Everything was fine until I got to the bakery section. There I was, rolling along between a mountain of pretzel rolls and a pallet of blueberry muffins (you Costco members know exactly what I mean), when suddenly I started crying.
And when I say crying, I mean crying. Not just a couple of tears, but the whole nine yards--the quivering chin, the snot, the ragged breathing. It was more than I could pass off as my just being overcome by the sheer value of Costco's baked goods, so I quickly buried myself in the back corner of the refrigerated produce room until the jag passed and I could scuttle to the door.
This kind of thing never used to happen when I was a young mom. I cried then, but it was more of a private, scheduled event instead of the ugly, unbidden sloppiness that hit me yesterday. There was no crying into shopping carts, or even in public bathrooms or parking lots. When I needed to, I could hold it together.
No doubt there were many factors at play during my breakdown. Hormones. Lack of sleep. General life stress and uncertainty.
But mostly I think it was love.
For the past...since I had all my kids...I have had a fairly high degree of social anxiety. Meaning, I have rarely gone anywhere where one of my kids has not insulted or offended someone, acted inappropriately, broken something, had a meltdown, or been socially unacceptable in some manner. It is not always the same kid. This seems to be the one area where they happily take turns.
But at some point in their lives, many of my kids have been very good at being "bad".
I am not talking normal offenses. I am talking about things which require me to carry a checkbook to social functions.
I am talking about exit strategies which involve backing a child out of the room slowly as the adult who is hosting us does deep breathing exercises.
I am talking multi-level apologies for a child's behavior accompanied by the sinking feeling that our family's number will be removed from yet another contact list, effective immediately.
You see, we are not a typical family. Many of my children came to us with deep wounds. They are healing as they grow, but the process is slow and sometimes ugly.
When I see them, I see what they have overcome, what they are working so hard to correct, what they are not even aware they need to fix yet because they are still learning the basics of civilized life. But not everyone sees this.
Over and over I have watched peoples' good will toward one of my children turn to disgust, disdain, dislike, and ultimately distance due to something untoward that one of them did or said--and I don't necessarily blame folks for bowing out of our little project.
They didn't choose this level of chaos. They didn't sign up for the uncertainty, the unpredictability, and the volatility of some of my crowd.
I actually didn't know exactly what I was signing up for either. But I love them so, so much.
They are not all bad, by any means. Often, my children are tender and thoughtful towards me and others, service-minded, diligent, affectionate, resilient and tenacious, shyly vulnerable, kind.
Other times my children are messy and awkward, rude, impulsive, inconsiderate, inexplicable, and lazy.
Always they are emotionally fragile, over-sensitive, and wounded in deep places.
All of us are.
Some of my children spent their early years in the chaotic stew of foster care--and I'm not just counting my adopted kids here.
My biological kids gave up a "normal childhood" because when we signed up for a mission into a dangerously broken system, we brought them with us.
They watched our foster kids be parented with different standards from them (by law and by necessity), and with different methods (also by law and necessity).
They watched their mother be hit and screamed at and hurt.
They watched their stuff be destroyed. Over and over.
Their parents were either in crisis prevention or crisis management mode with social workers, biological parents, or foster siblings almost all the time.
They were dragged into the emotional roller coaster of parental visits and witnesses to the traumatic aftermath of them.
Meanwhile, my foster kids were lied to by me (by order of the court), by their biological moms, by their social workers and counselors, by the system.
Their hearts were torn and torn and torn again. My first two went through this for one year. My last two, for three.
I think that when we finally blinked in the sunlight after our adoptions, we were so tired and shell-shocked that we almost didn't know where to find "normal", so we just put one foot in front of the other and hoped it was the general right direction.
And I think it was. We clung to each other and to Scripture. We read lots of good books and sat under good teaching. And slowly, slowly we watched the tightly curled hearts of our children soften.
Five years into parenting my tough-as-nails boy my goodnight kisses were still a one-way street, and then suddenly one night as I knelt by his bed, he caught my face in his hands and planted a shy, barely-there kiss on my cheek.
One kiss. A thing that falls like rain on most mamas, but not for me. Not from him.
He wouldn't even look at me afterward, but buried his face in his comforter and pretended to be asleep until I left the room. And that kiss stayed with me like a physical thing all the next day and carried the weight of a thousand.
For him I knew it was an act of purple-heart bravery, and I could barely breathe at the enormity of the risk he had taken to give me that gift. To this day, I get exactly one kiss a night, and only if it is dark and no one is watching.
I do not hear, "I love you too," when I say it and even his smiles are dearly earned, but oh, how far he has come from the boy who didn't even know how to laugh at a joke when he came to us!
My brassy, sassy, act first, think later (maybe) child began to develop a center of calm in her storm. Her eyes softened and her normal expression moved from a cross between "sullen" and "deceased" to something that looked like hope.
Her heart began to turn toward selflessness and service and her understanding of love blossomed into the ability to give as well as take.
I couldn't blame people for not seeking us out for play dates, but it hurt.
I remember the time we went to a homeschool co-op gathering and something little thing happened that unleashed an emotional Armageddon in my boy. I clicked into damage control mode and began immediate evacuation procedures which involved sending hand signals to my older kids to grab their stuff and head to the van, while I simultaneously tried to talk my child off his psychological ledge and issue blanket apologies to everyone within earshot.
We made it home with minimal casualties and I was sitting at the kitchen table feeling my typical, post-social-function mixture of relieved and sweaty and jealous and sad and embarrassed when a little, puffy face pushed into my shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Sorry? What?
This was HUGE! Huge. A spontaneous apology? Thirty whole minutes after the offense? Unsolicited?
Like many of our victories, it was a breakthrough that no one else got to see, and my heart ached that his successes were so often achieved in secret.
Because that is where he feels safe.
Same with my hungry-eyed girl. She had a broken, empty heart and she would try to fill it with anything. Everything. And I would peel her off strangers and friends alike who looked at her (and sometimes at me) like we were dirty. She took affection. She took people's things.
She took and took, and I would follow after and make apologies and watch the annoyance and disgust and dislike flash over the faces of grown adults who, having received grace and mercy for decade upon decade, could not find it within themselves to offer the scraps of understanding to a girl who had spent the first few years of her life being told in both word and action that she was useless, worthless, and unlovely.
From that she had learned to snatch food, possessions, and affection wherever she could find them. Can you blame her?
People did.
And I held her head in my lap for so many years as she cried her little heart out over not being invited to yet another party, over being marched out of a field trip or a play date for yet another impulsive decision, over being the recipient of yet another angry glare, curled back lip, disgusted expression, heated accusation.
Sometimes it was true, and she had earned every ounce of what was being thrown at her, and even my mother's heart had to make the conscious choice to turn itself toward her and act in love, but other times her reputation had preceded her and people had already made up their minds to withhold grace or they had just forgotten where she had come from and what it might have done to her social skills.
So a decade later, here I was in Costco, reliving the whole scenario again with another little one: an attempt at a nice evening the day before had turned into broken trust, inexplicable decisions, a politely disdainful reaction toward "your daughter...."
And I am just so tired of having to stand in that gap and beg for mercy.
I'm not asking for blanket forgiveness for all of my children. I'm not saying that you should just smile and let them destroy your home, but can you take just a tiny moment to breathe before you add to the ledgers and litanies and lists?
Can you look around at the folks who are walking the razor's edge with special needs children (either biological or adopted or both) and instead of giving less grace--
Give more?
Will you help us?
Will you NOT jump to the conclusion that my kid is guilty when your kids tale-bear against her? She might be guilty (OK. She probably is.) but guess what?
Not every time. And kids have a laser-beam instinct about scapegoats, and they cheerfully pin their own guilt or complicity on any convenient source. Sometimes she didn't do it, or didn't do it alone.
And she hears you talk about the "bad kids" because I have heard it too--in small groups, in hallways, in the way people leap to confer guilt and innocence on the word of the "good" child before hearing any further evidence.
Can you imagine the burden that is for these kids to carry? They are not stupid. They condemn themselves without help from anyone else. Several times I have found one of my children wrapped up in his comforter in the corner of his bed after a rough day, weeping and asking, "Why am I like this? Why do I do this?"
I have no words. It is heartbreaking.
Mothers of the "sometimes unlovely" go out into the world with our guards up. We unfortunately are already on the defensive, already prepared for the ugly sneer, the huff, the gasp, the lame excuses, the speedy accusations, and the emotional fallout from our kiddos who may or may not even fully be aware of what they have done, but keenly feel the rejection of their friends and parents of friends.
Here is what I can promise you, and I think I speak for many parents of kids from hard places when I say this:
I promise you I will not stop trying to talk to and love on and preach to and discipline and model for and pray over and review with and cry over and read to and read about and learn from my needy children.
I will do my level best to protect your stuff and your feelings and your children from mine.
I will attempt to keep my eyes on all four corners of your house and on all my offspring while we are there.
I will do my utmost to raise these little (and big) ones to become solid, productive citizens.
But after all this, it is still possible that I will get it wrong.
I might actually be a terrible parent. My blind spots might outweigh my wisdom 2 to 1. Believe me, my own heart tells me this on a pretty regular basis.
Maybe it is true.
So?
This just means that I and others like me need you even more. My kids need to see gracious, consistent nurturance and discipline.
I need to be near you to watch you interact with your kids. We need the slow, patient chiseling of friends who will stay and not run away.
Will you try to see something--anything--good in my kiddo? And tell him? And tell me?
It is like a glass of water to a parched throat when that happens. If you find something good to say about my child, I will carry it close to my heart for weeks. So will he.
Maybe if he sees he has delighted you, he will become delightful.
Maybe your love and gentleness with her heart will help her be lovely--and gentle her raging spirit.
Maybe if he hurts your stuff, instead of marching him out by the shoulder with a hard face and white lips, you could gather him in and say your piece with shining eyes and soft hands. Maybe he will see that he is worth more than a trinket or a bauble or a window or a rug.
I know it is hard. Sometimes I get tired of living in the bunker between the explosions and I grow weary of making the choice to turn toward the little creatures who seem so desperately intent on pulling down their own world around them.
Sometimes even I come up empty and this is when God most often takes my face in His hands and says almost audibly, "Now you are beginning to see yourself and Me. I have loved you with an everlasting love." (Jeremiah 31:3)
And then I know how blessed I am to be shepherding wounded lambs: Through them I am beginning to understand God's grace toward me.
Maybe if you look at my children with the right eyes you can see it too--a picture of your own wretched, desperately defiant self.
Lost, scared, needing to be loved--for so you were when Christ found you with your wild eyes and your hungry spirit. You and I didn't come to Him as soft, pink, fragrant bundles of potential.
We came with unruly hearts. We came with no idea of what it meant to be a part of a family like God's, no propriety as befits the heirs to a kingdom, and sometimes no desire to learn. (Romans 5:8 "God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.")
And He loves us in. Gently takes the sinful shreds we clutch against our nakedness and clothes us with holiness. (Isaiah 61:10 "I am overwhelmed with joy in the LORD my God! For he has dressed me with the clothing of salvation and draped me in a robe of righteousness. I am like a bridegroom in his wedding suit or a bride with her jewels.")
He doesn't dump the full burden of His expectations on us at once so our spirits are crushed under the weight, but patiently, kindly reveals them to us, one by one as we gain strength and faith in His goodness. He draws us gently to Him and makes us want to please His heart. (Psalm 18:35 "You have also given me the shield of your salvation: and your right hand has held me up, and your gentleness has made me great.")
He shows us His delight by giving us love letters before we are truly lovely, showing us pictures of what He knows we can be. (Psalm 149:4 "For the LORD takes pleasure in His people; He will beautify the afflicted ones with salvation.")
Do you really understand this, Friends? He loves us. While we are actively defying Him.
If you know Him, if you have experienced this, can you do the same for my broken children?
Can I do it for you?
Do you hear God asking us to really love the people in our lives who add nothing and ask everything?
For those who break our hearts--and our stuff?
Those who disgust us? Who make us want to cut and run? Who possess no social graces?
People who are obnoxious, time consuming, unattractive, irritating?
Can you look at them and see your face?
Because no matter what we give, we are still in the Father's debt. He still came farther, reached longer, loved harder, and sacrificed more.
From that grace, how should we love the least of these?
*************
Isaiah 53:1-12
Who has believed what he has heard from us? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?
For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed.
He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he opened not his mouth.
By oppression and judgment he was taken away;
and as for his generation, who considered
that he was cut off out of the land of the living,
stricken for the transgression of my people?
And they made his grave with the wicked
and with a rich man in his death,
although he had done no violence,
and there was no deceit in his mouth.
Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him;
he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt, he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days; the will of the Lord shall prosper in his hand.
Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied; by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities.
Therefore I will divide him a portion with the many, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong,
because he poured out his soul to death
and was numbered with the transgressors;
yet he bore the sin of many,
and makes intercession for the transgressors.
