Where's My "Happily Ever After"?

I had a day last week that made me consider turning in my parent card.  

I clearly don't know what I am doing with these kiddos.

After 13 years of mothering, shouldn't there be things I no longer have in my home?  

Like blatant disregard for my instructions?  Direct, habitual disobedience?  Lack of respect? Feigned ignorance of oft-repeated expectations?  Screaming fits?  Destructive indifference toward the property of others?  Calculated and coordinated mess-making?

The silver lining to the admission that these things exist in the Birmingham Haven of Peace and Quietude is that normally they occur in a somewhat staggered fashion, and by no more than three children at once. 

Most days, this fact almost makes up for the reality that I am severely outnumbered in addition to being outsmarted, outpaced, outwitted, and outmatched by the smaller residents of my home.  

My morning routine involves between 8 and 12 disciplinary sessions with varying individuals, each of which last anywhere between three seconds (infraction requiring sharp, life-saving command, no physical intervention, no Scripture reference)...

...to three minutes (sharp, life-saving command requiring physical intervention, extrication, or redirection, followed by gentle exhortation, including Scripture reference)...

...to 35 minutes (serious infraction of physical or emotional nature, requiring immediate separation of perp/perp or perp/victim, followed by careful reconstruction of crime scene, interviews with involved parties and witnesses, dispensation of appropriate discipline/sympathy, including Scripture references and prayer, concluded by emergency dispatch of search party to locate non-involved parties who have taken the opportunity to ditch their math and escape to the front yard while I was otherwise engaged).  

I have honed my skills to the point that as long as my children allow me the necessary 7.4 seconds of prayer and deep breathing that I require between each set of disciplinary actions, I can hold it together.

But last week, there was an incident where all present parties let loose at once.  And my older girls (who are helpful in these situations) were gone.  

And we had company over.  

And the company had small, sweet, impressionable children who were watching the arguing, fighting, breakage, disrespect, and disregard unfold before their eyes.  

And no matter what I did, I was not able to get it back together until the next day.  

It was a triumph of sin.  A humbling revelation of how much work is left to do in the hearts of my children--and in mine.

Thankfully, my company was very understanding.  They did not run screaming (as I was tempted to do), but instead stayed, made a commitment to pray for me, and offered me encouragement instead of judgement.

But I judged myself. And I admit to throwing a little pout up to God, attached to a reminder of all I have been trying to do over "these past three years of uncertainty."

Now that we are nearing "closure" I guess I was expecting God to move a little more in the hearts of our two youngest , who have had to live with more pain and confusion than they ought to have experienced.  

And maybe I thought He would work a little faster to fill the gaps in our older ones who have had less attention than they would like from me, less consistency than they need, and less protection from the realities of sadness, evil, anger, and injustice than I wanted them to have at their ages. 

As I thought over that day, I realized that I still come to God too often waving my time card and sporting an air of entitlement.  

"See, God?  Big stuff, here!  I took on more, worked harder, prayed longer, ran faster, and took the blows like a trooper.  Three years!  Wow!  I'm bushed!  Now you can bless me with an easy stretch.  I'll just sit here on my spiritual toboggan and wait for the downhill push."

And when a few months go by and I am still feeling besieged, I come again, but this time I feel--can I be honest?--a little irritated.

"God?  Remember that healing I prayed for?  See the massive spiritual battles we've got going on here?  I KNOW you can fix them.  It won't even be hard for you.  Here's my Giant Faith, now please meet my expectations."

And yet...

And yet, He has told me that His ways are higher than mine (Isaiah 55:9), and that far from getting to order Him up, I don't even know what I should ask for when I pray (Romans 8:26), and that even when I don't feel it, His love for me is higher than the heavens (Psalm 103:11) and His compassion is beyond measure (Psalm 51:1), and He will not leave me alone in my struggles (Hebrews 13:5).

Now is the time when I need to chuck the idea of "closure" once and for all, especially if what I mean is "the point where the ugly problems and besetting sins of myself and others are all wrapped up and put away and they never bother me again."

If that is the definition, then I'm pretty sure closure is when I'm dead, and I should probably stop asking for it.  

Adoption is a wonderful milestone, but it unfolds onto another long hard, broken, beautiful road--the path where a group of sinful, selfish people with very different backgrounds, and real needs, and big challenges work together to become the family God has planned for us to be.  

And it will be wonderful and painful and scary and sanctifying, and it is likely NOT going to be easy.

Because the best things aren't.

   

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Psalm 63:1-8

You, God, are my God,
    earnestly I seek you;
I thirst for you,
    my whole being longs for you,
   in a dry and parched land

     where there is no water.

                       I have seen you in the sanctuary

              and beheld your power and your glory. 

                Because your love is better than life,
                        my lips will glorify you.
                       I will praise you as long as I live,
            and in your name I will lift up my hands.
                                I will be fully satisfied 

                      as with the richest of foods;
          with singing lips my mouth will praise you.

                     On my bed I remember you;
     I think of you through the watches of the night.
                             Because you are my help,
               I sing in the shadow of your wings.
                                I cling to you;
                    your right hand upholds me.

Everywhere is Evidence of Love

God has been outdoing himself lately with the scenery during my recent running excursions.  Here are a couple examples.






Now multiply those images by 250 and you will have a taste of what I really saw.  My phone is simply too puny and my technological impairments too great to capture the splendor.  

Sorry.

There was, however, one evening that outdid them all.  It was two weeks ago on one of those breathtaking autumn days that are almost worth the price of winter.  

The color on the trees was at its peak.  The sky was churning with silver and gold clouds.  Leaves were swirling around my feet, and the wind at my back made me feel fast. 

Fifty-four degrees.  Almost twilight.  Perfect!

I pushed up and around two tight bends in the trail and...

...suddenly I was standing at the top of a brilliant, tree-rimmed ridge.  The sky was towering and dark all around me, gray clouds folding over one another like waves, except for five brilliant fingers of light that punched through to flood a distant hill in glory.  

And right above me, a blue patch of sky and a warm light on my face. 

But the thing that made me catch my breath in wonder was the realization that this fleeting moment was all for me.  

An incredible extravagance of beauty was here and my eyes were the only ones with the privilege of taking it in.

Ever.

Call it arrogance.  Call it naivete.  Call it sentimental pish posh, but I have gathered moments like these since my childhood, stopping in mid stride whenever they come upon me, stretching out my senses to capture every drop of wonder from the scene, and then folding the memory inside my mind like a fragile treasure. 

In those moments of sacred beauty I have been drawn to praise, and in that praise, I have felt the presence of a God who delights to give good gifts to His children.  

Is it too much to think that He planned that moment (and so many others) for me in order to turn my heart toward joy?  In order to remind me that I not only know, but am known?  

In the swirl of confusion, chaos, pain, and disappointment down here, God is still singing love songs to us via the marvels and majesty He has flung to every corner of the universe.  

My only regret is that worry and distraction have kept me from seeing His hand as often as I should.

How can I be so intent on getting the "next thing" done that I fail to marvel over the exquisite curve of my little boy's cheek or the way the sun glints off my daughter's hair?  

How can I take for granted the comfortable delights of my relationship with Jamey?  

What of the hundreds of intricately designed and delicately tinted flowers that budded, bloomed, and died in the gardens outside my doors as I rushed past them all summer? 

How about the view from my front window?  

It quickened my heart when I first saw it seven years ago--a rolling green lawn framed by gardens and trees, a meandering creek under a weeping willow, a wildflower field, and beyond that, a peaceful mosaic of fields and fences, ancient oaks and old barns.

Lovely!  But now it has to be transformed by a new frost or a pink sunrise or a fresh snow to get my attention.

I guess what I am saying to God is both "Thank You" and "I'm sorry".

Thank You for showing me Your great love in moments big and small.  Thank You for helping me to see them, and please help me to see them more and to love You more.

That said, I'm sorry for missing so many of the gifts You have sent, and for growing immune to the wonder in the gifts I once cherished.  I long for the day that my craving for what is fresh and novel will not blind me to the treasures I already have around me.

Most of all, I pray that my heart would grow ever closer to Yours--that I would know you better, and rest in the wonder of being known--and that my mouth would be increasingly full of Your praises, of which You are eminently worthy!  

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It is written in the colors of a thousand autumn twilights

Painted in the eyes of a child

 Spoken as forgiveness by an honest open hand
It's the friend who will walk the extra mile

It's the giving where there is not enough
There is everywhere the evidence of love

Open your eyes
And look upon the handiwork of God
Open your soul
And feel the breath of glory all around

For everywhere there's evidence of love

It's living in the rich earth, waving in the wind
It's music that moves us to believe
And dying in a small town, knowing where true life begins
It's hope beyond what we can see

It's the mercy when tears are not enough
There is everywhere
The evidence of love

Open your eyes
And look upon the handiwork of God
Open your soul
And feel the breath of glory all around

For everywhere there's evidence of love

A simple crucifix hanging on the wall
Everywhere, there's evidence of love

--Lyrics to "Evidence of Love" by First Call
 

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 Psalm 148:1-4   

Praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord from the heavens;
    praise him in the heights above. 

 Praise him, all his angels;
    praise him, all his heavenly hosts.
 Praise him, sun and moon;
    praise him, all you shining stars.
 Praise him, you highest heavens
    and you waters above the skies!