piece by piece. Most likely, we won't match and we'll all look like an eclectic collection. However, we are confident that even this process has been planned and will produce love and comfort for those we don't yet know. We are excited to begin this journey. I hope to chronicle the journey here......