So, how are things, reeeeeeeeeeeeeally?

James has been with us now for 12 weeks. We are asked almost daily about how things really are at home. We stepped away from Facebook quite a bit, which included many adoption groups with oodles of advice, in order to take a breath and shield our bruised hearts with a little distance. When I post here on our blog, with pictures and stories of highlights of our days, and our homeschool, we often get comments/texts/emails/phone call asking, "Is it really that good?" "Are you lying?" "He looks so great in the pictures." "Awe that smile." "The kids look so happy!" ...

While protecting our family and keeping close our privacy, I'll simply say that no, it is not wonderful. The last 12 weeks have been indescribably challenging and full of sadness, loss, grief, disbelief, and questions. Even writing those words seems like a futile attempt to impress the nature of what our life has become since late August. The little boy in our home is layered with hurt and deep attachment issues and we are treading water, at best. at.best. This goes beyond adoption-related trauma, but at-this-poor-child's-core trauma for the agony that tainted his life for the last five impressionable years. He is among the most traumatized of children that the professionals helping us have met. In turn, our other three kids are for the first time having to witness hurt and anger, which is a great loss for them, too, which I was not prepared to parent and I still don't know how to heal.

We live moment-to-moment and our days are blandly peppered with happiness but weighted with sadness. Believe me, I know how heartless I sound, and I've come to a place where I believe that it's okay if that's what others think. Unless you've walked five minutes in my shoes with this child, or witnessed the sparkle disappear in your daughter, or the fear of what is to come, you can imagine anything you wish about me, but Jesus knows my heart and my intentions and how desperately I am trying every second of the day and night to love the most unlovable. To heal the most hurt. To reach deep inside of me and forgive and teach and reflect Christ's love. From where I sit with blurred, wet eyes much of the time, it can seem desperately bleak, but every day manages to offer a flash of hope that it will be okay ... not just okay, but good ... and in our weakest moments we are given the grace to do it all again each new morning, for His glory and for His child.

We covet your prayers, well wishes, good energies ~ anything and everything to carry us through this season. 

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weakness, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." ~2 Corinthians 12:9