Connections: When Working Hard isn’t Enough

January 8, 2016 by Jen 2 Comments

What is my biggest fear? It’s fear of failure.

So I plan, work hard, think through all the details, work harder to make sure it all works and is a success.

Most of the time that works.

Until it doesn’t.

This year we had the opportunity to bring a family member, who we did not know existed, into our home. To live with us, to become part of our family, to be adopted out of the foster system. By this world’s standards we had all that she needed. We looked great on paper. We sounded great to all of the CPS workers. Our references gave us glowing reviews. Home visits, left the Workers marveling at what a great opportunity this was for her.

Can you see my chest swelling and my head getting bigger? I could too, even at the time. We all know what’s coming, because pride comes before the fall.

We’ve raised two children fully and another is more than half way grown. One more a little younger should not be that difficult, right?

There was space at our private school in the right grade. We had an extra bedroom. People at church and my work were more than generous with clothes, shoes, gift cards, Christmas gifts, all the material needs, and more!

We were vastly unprepared.

When things didn’t go well, I worked harder.

She is eight years old. We placed her back in first grade. She struggled. But with my assiduousness she did pretty well. We checked all of her work. She reworked it. She had to learn to read the spelling words before memorizing them, but a day later would forget that she could even read the word.

Reading improved to the lower end of first grade level. Where we had always pushed our boys to be over-achievers, for her it was enough just to be an achiever.

But there was an unwillingness in her. She didn’t want to be with us. We asked too much of her. She didn’t understand our requests for the truth. She couldn’t grasp accountability and responsibility.

The first time we were in counseling she asked to go back to foster care. I was devastated and mad.

Didn’t she know how hard I was trying to help her? Didn’t she see how much I/we were doing for her?

It was too much.

The counselor told me that it was time to make a change in order to protect the one we had left at home. The one who had prayed for years for a younger sibling. The one who at age 4 heard on the radio about kids in foster care and said that we should bring them to our house because we have enough room for more.

I resisted.

I’d be a failure. People would think I gave up on her.

She did not go back to foster care. My husband’s sister, her grandmother, agreed to bring her to live with her and her two brothers. This gave her great satisfaction. She missed her older brothers a lot.

I wish I could tell you it is a happily ever after story, that once she arrived with her grandma she settled in and became agreeable. She didn’t.

I wish I could tell you that she is happy. She isn’t. She’s still running. Still resisting.

A few good things I can share:

She was happy to hear bible stories and she could remember them.

She was fascinated with the creation story. It is a wonderful story and I did see it through her eyes of wonder and amazement.

She liked to pray at night before bedtime. She prayed for her mom to make better choices, and for animals and sick people.

She memorized bible verses for school and would keep most of what she memorized.

Had I failed? Yes, by my standards I had. She hadn’t assimilated into our way of living. She was no longer living with us. We were not a good fit for each other. We were unprepared for her needs.

We were obedient to God’s request to bring her to our home. By doing that I think she was able to be reunited with her brothers. Strictly in the ‘system’ I don’t think anyone would have listened to that request.

It still feels like I failed. Did life go on? Yep.

We three left at home were so much more appreciative of our ability to get along with each other. To be able to make a joke. To laugh without hurting her feelings.

Perhaps we planted a seed or two that might begin to grow in the years to come.

I pray for her regularly. That she would find peace in Jesus alone.

Andrea Sellers is mom to three boys (two grown and one still at home), has the best daughter- in-love, is Grandie to the two most adorable grandkids around and been married for over thirty years. She found True Peace and healing from past hurts after many years of trying to do it her way.

Connections: Uncovering the Truth about My Adoption

June 3, 2015 by Jen 4 Comments

The year was 1959. My mother was a single, 22 years old girl, who already had a 22 month old boy when she had me. Her first husband had taken off on and she had wanted to marry my father, who was both father to my brother and me. She was waiting for her divorce to come through.

My birth father did not have steady work. It was decided by both my parents to give me up, but to keep my brother. My mother’s father and mother agreed to take me, but at the last minute my grandfather changed his mind.

My mothers nerves were not good at the time so it was left up to my father to find me a home. This was just after I was born. My mother named me Linda Marie.

My father came to visit his older brother Clifford and his wife Hazel and my mom tells me that my father was in tears when he asked if they would consider adopting me.

After the weekend, my father called Clifford regarding his decision. Clifford and his wife had decided to adopt me.

A week later after my birth, my mother brought me to live with Clifford and his wife. I know my aunt and uncle as mom and dad and my cousin as my sister Marilyn, who was 5 1/2 years old at the time. My sister was at school when I arrived at my new home. Marilyn and grandmother named me Margaret Diane.

The first time I remember hearing about being adopted was when I was 3 years old. It was said that my parents could not look after me and my parents asked if Clifford would take me. Mom would tell me how glad she was to have me. The statement that my biological parents couldn’t look after me brought a lot of questions to mind, but when I asked who my parents, were my mom’s response was it wasn’t for me to know who. “It’s our secret,” she said.

I was curious about the secret and I wanted to ask more questions, but knew I would be silenced by my parents.

Life carried on for me with mom and dad and my older sister, Marilyn. We attended church as a family and took vacations together. Growing up I swam at the pool. I went ice skating and sledding. I played outdoors with the children on our street, playing games. I had a happy and good home life.

I attended school, but school was not a good experience.

I preferred recess and lunch hour to school work. I would become anxious and cry about new situations if I wasn’t helped right away. The children at school teased me because I cried a lot.

This anxiety had first come about when my mom and dad had taken my sister to the fair out of town without me when I was 3 1/2 years old. I became withdrawn and shy. I became tense around another aunt who was caring for me. It carried into school and social situations.

When I was 7, I accepted Jesus into my life. This means that I admitted I was a sinner, that I believe Jesus is the Son of God, and that I confessed Jesus as Lord. It happened at camp at my bedside when I prayed with my counselor. I simply asked Jesus to come and live in me and to please take away my sin. In that moment, I became a child of God

When I was in high school, I shared my secret that I was adopted with two people. The first time I shared with a grown up that I was adopted and they suggested that I looked a lot like my cousin who was at the park with me. I shared with my girlfriend about being adopted – that I felt as though didn’t belong – and my girlfriend tried to reassure me I did.

I still was bothered by the secret of my adoption into my adult years.

My dad passed away when I was 28. Losing dad was earth-shattering. Mom comforted me and we became close.

During this time I met Maurice and this helped me over losing my dad. He became a special person to me and still is. We dated for 2 years. We were engaged at Christmas.

A month before Christmas the next year, Mom and I were in middle of wedding plans and we had gone to retrieve my savings bond at the bank from her safety security box to help pay for our wedding.

While I was at the bank I pulled out 2 envelopes. One was my savings bond and one was my adoption papers. I opened the adoption papers and I learned my name was Linda Marie. I asked who Linda was and mom explained to me that it was what my mother named me. Before I could ask further questions mom blurted out that she wasn’t free to give me any more information. I was 30 years old!

Two years later after searching for my birth mother, I was sent information on my adoption. The news was my adoption was private. I was angry because I wasn’t getting any answers.

With lots of apprehension and fear I prayed and approached my mom once more about my adoption on our wedding anniversary while we were at my mother’s house.

Mom was tight lipped and nervous when I asked again, but I was not about to be shut down again. When Mom mentioned she had given my information of my parents to my sister, I exploded in a furry of loud words of how unfair this was. To my amazement Mom then revealed my truth. My birth parents were my aunt and uncle.

I was in shock and stunned at this information. My aunt had 2 children – one before me and one after me who is 10 years younger than me. My mother and father were married a year after I was born.

I was glad for the information, but after this news, I suffered intensely from depression and anxiety and anger, which I have had most of my life.

I contacted my Aunt and she wrote me back and mentioned that my brother knew about me, but my sister was not to know. She gave me information about my birth.

After a trauma of a fire at out townhouse on Christmas day, my life foundation began to come apart at the seams. Our finances were a mess. I was hurting inside over my adoption. I lashed out at my husband, Maurice, verbally and physically. I had struggled with suicidal thoughts and blue feelings most of my life. They were now more intense than ever.

Maurice wasn’t good as managing our finances and we had a financial crisis. I had thought finances was a man’s job. I had nervous breakdown.

During this time I came realize I was angry and hurting over my adoption.

I began to work on my issues.

I now realize after some study that I hadn’t grieved over my separation from my birth mother . The term is for this is called the primal wound which means grief over loss of birth mother.

I learned I had to say goodbye to this loss of my birth mother.

After saying goodbye to this relationship, my anger has dissipated. I have let go of my anger towards my mother and Mom for keeping the secret and allowing the entire extended family know except for me.

I own my truth that I am adopted and I get freedom and pleasure in sharing my story. My aunt threatened me with legal action if I told my cousin-sister about me. I was able to break free of this control method after 10 years and I shared the truth with my sister and freedom has come about. The truth is out!

Ye shall know the truth and the truth will set you free.

My mom died 2 days before Mothers day with me by her side 9 years ago.

My biological mother is alive but we do not have much contact with each other.

My book came out 5 years ago about being adopted with a book on my life. The truth has set me free.

My name is Margaret Theriault. I live in Kitchener Ontario Canada with my husband and we just celebrated 25 years of marriage. I am a retired Nanny. We have a chichuah dog named Pedro who is 7. I have one niece. My husband and I have 5 nieces, 3 nephews and 2 great nieces and 2 great nephews and one on the way.I put together all occasions baskets as a hobby. I enjoy biking,writing,baking,singing, aqua cycle aqua-fit. I self-published my memoirs and I am writing my second book.

photo credit: InGiallo via photopin (license); text added by Jen

Connections: When The Lost Get Found

February 27, 2015 by Jen 10 Comments

In all of us there is a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage-to know who we are and where we have come from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness. – Alex Haley, Roots

It was a cold January day with snow on the ground and ice on the roads when I drove to the small rural Indiana town where my birth mom lived. My adoption file had just been opened by the State of Indiana upon the discovery of her death. After 36 years I finally knew her name. I had the address where she grew up and where my grandmother still lived. A two year search with fake names, road blocks, and closed doors culminated in this moment.

My first stop was the local library where I piled old yearbooks high on the table to look for photos of my mom and her siblings. The first book I grabbed was from 1965 because I knew that was the year she graduated. I flipped the pages, scanned last names, and ran my finger down the page until there she was. It was the first time I looked into my mother’s face. I just sat there staring into her eyes. My eyes. My face. She looked so much like me at that age. It was just crazy. Finally, after a lifetime without mirrors reflecting back at me, I was able to see myself in someone else’s face.

One by one I opened the books until I had senior pictures of my mom, her two brothers, and seven sisters spread across the table staring back at me. It was like seeing kaleidoscope pieces of me falling into place.

I left the library with a photo copy of my mom’s senior picture and headed for the cemetery where she was buried. As I got out of my car and looked around the cemetery, I began to realize what a bad day I had chosen to make this journey. There was snow on the ground, and the headstones were piled high.

Walking up and down the aisles brushing snow off one headstone at a time I knew it would take forever to find her. My walk turned into a jog. Breathing became faster and harder, and I could see my breath in the cold air. Tears formed in my eyes, ran down my face, and froze on my cheeks. Suddenly, I stopped and looked around. It was a gray overcast day and the snow had begun to lightly fall again. I yelled at the top of my lungs “where are you” then turned and behind me saw a heart shaped stone. Every other stone in that cemetery was covered with snow, except hers. Amazing!

The scene played out in slow motion like something out of a movie. It was a surreal feeling. I walked over to her grave and dropped to my knees in the snow. The cold and wet seeped through my jeans as I kneeled there sobbing my heart out. I had found my mom. As I knelt on my mother’s grave with the tears freezing on my face, suddenly the sun began to break through the clouds and shine brightly. I looked up and felt the warmth on my face. It was as if the Lord was looking down and blessing the moment. A part of me likes to believe that she was allowed to be there in that moment as well. Did He part the clouds and make the sun shine so that I would look up and she could see my face? It’s a nice thought anyway.

There are no words to describe what a lifetime of questions and years of searching feels like when it leads to a grave. My purpose in life has become making sure no other adoptee ever has to know that kind of pain. I have an archaic adoption system of closed adoption laws to thank for the fact that I was unable to find my mother before she died.

My search is a very long and twisting tale which ended kneeling in the snow on my mother’s grave with tears freezing on my face, but the story didn’t end there. It was just the beginning. Thirteen years post reunion with my birth mother’s family; I am now an adoption reform activist and adoption blogger. In March 2015, Ohio (where I was born) will become an open records state, and Indiana (where I was adopted) is currently taking up the fight for open records.

My story is one of beauty from ashes and how God redeems all things. I began my search running from God and totally excluding him from my life. Little did I know the search for my heritage wasn’t just about finding my family and my roots. It turned out to be a search that lead me straight to Him. Looking back I am amazed at the ways He guided my every step, opened closed doors, and was with me every moment despite the fact that I was totally and completely ignoring Him.

The lost were found in the end. As it turns out I was the one lost. A journey unfolded where I was healed and made whole through finding my identity not in my birth name, not in my adopted name, but through my identity in Christ alone and who I am through Him. This experience also showed me how it’s possible for a child to love more than one family just like it’s possible for parents to love more than one child.

This journey taught me the way He brings all things full circle in His time. There is purpose in the pain. In fact our deepest pain and wounds in our lives just might be the very thing He uses as part of His plan. The reality of this still hasn’t quite sunk in with me. To think that God could somehow use all the messed up, broken pieces of my crazy life and entwine them with His divine purpose just leaves me speechless.

Adoption reform and the fight for open records is a modern day civil rights issue in our nation. Fourteen states have won the fight for open records, and the battle continues on a state by state basis. Every human being should have the right to know their history, roots, and origins in life. The Bible shows how important these things are to God by the emphasis He places on genealogies, history, and roots. In fact this issue is so important to God that even Jesus Christ was given a genealogy. If it’s important to God then it should be important to us as well. Whether or not an adoptee chooses to search or not, the ability to do so is a basic human right.

I’ve barely scratched the surface in writing all I have to say about adoption, but it is my deepest desire that my story, experiences, and path to healing can be shared with those who are about to receive their records for the first time through open records legislation. There are so many adoptees, birth parents, and adoptive parents about to embark on this journey. Those of us who have gone before have a responsibility to share our story.

The truth shall set you free. John 8:32

Laura Marie Scoggins is an adult adoptee from Evansville, Indiana. She was adopted through Catholic Charities in 1965. Upon discovering her mother died of breast cancer, Catholic Charities petitioned the State of Indiana to open her adoption file. Her mother had nine siblings, and once the adoption file was opened and identities revealed, a reunion began to unfold with the large family. She is now thirteen years post reunion and at the moment does not have contact with her mother’s family. She has still not been able to obtain the identity of her father and plans to pursue DNA testing in the future.

Laura is a Jesus girl who loves being a grandma and spoiling her precious six year old granddaughter. In her spare time she enjoys being a bookworm, gardening, serving at her local church, and writing on her blogs www.lauramariescoggins.com and www.survivingadopted.com. She believes in the power of story telling and the healing it brings to both the reader and the writer. She proudly labels herself an adoption reform activist.

Parts of her story have been featured at HEAR (Hoosier for Equal Access to Records) www.indianahear.org .

Connections: When His Dreams Become Ours {Fostering}

January 28, 2015 by Jen 8 Comments

Is this really my life?

I fought hard against this calling.

This is not what I really wanted.

I wanted a simple life.

Holding a child in my arms who is thrashing against all my efforts to love is not what I dreamed for motherhood.

Continual disruptions of birth family visits, social workers, and court dates.

I signed up for this?

A child slipping into an infantile state and wailing for anyone else to come hold her besides me.

Anyone but me.

Muffled sobs against my shoulder that she wants her brothers who live with another foster family on the other side of town.

And I rock and struggle to draw her flailing form into my arms. She shrieks foreign guttural sounds.

After returning from a visit with birth family. This is what happens. Last time it was projectile vomiting.

And I rock and whisper…

I know you are confused. I know you are angry. Mommy loves you. Will you be my baby and let me rock you?

Over and over we do this. My chest heaving with hers, our tears mixing a salty stream between us.

I hear it all the time: I could never be a foster parent. I just couldn’t let them go.

Really? Maybe God is calling you to foster care.

Seriously.

You want to know a secret?

I said the exact.same.thing.

Do you think we do this because our hearts are stone hard and we have a special gift in letting go? Or that we’re not fearful?

We’ve wrestled with every fear and reason why we shouldn’t do this. For years.

Even when we signed up for ten weeks of intensive training, we still questioned: Is this what we’re supposed to be doing?

We walked the tough road of watching my daughter’s best friend and her foster family. After three years, she went home to her mama.

Difficult circumstances. Gut-wrenching pain.

He pricked our hearts a long time ago. And in His perfect timing and plan, we jumped in. He used a friendship in my Kindergarten daughter’s life, along with our broken past to draw us in.

We decided we would start slowly by trying respite care- ministering to foster families when they needed a break.

We got a call before we were licensed. To take a seven-year-old boy for a week. That week rocked my world.

He was the same age as our middle son.

He endlessly spoke of his losses, his words permeating every quiet space. My ears burned with stories of his past– his mama’s choices, his grief.

My kids were carefree, laughing and talking about superheroes. An empty gap in the conversation erupted as this dear boy attempted to connect by sharing his stories of drugs, police, and guns.

Talk about a real-life superheroes. These kids that endure the worst of life and still keep going. Continuing to hope. They are the superheroes.

My boys fought like tigers all that week. The extra testosterone in the mix pressing against their comforts– their stuff (specifically Legos).

My chest was a cavity of shards every night I knelt down with him. He was a bundle of blankets and tears asking why. Every.single.night. Anguish and prayers for his mama.

I thought I would die. I didn’t know how to handle this.

Was this really where He was calling us?

His mama’s addiction was the same that caught my husband and our family in a net and almost destroyed our lives four years beforehand.

No mistake this sweet boy was our first placement. A ripping away of our comforts. A reminder of our rescue- what our lives could have been.

A bursting of our children’s comforts is not a bad thing. They are called to more, just as we are.

I am repeatedly caught off-guard by how children love with pure hearts. No agenda or to-do list.

My kids are big sinners, like us, but they are unencumbered by life or worries. A freedom to love without bounds that I don’t have.

Babies seemed to rain from the sky last summer. My kids spent the months of June and July bouncing fussy babies, feeding hungry ones, and bringing joy to little faces.

While this mama breathed into a paper bag, trying to regulate my oxygen level. Because it was hard.

Deeply loving other people’s kids. Adjusting to different schedules and stages of babies.

As my kids begged for more babies, my heart was doubtful. Unsure if I could handle and manage this calling.

So, we detoured–pursued adoption for six months, while we continued to serve as a respite foster family.

We thought adoption seemed safer, you know? Ha! Insane thinking- my adoption friends can tes.ti.fy to that…adoption bears its own heavy grief and uncertainties.

The Lord shut the door on adoption for us. We ran after every country and adoption agency known to man. He slammed that door tight.

I grieved all last summer. The realization set in– He was cementing our feet in foster care.

We couldn’t run from our calling, our passion. We couldn’t unloosen what He had sealed in our hearts.

And the phone call came in October.

Would we take the little bitty girl we loved with all our hearts?

The one that had us all wrapped around her tiny brown fingers.

She had occupied our crib more than any other child, spending countless hours in our home as respite.

Full-time foster care frightened us and kept me up at night, but we knew without a doubt.
We said yes to Little Bitty, jumping in with both feet and all our doubts and fears. Holding out empty hands to the Father. Knowing this was our calling.

We are not extraordinary.

We are normal, fearful, questioning, struggling, people.

Doing what He has called us to do.

Often with anger at injustice and shaking fists.

Much of the time with fear and trembling.

We are still standing.

Because He strengthens the weak-kneed.

Gives hope to the weary.

This is not the dream I had. His plans are bigger and better.

Because we serve an extraordinary God.

Melanie is a daughter of the Most High King, who spent most of her life running from the True Giver of Life.

Three years into her marriage, she and her husband thought they were destined for divorce. Until her husband drove to a nearby church and found Christ. By God’s grace, they have been married for nineteen years and have walked hard journeys of grief and addiction. They are blessed with three biological children and one foster daughter. Through their brokenness and neediness, the Father has tenderly guided them to the ministry of foster care.

website: http://www.runningtothefather.blogspot.com/

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Runningtothefather

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ruthie5573

{photo credit: gettyimages.com}

Connections: Do You Trust Me?

January 7, 2015 by Jen 5 Comments

The love that radiates from having children is wondrous. Creation brings about pure joy.

When God created, He said that it was good. Each and every thing He created was good.

My husband and I struggle to conceive children–naturally and via the adoption route. You see our hearts have always been softened to adoption and we planned to start our family through adoption. We tried to house one of the Ukrainian orphans that our church brought over to hopefully find permanent homes.

But I was too young.

We decided to go through DCS and Foster to Adopt. So my husband and I registered and attended all the classes for that. We finished, passed the tests, and waited.

But our papers were lost–as if we had never attended those classes.

We decide to finally try the natural family route and conceive.

But we had a miscarriage.

After a year of fertility issues, all I could do was cry out to God. I prayed for healing. I prayed because nothing was going as I planned. My heart desired a baby of my own so bad I could taste it. It consumed all of me.

But I heard God whispering to me, do you TRUST Me?

Yes, Lord. I trust you. I have nothing more to give, offer, I’m spent. My soul is aching to know You more and if I’m able to conceive a child in that time, then so be it.

I conceived with the help of doctors and medicine in December 2009. We were so elated to have a viable pregnancy and yet we didn’t know what lie ahead.

Remember God’s whispering “Do you trust me?” My response was “yes Lord.”

But we don’t see all four chambers of his heart.

Oh it’s a BOY! A precious boy! I’m so in love with him I’m not scared. Wait, there’s something wrong with him? I don’t care, I Trust you, Lord. He is YOUR child, not mine. He’s a precious gift regardless.

But he doesn’t have much amniotic fluid, risks are high.

I get to see my beautiful boy each and every Friday. He’s the most precious thing swimming in that fluid. I meet the most precious doctors and nurses and ultrasound techs. My husband and I had the most amazing Friday dates to celebrate seeing our baby at Ruby Tuesday’s.

But you’re gestationally diabetic.

No fluid and gestational diabetes is a call for disaster. Nothing is happy. I’m angry. I can’t find anything to eat that doesn’t cause my sugars to rise.

But you have preeclampsia.

A hospital stay before proved I was fine. Just two weeks later at 33 weeks and 2 days pregnant, my liver and kidneys were shutting down. Time for induction. Discussions of c-sections. I trust you Lord. They wheel me to the hospital because I’m not allowed to walk. I trust you Lord.

But he has a pneumothorax in his right lung and isn’t breathing right.

Dietrich ended up in the NICU for 13 days. Not bad for how early he was. His biggest struggle was eating on his own. The struggles to get pregnant, the struggles during pregnancy, the early delivery and NICU stay–I’d do it all over again even knowing what I know now. It wasn’t about me. It was about allowing God to do things IN me.

I’m not in control of creation. God is.

Because I had to be broken, incomplete, and search God for my desire, I had the right frame of mind my whole pregnancy. I’m not saying I wasn’t one of those crazed-hormone women, because that I was.

What I wasn’t though, was scared. I surrounded myself in prayer warriors and I prayed myself. Learned to trust God in a way I had never been before.

You see God is the creator of everything. In the pregnancy with my miscarriage I learned something about myself. I must be broken for God. He is the only one that can fulfill my heart’s desires.

I learned with my second pregnancy, creating my son Dietrich that God wants me to trust Him. In that trust He can shield all the scary from me. He can come through when no one else can. When it is a desire He places on our hearts, He will see it through.

How far will you take it before you surrender and trust God to fulfill your heart’s desire?

Danielle Hofer, a resident of Indianapolis, IN is a wife of 9 years to her best friend, Dustin and mother of two gifts named Dietrich and Daylan. She is a graduate of Butler University’s College of Education and holds a Master of Education degree from Saint Mary-of-the-Woods College. At a local east side inner city school, Danielle taught the most amazing 7th and 8th grade students, ever! Though she misses them terribly, she still keeps in contact with former students and parents, and currently stays home to raise her family. She is an active duty military wife, seeing retirement just a few years away. Danielle serves as Director of Community, which is just a formal name for overseeing the Virtual Bible Study, eMagazine, and all other things virtual for Ignite Women. She continually believes God for the BIG!

Connections: The Family that Love Built

December 3, 2014 by Jen 12 Comments

In late 2009, God introduced me to a local ministry that was serving teen moms. If you read Part 1, you know this cause held personal meaning to me and I got involved right away. My best friend and I took over the ministry a few months later and it quickly grew. We were spending time in all three local high schools with the teen moms in attendance on a monthly basis. We met amazing girls each time but one particular girl would end up changing my life in ways I never could have imagined.

The rest of this story will be told in her words {italicized} and I will be back at the end.

I had given up on finding a family. I aged out of foster care in December 2009 and got pregnant the same month. I was going to make my own family.

I didn’t have a place to live so I stayed on friends couches. I was a junior in high school and went to school every day because I got free breakfast and lunch. I was barely passing my classes.

I didn’t pray anymore because my prayers had never been answered. In May 2010, a couple weeks before school was over for the summer, a friend drug me to the guidance office to meet YoungLives. I was skeptical of the two preppy white women who were acting like they cared about me and my unborn baby. I didn’t say much that first meeting but I shared my ultrasound pics with one of them. Her name was Melissa. She asked if I would like to go to lunch with her one day. I gave her my cell phone number and never expected her to call.

A couple days later I got a text from her. She took me to Dairy Queen and during lunch I told her I was scared of what would happen when my baby was born. I was homeless and in high school. Would CPS take my baby from me? Would she spend her life in foster care too? It was my biggest fear.

The kind lady took me home with her that night. She said YoungLives would help me and they would make sure me and my baby would be safe. I really wanted to believe her. Through the summer, I stayed at different volunteers homes. Melissa tried to find my extended bio family to see if any of them would take me in. My aunt and uncle (he is a pastor) said I had sinned and needed to face the consequences. I wasn’t surprised but Melissa was mad. She told me that the God she knew was a God of grace and second chances. I didn’t tell her what I thought of God.

I went to church with her and her family. My water broke at church on August 29. Melissa and Jill from YoungLives never left my side. I had really bonded with Melissa over those last few months and even though she was freaked out, she went in the OR with me when I had to have an emergency C section. Just as I feared, a social worker came in my hospital room the day after my daughter (Lariah Faith) was born. She asked where I was going to live and how I was going to support my baby. Melissa knew the social worker and took her in the hall. When she came back in the room (without the social worker),Melissa said “you and Lariah are coming home with me”.

I’ve been a part of the Smallwood family ever since. I have the best mom and dad I could have ever wanted. I have not made it easy to love me and have tested them a lot. When they say they love me no matter what they really mean it and that is something I had never experienced before.

I wouldn’t have graduated from high school (Melissa literally dragged me out of bed most days) and become a C.N.A without them. I wouldn’t have accepted Jesus as my Savior and been baptized. I wouldn’t be raising my daughter- she would’ve gone into the same system as me. Turns out my prayers were answered. And, in 2011, a year and a half after I met Melissa, she became my mom and I legally became a Smallwood. Changing my name was my idea. I didn’t have to get adopted at 19. I wanted to. I wanted to make sure mom and dad were stuck with me forever.

When I see the love my daughter has for her Mimi and Papa it makes me cry. I wish I had experienced a life with them as my parents all along. But, I’m stronger because of what I went through and it makes me appreciate what I have even more. God’s plan all along was for me to have a family, a family that would love me no matter what. My favorite verse is Romans 8:28 and as I like to say, it’s all good.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

So there you have it, friends. The miraculous way God took the story of my childhood and used those experiences to make me the perfect mom for two hurting and wounded kids. God is able to redeem every negative and hurtful experience we go through for His glory. All we have to do is be willing to let go of the bitterness of the past in order to bask in the sweetness of His plan.

I pray that this series has touched your heart (you can find Part 1 and Part 2 here). If you are interested in learning more about foster care and/or adoption, I would be happy to speak with you and connect you with resources to answer any questions you may have.

I’m Melissa. Wife, mom, friend, writer. Advocate for children needing families. Sold out Jesus girl. My passion is helping women cut through the {physical, emotional and spiritual} clutter of life. You can find me on my blog, Facebook, Twitter or Pinterest.

Connections: How God Restores the Abandoned

November 7, 2014 by Jen 6 Comments

{This is a continuation of Melissa’s story. Find part one here.}

My oldest {he is now 21} is adopted (by me, he is my husband’s biological son). I met Jason when he was about to turn three. Having been through a lot in my own childhood I immediately recognized that Jason wasn’t growing up in a good environment. He called me “mom” just because I was his daddy’s girlfriend.

The next time I saw him (a few months later) he was jumpy and afraid of the dark. He wet the bed. Lots of red flags. He lived over 1000 miles away so keeping an eye on the situation proved difficult.

In 1997, when Jason was four we received a phone call in the middle of the night from a neighbor of his bio mom’s. She had searched information for our number, only knowing my husband’s last name. I won’t go into the details of that call here but the next day began our quest to get custody of Jason. After almost two years, thousands of dollars in legal fees, thousands of miles back and forth from Iowa to West Virginia and two more years of abuse and neglect, we succeeded. We were awarded full custody of Jason in March 1999. After abuse and neglect continued during visitations between Jason and his bio mom, her parental rights were terminated and I adopted Jason as my own in September 2000.

When a child experiences bonding issues with their bio mom, are exposed to unmentionable abuse and neglect, the scars run deep. And those scars cause them to lash out. Particularly to the person that represents the person that hurt them. In this case- me. Jason was hurt by his bio mom in so many ways and then I became his mom.

I love Jason because he is part of my husband. I love him because he is my son. But I also love him because I understand. I know what it is to be hurt by the person that is supposed to care for you more than anything.

So I took it. Punches, kicks, hair pulling, bruises, name-calling (so sad to me that he even knew those words). I excused it, hid it, and took it.

Because there were also hugs, kisses, special moments when it seemed he would be okay. We did everything “right”- therapy, IEP’s and love, lots of love. We learned how to restrain a child when he was raging, but even when he was eight and nine I wasn’t physically strong enough. Only my husband could. And he worked…a lot.

Jason didn’t just have a problem with authority at home. It translated everywhere…school, church, public places. We began to not be able to go anywhere as a family. Mike would have to stay home with Jason and the other boys and I would go or vice versa. We became isolated, lost friends and our family started to splinter.

He would run away from school, hit his teachers and hurt other students. His anger was palpable and his hurt ran so deep. The courts intervened in 2004. Our eleven year-old son had a probation officer. If he messed up at school, hurt me or hurt his brothers again he would be taken away. The system was setting him up to fail and there was nothing his dad and I could do to stop it.

In December 2004, Jason was taken from us. He was deemed to be a danger to himself and others and placed in a residential facility for troubled children.

I felt like the life had been sucked out of me. We just wanted him to be okay. His placement was 3 hours away from our home. Our weekends became road trips. Labels were given: conduct disorder, attachment disorder, PTSD, RAD.

While in treatment, Jason disclosed things that not only made the judge rule that Jason could not return home but that he could also have no contact with his brothers, our other children.

Based on his disclosure, the judge ordered Jason to a different treatment program (three hours from our home in a different direction). Jason was there for over a year. It was like a prison. All the kids wore the same clothes, same shoes, bars on the windows. We could only visit him once a month and it had to be in a room with all the other kids visiting their loved ones and we could only hug him when we left. It was the worst year of my life (and that is saying a lot considering the things I have been through).

Jason was not allowed to have any contact with our younger sons by court order. It is literally heartbreaking to try to be a mom to brothers who are forbidden to see each other. When Mike and I would visit Jason on the weekends, we would have to leave Jared and Matt behind. When we talked to him on the phone we have to go in another room. Family holidays, birthdays- it threw our whole family a curveball we could have never expected.

We got through, by the grace of God. We re-defined what family looked like when we couldn’t all be under the same roof. Jason turned a corner when a judge finally agreed to lift the no contact order for his siblings. We reintroduced them slowly and it was like they had never been apart.

Jason’s life has not been easy. But, I am so happy to report {with all the glory to God} that he is a functioning adult. He joined the Army National Guard in 2011, he has a job and an apartment. He struggles under the constant weight of his early childhood but God has brought him so far!

If you have stuck with this post so far, you should know that I would never have abandoned Jason. And it is not because he is related to my husband by blood.

No matter what happened, he is my son. I made that choice from the day we began the custody process and I stood before a judge and agreed to be his mama as if I had given birth to him myself.

And, although our road has been far from what I envisioned it to be, I consider it a privilege to be his mama.

Every placement that Jason has ever had, every counselor, every social worker has commented on my commitment to him. Professionals have remarked about how many people have walked away (from children they gave birth to) over much less. When you know what it means to be abandoned it strengthens your resolve to never let a child you know feel that way again.

Adoption is God’s plan. Period. End of story. What if God decided that we were too much? Too sinful? Too violent? Made too many mistakes? How many of us would be worthy of salvation? Of Him being our Heavenly Father?

Not.one.of.us.

Connections: God Redeems All Things

November 5, 2014 by Jen 8 Comments

I was born in 1979 to parents who had issues. Join the club, right? My dad was mentally ill and un-medicated (or I should say self-medicated?). My mom did not have the emotional capacity to stand up to him. So the early years of my life were an unpredictable roller coaster of experiences I was too little to control.

When my father was in an overly religious phase we wore skirts to our knees, hair to our waists and grew our own food. When he was not in a religious phase he was doing drugs and acting crazy. He took the concept of helping people to the extreme (as he did everything else) so instead of giving money to the homeless on his way to work in DC he would bring them home to live with us. There were dangerous and scary people in and out of my home on a regular basis. Those people were not always kind to me and my little brothers and we were subjected to sexual abuse by more than one of the people. This went on until I was nine years old and we ended up moving to another state because one of the men that lived with us at the time tried to kill my mother and kidnap my brothers and me.

When I was around 11, a young kid off the streets moved in with us. My mom was in another deep depression at that time so having another mouth to feed {because I was the one doing the cooking, cleaning and child care} really didn’t affect me that much, but I was jealous of how much time this boy spent with my mom. My brothers and I were told we had to leave her alone because she was so emotionally fragile but this kid got to go in my mom’s room all the time. It made me really mad. You have to understand that my father kept us very sheltered from the world- we lived out in the middle of nowhere and we didn’t go to school. The only people we knew were the people we went to church with.

Even though doctrinally I know now that the denomination of the church we attended was erroneous, God was still there and I got to volunteer in the nursery, sing in the choir, sing special music, play the piano and play the hand bells. That was the only time in those years I got to be me. I really believe that maintained my composure and sanity through a difficult time and God gets all the glory for that.

Then one day my dad announced some plans that made me sick to my stomach. I had always been the one to stand up to my dad when he acted nuts and this time was no exception. I told him all the ways that this was morally wrong and that I didn’t understand why he was talking like this. He told me that if I didn’t like it I could find somewhere else to live. I was almost 13. He said that if I told anyone what was going on he would kill himself.

That was a chance I had to take and I ran away when my dad was at work and called my grandparents to come pick me up. Once again God provided and they were there for me. I reported to my counselor what was going on- not knowing that what was occurring was a crime, that she would have to report it to the appropriate authorities and that my family was about to implode.

My dad got wind that the cops were coming to arrest him and my mom and they left town. I was put in foster care. My brothers and I were separated. The first two foster homes were scary and unfriendly. But the third time is the charm. The next foster family was Christians and their church accepted me with open arms. Again I was singing and going to youth group.

God provided.

My grandparents fought like crazy and eventually got custody of me. That was the time in my life that God gave me the opportunity to be a kid. I got to have sleep-overs with my friends, go to the movies, eat meat, wear pants! It was great and I am thankful I had that experience.

However, when I was just about to turn sixteen I found out my mom was getting ready to have a baby with the same young man (thankfully it hadn’t materialized before then). I was an adolescent girl that harbored a lot of anger and resentment towards my mom for choosing a relationship over her children so I left my grandparents and ran away to try to force my mom to be a mom. That lasted two weeks. And I was 16 and on my own.

God provided and I had a place to live with an ex of my dad’s. I got a job and thought I had everything figured out. I used guys for money, food and drugs and ended up pregnant. That was the first time in a long time I prayed. One of those God, if you get me out of this mess I will be perfect forever prayers. I didn’t think God answered but now that Jared is here I know He was in control the whole time. Able to make all things right with His omnipotent power. . God even used my teen pregnancy to bring me back to Him.

When I was pregnant with Jared I met Mike. We have been married for 17 years and have had Matthew as well. Mike adopted Jared and we ended up getting custody of, and I later adopted, Mike’s son from his first marriage in 1999 {be sure to come back for part 2 of this story}. God orchestrated every move of that custody battle that started with a phone call from neighbor

Through it all God has been faithful.

At this point in my life God has helped me realize that I am enough because He created me. I am loved, accepted and forgiven. I am an heir of God (Romans 8:16,17) And the thing God has helped me do the most is forgive myself. I had shame, feelings of failure, if I coulda, shoulda, woulda’s. God doesn’t do that folks and neither should we- there are no might-have-beens.

God deals with our present and holds our future in His hands. Forgive yourself and forgive others- it does NOT matter what you have done, what has been done to you- if he can send His own son to die on the cross for ALL our sins- yes even the ugly ones- the least we can do is offer that same forgiveness and mercy to others and ourselves.

I have recently reconciled with my father after thirteen years of not speaking, my mom and I have a tentative relationship. About a year and a half ago, my hubby and I moved to south Florida so that I could be close to my brothers {and their families} since that opportunity was taken from us so long ago.

Friend, I implore you to allow God to continually work on you, if he reveals something that needs to be fixed be willing to do the work (whatever it is) to fix it.

Do you need to form a new habit?

Do you need to let bitterness go?

Do you need to focus less on yourself and more on others?

Whatever God reveals don’t fight it- let Him do His good work in and through you.

Psalm 27 is always of comfort to me and it tells us that God is always setting the stage for something greater in our lives than we are able to see through our momentary circumstances.

If you go back through the annals of your life you will see that God was and is there. This realization allowed me and it can allow you to really lean back into that love and trust that He will do what He says He will do. Nobody else in our life can offer us that- just God. Please, dear ones, whatever you are going through recognize that God is there with you. Lean on him and hold fast.

Join me here Friday for part two, where I will tell the story of how God used the experiences I faced in my childhood to change the lives of two special kids that God would knit into the fabric of our family through adoption.

Connections: When the World Says Give Up and God Steps Up

August 8, 2014 by Jen 8 Comments

It was as if I was a toddler hearing the word “no” for the first time. My fists clenched tight, my teeth clamped together and I wanted desperately to cover my ears and block out what I knew was coming.

Because I knew he would say there would be no baby this time around, and most likely never would be again.

My Doctor droned on about secondary infertility statistics and I wondered how I had not heard of this? It was a shock to me to experience infertility after having had one unplanned, uncomplicated, healthy pregnancy. So why was the doctor describing my next to impossible chances of getting pregnant again? Why was he so adamant in stealing the little bit of hope I desperately clutched tight to my chest?

I knew it was out of deep concern and care for his patient, because he watched as my hope soared and then plunged to depths I never knew existed, because of a few choice words he spoke to me. “Non-viable pregnancy;” “Ectopic Pregnancy”….again! “HCG levels decreasing rapidly.”

Seven times, this roller coaster. Seven times, hope for a baby and seven times our dreams crashed upon the rocky shores of real life.

So my doctor chose to speak the cold hard truth. The World’s truth. My chance at having another biological child was well beyond my reach, his reach, and that of modern day science. He urged me, pleaded with me, to give up!

But how does one give up when God has placed that something upon one’s heart? How does one give up when we know deep within our souls that God can do the impossible?

So we prayed. We let go of dreams for our family. We cried and we, at times, fought hard with God.

Then, we gave up! But not in the way the world would suggest.

We gave up our deepest desires and dreams, and placed them cautiously at the feet of Jesus.

And when we gave up, God showed up!

When we gave up, God stepped up!

When we gave up, God raised up!

God, in His infinite love and gentleness, led us slowly down another path. Sure, it held steeper hills than I thought I could climb, it held unmarked trails that I wasn’t sure I could navigate, but as we believed and placed one foot in front of the other, God revealed the next step, firm and solid, under our feet.

For our family, that next step was international adoption.

Over the next two years, we daily laid bare our souls at the feet of Jesus. Because giving up is not a one-time event, but a continual process of letting go.

So, when that paper trail got long and heavy with no end (or baby) in sight, we gave it up to Him.

When the adoption agency said no to our living overseas while trying to adopt, we gave it up to Him.

When we carried that little baby girl in to the embassy for a visa to our home in Italy and they said no, we gave it up to Him.

And it still amazes me that nine years later, this giving up is a daily discipline that doesn’t come easy. Because every time she walks out that door, I give her up to Him.

Every time she lets out a belly laugh, deep and loud, and she brings a wide smile to my face, I give up praise to Him.

Every time I look in my rear view mirror and see her sister, conceived a mere four months after bringing our daughter home; a sweet little one so unexpected, I imagine God laughing as I give up praise to Him.

And it is in these moments of giving up that we can see God’s hand mightily work in the details of our lives.

Because when we give up, God does indeed show up!!!

Lori Dunham is the wife of a Navy Chaplain, a mother to three energetic children, and one very lazy bassett hound. Lori’s

writing is inspired by her deep desire to encourage others in their faith, and to share God’s story in her life. Her family’s ministry has taken them to the hills of Thailand, the shores of Italy, and the streets of Singapore. She shares of her struggle with secondary infertility, their great joy through adoption, and the up’s and down’s of military life at her blog, www.standingwiththemilitaryfamily.com.

Connections: The Purpose in my Pain

August 1, 2014 by Jen 10 Comments

Like most little girls, I always dreamed of the adventures I would have when I grew up. I loved to sing and wrote worship songs and I wanted to go overseas as a missionary to serve God. I had plans…

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was sick. I don’t know exactly when it happened because I was so little, probably in preschool even, but some of my earliest memories are painful ones. The problem with pain though is that you don’t realize it is pain when you’ve only ever been in pain…

When I was 17, I spent a summer on a mission trip with some wonderful friends from my church youth group. I’ll never forget that time. I knew I wanted to be a missionary and having the opportunity to daily share Christ with the kids I worked with was humbling and exhilarating all at the same time. The warm air in that impoverished Caribbean nation made me feel so good and I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing what God wanted. It was so hard at the same time, but I loved it since I was completely dependent on God. He daily gave me strength.

I came home. And I made one of the scariest decisions of my whole life, although I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t want to lose that closeness I had with God or the purpose that I felt.

I prayed that God would continue to keep me completely dependent on Him.

God isn’t safe: He values our character far above our comfort and refines us through trial and pain. He never promises that following Him will be easy. He’s good, but His ways aren’t our ways.

Three weeks after I returned home from my mission trip, the pain that I felt, unaware, my whole life exploded into my consciousness. I went from being an athlete to being barely able to walk. It was so bad, I had to crawl up stairs and it hurt to be touched. Anytime someone bumped into me, I was reduced to tears.

It was my senior year of high school and this changed everything. I had been thinking about going to school out of state and that was out of the question since I needed all the support I could get. I had wanted to major in music and I lost my voice. I realized I wasn’t healthy enough to go live overseas anymore so I couldn’t go into missions.

I was devastated. And, I still didn’t have a diagnosis. I was so scared because pain like that usually means something bad. Really bad.

It took a year before I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. It is a chronic illness that has to do with overactive nerves and causes miserable pain and mine was severe. And yet, I was relieved even though there is no cure since this disease won’t take my life like some of the others that were on the table.

I felt so hopeless and lost in darkness. Didn’t God understand that all I wanted to do was to serve Him? I felt like He took my ability to serve Him, but truly, I had the complete dependence I had asked for. But, I still didn’t see the point.

The point came years later. God had a lot to teach me first.

I learned how to manage my illness and got it under control so I could live pretty normally despite being in constant pain. I met and married my husband, finished college with a degree in psychology, and we had our first baby.

I had always wanted a little girl. Desperately wanted a little girl. And we had Ethan. Two years later, we had Luke. Four years later, Jackson joined our family.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my three boys! But, when I found out that I was having a third boy, I cried. All the feelings of loss crept back up on me. Another dream died.

I sobbed to God, “Why can’t I catch a break, God? I’ve lost so much already and now I’m never going to have the daughter I’ve always wanted too. Why does my life look so different from what I planned on it being? I just want to be normal!”

Then Jackson was born and everything changed. I fell in love with being a mom of three boys. God started showing me how wrong I was to think that my plan might have been better than His. I couldn’t have been happier being mom to my Monkey, Gremlin, and Trouble, respectively. And we laugh. A lot.

There was the time that Ethan colored himself and Luke completely with a blue marker in three minutes while I was on the phone. Later as a toddler, Luke drank black, cold and day-old coffee straight from the coffee pot when my back was turned. Then there was the time that Jackson snuck out of bed in the middle of the night and we found him watching The Chronicles of Narnia. With the sound turned all the way down and the subtitles on. He is two years old. Yup. All we can do is laugh!

But, my heart still ached. I didn’t feel done with our family. Brian and I lost a precious baby between Luke and Jackson and I found myself again wishing that I could make some difference. I’ve always had a desire to adopt, but it never worked out. The doors just kept closing until, one day, one door stayed open.

Foster care.

It wasn’t what I planned. It is messy, complicated even, but the need is great. I brought it up to Brian and he was immediately in.

I know it makes no sense that we would do this. I was only 29 years old when we started the process. We have our three boys, live in a three bedroom house, and I’m sick. There were so many reasons to not do it, but God put it on my heart. The desire wouldn’t go away and when God asks me to do something, I just can’t say no.

I’m a mom to four right now. We are on our second placement and we have a precious infant foster daughter. God gave me my girl. I might not get to keep her, but that is okay. If there is one thing I learned from my miscarriage it is that I am going to make the most with all the time I am given with my kids, biological or not. They are all my kids!

I’ve realized I don’t want to be normal! My boys are amazing; they love their foster sister and are incredibly compassionate. They’ve seen so much pain as they’ve watch me struggle with illness and want to take care of their foster sister since they understand she has lost her biological family. They are so empathetic and are learning to serve God sacrificially even at the tender ages of 9, 6, and 2.

As I walked into the social services building once, it struck me: I’m on the mission field. I couldn’t go overseas, but God brought one to me. The psychology degree I hadn’t planned on getting was exactly what I needed. I might not be using my voice to sing, but I’m using it to tell others about God. As a foster parent, I get to work with these precious, hurting birth parents and make a difference.

Because of my pain and chronic illness, I am open about how I don’t have it all together. They know I understand and so they listen to me. I never expected my pain to be so important.

Being a mom is so much more important than taking care of kids and making PB&j for lunch and doing bedtime stories. Being a mom means giving of ourselves in ways that we never expected and serving God even when it doesn’t make sense. It is servanthood, pure and simple, with whatever we are given.

My journey wasn’t what I had planned; it was what God planned. His plans have proved far better than mine ever were.

S.L. Payne lives with her husband, three biological sons and foster daughter. She is thankful for God’s faithfulness in her
illness as God has used to it help her see Him in everything; the three boys have supplied the humor! She loves writing, photography and laughing with her family. She writes at Rest Ministries and on her website, uncommongrace.net, where she hopes she can encourage others to live in grace. You can follow her on Twitter @saralynnpayne.