On Monday, we had a very short meeting with Mary Poppins and she is gone. The Dad is considering taking a leave of absence from work so that he can continue working with Hope. He is not ready to put her in an RTF and I am not ready to have her 7 hours away. For the time being, we are at a stalemate. We continue to do things as a family and Hope continues to struggle. The school has upped Hope’s therapy to twice a week, individual sessions. Hope is again seeing an outside therapist. We haven’t seen the waiver people since September 17th. The case manager is coming out tomorrow.

Today was Kenny’s funeral. It was four hours long. The Dad spoke. I do not remember much of it, although I do remember crying a lot. I know Kenny is out of pain and I believe he is with God. I think the tears will pass. I am selfishly reluctant to admit I will not have Kenny’s friendship again on earth.

Everything changes and nothing changes- all at the same time.

The Dad Asked

Last night The Dad asked me to write a post like yesterday’s post, except make it about Hope instead of GB. There have been some logistical issues. We have only had Hope for a little over a year. I don’t know the real Hope. We haven’t broken through the RAD yet. Hope is still physical whenever she rages. And she is still raging. My instant reset button is broken. I know a lot of you understand that.  I can’t keep her safe without risking getting hurt- especially in public. I will not willingly take Hope some place public by myself because of that. So today’s post won’t be the same. It will be shadows of future possibilities.

Hope is an angry little girl. Given her background, it is unreasonable to expect anything else. I get 90% of her anger. Again, it is unreasonable to expect anything else. I do not always deal well with being the constant focus of her anger. The Dad wishes that were different. So do I. Right now it is not.

Hope is not FASD, ASD, Bipolar, or ADHD. She is broken. What happened to her with her first adoptive family broke the child God made. God gave us this child to help her become what he intended. She has music in her soul. She is never as happy as when dancing her ballet. She trusts no one- not even The Dad, although he gets more trust than anyone else. The fact that she does trust The Dad more than anyone else, gives me hope… the ability to trust has not been completely destroyed. Hope is so far behind because of the neglect she lived with- she is missing concepts such as first, last, yesterday, tomorrow. After a year of working on them, they are still not usable. Rhyming words and beginning sounds do not exist to Hope- yet she wants to read and takes every opportunity to “read” to me. A drive that strong comes from a survivor. Hope has cause and effect and the ability to think abstractly. She frequently chooses not to use them, but having them puts her so far ahead of most of our kids.

Part of me regrets adopting Hope. I am too old, Hope’s needs are so different from GB’s, it never stops. This part of me is real. There is another part of me that knows God meant Hope to be ours. God believes The Dad and I are the people Hope needs to heal. I have found that arguing with God is usually a waste of energy and time. I would rather put that energy into Hope. Hope can heal. I can help.

Follower of Christ

We went to church today. Hope is still stuck, but life won’t wait for ever. The sermon started by asking why “they” were holding hands and celebrating as “they” walked down the street because “their” law passed and Christians were nowhere to be found. I missed most of the rest of the sermon because I stayed stuck right there. This quote came to mind:

I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.

Mohandis Ghandi

As I watched everybody clapping and yelling “halleluiah”  in response to the images of Christians taking to the streets to proclaim God’s rejection of same sex relationships, I felt detached. Why would this image be something to celebrate? I looked around at other church members. The ones who were loudest and most in agreement are the same ones who have no tolerance for Hope. The same ones who went after MK last summer. These are the people who are sure they are going to heaven, even if nobody else is. Their love is confined to those most like them. They show no compassion. The amount of righteousness in the room was suffocating.

I came back to the sermon towards the end. The pastor was telling the people that they should proclaim what God is to them any time and any where the Spirit moves them. I was about to ask if that applied in the middle of a sermon, when my friend behind me grabbed my shoulder and told me the pastor wasn’t talking to me.

He probably wasn’t. Maybe followers of Christ need a new name. “Christian” seems to be already taken.

My God Comes in Flavors

WARNING: If you don’t tolerate beliefs that differ from yours very well, this is not a post for you. Feel free to leave now.

I was born a Roman Catholic. I went to a Catholic school for nine years. I am Christian. My children are Christian. I believe there is only one God. I believe that God is so much, that we, as humans, do not have the capacity to understand anything but a small portion of God.

Starting with the premise that there is only one God, I looked around at the many different beliefs. Either I was right and all the others were wrong, I was wrong and somebody else was right OR  we were all blind men looking at the elephant.

When it comes to God, I believe we are all blind men. We touch the part of God closest to us and assume that is all there is.   I know my Christian beliefs are not wrong. However, I also feel that a lot of Christians put God in a box and try to limit Him and what He is capable of. I believe that the parts of God seen by Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Shintos, and Lutherans are just as real as mine. There is only one God.  Each have touched a piece of God, each a different piece. None of them are wrong- each is just an understanding of a limited portion of all God is.

When I was young, I read a book, Mister God this is Anna by Pappas Fynn. I read it again each decade of my life. The older and more experienced I get, the more the book resonates with me. God is so enormous, it is silly to put him in a box, and, more importantly, foolish to try to limit Him to what we understand.

I will return to my usual posts tomorrow.