Filthy floor

Today was not the best day. The cranky baby made crankier by her awesome new teeth. I had literally just sent a text to a friend lamenting motherhood when I felt like I got a little slap on the hand from God. 11 years ago- I longed for this life, begged for this life, made bargains with God for this life. And it is a full good life. Not one gift as I begged for, but four amazing beautiful children. The slap on the hand though came to me by way of a small picture flashing through my head, a picture of a baby- my baby girl- crying on an unknown filthy floor. She may have days where she cries, but God placed her here, with us, where she would never know crying alone, never know neglect, never stop crying because there isn't a response. I am thankful for that small picture as sad as it made me because it helped me remember our why.

Easter Sunday

"But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and he will stand upon the earth at last. And after my body has decayed yet in my body I will see God!" Job 19:25

Its Easter Sunday. My friends and family are headed off to church. I am getting He is risen texts and see it all over social media accounts as well, I even respond with the correct response. My husband just sent me a text of most of the family in their Easter gear ready to head off to church, gear I picked out months in advance. And yet here I sit, on my living room floor, second espresso in hand, ripped jeans and white tshirt and tears streaming down my face.  You all, my heart is sad and I am tired. 

I read over my past few months of blogs and facebook entries and texts to friends and I am realizing how far I have slipped and how far away from God I am. Some how in the last few months of what we have termed here "survival mode" I have let go of the only rope that could actually save me.  And have continually tried to do it on my own strength, Hawkins strength. Can I just say that is impossible.  Hawkins strength will get me tired and sad and wondering how to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I could stay here, ruminate on all the reasons it happened, but the reality is that isn't what I want heard today.

It is not ironic that today, Easter Sunday is the day I open my eyes and look around and see how far I have gone, and not in the right direction. Because today, Easter Sunday is the day we celebrate the only way to get back to where I want to be, safe in the arms of a loving God.

When I was in junior high, I had the best Sunday School teacher in the world.  We loved her so much. And I am going to leave you with one story she told to demonstrate our need for relationship with God.

There once was a man and woman, so in love and doing all they could to spend time together. She would climb up into the cab of his truck and slide all the way over the bench seat until she was snuggled up under his arm, and she would ride like that wherever they went.  The years went by and at some point, she stopped sliding over the bench seat and just stayed by the window.  One day she looked at him and said, "how come we don't ride around like we used to, with your arm safe around me?" and He replied "I am not the one who moved."

Are you dried up? Are you weary? Do you find yourself able to tell the Easter Story in your sleep, but for whatever reason it just doesn't grip you like it should? Maybe today, this beautiful Easter Sunday you can find yourself sliding a little closer to God on the bench seat.

Sadness

I have started this post about three times.  I just don't know where and when to update.  One day you could talk to me and I could be on cloud nine after a good talk with a social worker or a milestone met. Or the next you could talk to me and I could be in the depths of despair from a stressful visit or lack of communication.
So here is where I am today: feeling a deep sadness. There is sadness in knowing an hour spent with her family makes her clingy for the whole next day. There is sadness in knowing siblings are also processing. There is sadness that her family can't be whole. And there is sadness thinking she might not stay. It seems as if there shouldn't be both kinds of sadness. But there is because her life's story will always bear the marks of sadness, whether she stays or goes. And I just have to sit and process that while I rock her.

Someone let me off this roller coaster

There are weeks between posts, as Tim and I just live and breath and keep everyone alive.  We are finally settling into the swing of four, when one of those four is a newborn. Today felt like a pretty big milestone, as we were able to travel to Wichita and back to take in a show and everyone was able to enjoy it! I think that all new parents have to find their new normal and maybe (fingers crossed) we have finally found ours. BUT the thing is that as soon as we find a new normal, new normal slips into the next new normal. If we feel comfortable where we are then inevitably we will get a phone call or text or email that will shake up what we are comfortable with.
Our sweet little puddin is 3 months and one week old today. That means she has been a part of our for three whole months.  It has gone so quickly and yet so slowly. Starting this week we will share her with a little more frequency with her family. While we are very happy for them, we are a little sad for us. Sharing means admitting that she isn't ours, that she might not stay and that she actually belongs somewhere else. So as we ride this rollercoaster, bare with me when I occassionally ask for the exit. This mama's heart can only take so many rides up and down.

It has been a while since I have updated with a foster care post.  This month has been a little rough.

Our first placement was a successful reunification on December 5th. As all things, this was bitter sweet. We were thrilled for Mom, she has worked so hard and was so happy to be picking up her little girl.  We were happy for S, she deserves to not be shuttled back and forth any more.  She was only with us 23 hours every week, so the transition has been easy on us. But little things still make me miss her, the spare paci I found in the car, the extra place at the table, the tree (oh how she would love to destroy the tree). But for the most part we are just happy that we could help her while we could.

Our other little lady has hit the two month screaming spells. Though I had read this could happen, again my naivety had me thinking we would miss this, especially when we were still dealing with the no sleep/hard time pooping/stiff muscles. For whatever reason, I thought we could keep our baby from crying. But its real people, so very real.

I am writing this from a hard spot.  This Christmas vacation has seemed like anything but a vacation, and I am not gonna lie, I a feeling a bit worn down. There have been moments when we look at each other and wonder if we can go one more day. A beautiful text from one who has traveled this journey before me came at just the right moment today "Hold on to the call you both heard. Sometimes that's all you have." It sent me back, back to Tim's office where we were discussing this challenge. I remember the prayer, the resolve, the "call". And I remember the knowledge that we couldn't do it alone.

I think that is the thing, too often I am trying to do it alone. Today a beautiful soul offered to bring us a meal- do you know what a life line that can be on a really tough day? And my answer, my first answer, was "nah, we are okay". I could almost feel God shaking His head at me as I pushed send on the text, and He gave me a second chance. This friend wouldn't give up, and brought us that meal, forgiving my crazy. Somedays it just feels like we are calling in all the favors and never passing them out. I hate being on this side of things.  I would much rather be the extra laundry folder, meal bringer, babysitter. But God isn't asking us for that right now.  He is asking us for vulnerability, and letting those friends bless us with their gifts.

So thank you once again friends. Thank you for walking with us. Folding our laundry, taking our kids for playdates, bringing the meals, and just telling us you are thinking of us and praying for us.  We couldn't do this without you all,

ASH

There are days when Tim and I look at each other and we wonder where the rewind button went. If I could go back to this part of the day, I could save it. Or if this one thing went differently the day would have gone so much better. Today was one of those days.  It started out so great! We played games, read books, seemed to grow enough arms to pacify four children all at the same time. And then . . . I dropped the lemon bread. Yeap, all of the delicious gooey goodness that was going to become tried and true Hawkins Family Christmas treat, got dumped all over the inside of the oven. It was as if I as a parent couldn't rebound from that. From there it was crabbiness and messes.

But yet, tonight, in the silence, the melancholy sets in and I can't help but think of our true number three. It was six years ago, almost this exact time when the contractions I was praying weren't there started rolling and just wouldn't stop. Through that long and seemingly endless night we said good bye to the baby we were so hoping to meet several months from then. Christmas eve has never had quite the same joy as before.

Tonight I take a moment to side step from foster care and just grieve. Maybe this year is harder because we also said good bye to SS this month. Or maybe it is because we just had great fellowship with friends whose son would have been in her kindergarden class this year. Or maybe it is always like this and I forget from year to year. But this year, for whatever reason, I find myself sitting here thinking of her. What would she have been like? What gift would we building to put under the tree? Would she be reading every book she found, or slowly sounding out letters? Was she my one organized one who would have wanted to help line shoes up by the door? Or the one who couldn't see the mess she left behind as she built another beautiful masterpiece. I have said more than once, I am glad that God left a missing stair step in our family line. I like to look at the landscape of our family and still invision one more, right in between a brother and a sister. But tonight, that missing stairstep just seems to be missing.

We signed up for this

I can remember times with our biological kids, that Tim and I would look at each other and say, "and we decided to do this?", mostly joking with a hint of truth. And I would always come back to my verse "He settles the barren woman in her home, the happy mother of children", scolding myself for even half a second not being grateful for my gifts.
Having kids wasn't easy for us, with a wait of 4 years for the first, and three for the third, and loss in between. I always said that would give us perspective, but sometimes, in the dead of night, perspective slips and you wonder why you prayed, begged, hoped so long for this insanity. But then, he/she/they look up at you and God taps your heart and you remember, you were made for this, they were made for you, and it is all okay.
This morning I had an ugly moment.  Let me tell you all, it wasn't pretty.  I had gotten a literal 2 hours of sleep, that were tinged with guilt because they came at the loss of my husband's sleep, and he had to go act human at work. As he was walking out the door, Tim says over his shoulder, "Its okay babe, it's what WE signed up for." There it was, hanging out there, just like with the bios, we had made a decision, one you don't back out of, even when it gets ugly, even when it gets hard. Its what we signed up for, together as a team. The tears fell a little, but the day started looking up.
It is true, we signed up for this. At some point in our journey we specifically said, "what a gift it would be to help someone trying to get clean when we know what it is like to have a screaming baby". At that time though we just didn't realize what we were truly signing up for.
We got the call, the "can you go to Wichita and pick up a baby girl? You will have to take classes to take her home. She was born addicted . . ." And we said yes. We had done our research, we knew people who had similar stories, we thought we had a clue.  But there is a difference I tell you between reading words on a page and experiencing them.
Symptoms may include: Tremors (trembling), Irritability (excessive crying), sleep problems, high-pitched crying, tight muscle tone, hyperactive reflexes, seizures, yawning, stuffy nose and sneezing, poor feeding and suck, bowel issues . . .
Words on a page cannot prepare you for the child that needs swaddled constantly even at 5 weeks, who has trouble pooping on her own or is up literally all night long.  It just can't. So there are going to be moments when this "we signed up for this" stuff feels a little unfair. But, then, she smiles, she calms, she snuggles close and God taps your heart and you remember, at this moment in time, you were made for this, she was made for you.

"Care for the flock that God has entrusted to you. Watch over it willingly, not grudgingly- not for what you get out of it, but because you are eager to serve God." 1 Peter 5:2