Without even realizing it’s happening, I will choose the lie every single time. I posted not too long ago how I was going to jump back into writing. And then…..silence. I’ve been working through the transformative Priscilla Shirer’s Armor of God and it’s been like a slap across the face or like someone pinning you against a wall. In the nicest kind of way. Because for at least 2-39ish years, I have found myself stuck in this cycle of hearing God’s voice, hearing another not-so-nice voice, hearing God’s voice say that other voice is full of lies, asking God if he’s quite certain about that and then choosing to believe those very lies - which always manage to point out my deepest insecurities. Like all 1,000 of them. Ever play the game Two Truths & a Lie? Real life feels more like A Thousand Lies & Seven Truths.

We received our first placement call while out of town. Most of the moms are single and many are homeless, but this mom was in a decent place. She had started a new job, secured housing, but she was overwhelmed and without reliable childcare in order to start her job. She needed someone to love on her kids, yes, but I could tell what she really needed was to be heard and seen and loved.

Without someone trying to fix her.

Evil: morally reprehensible: sinful; arising from actual or imputed bad character or conduct; disagreeable; pernicious (causing harm)

Good: of a favorable character or tendency; true; honorable; virtuous, right, commendable

I’ve been wrestling with the news coverage and social media's swinging pendulum around refugees, terrorism and what happens next. I know I haven’t read every viewpoint out there. Because how in the world could you have time for that AND still have time to watch Ellen's new favorite dance duo?  But I am beginning to see that the Christian viewpoint starts sounding as though we can overcome heinous acts by firing bullets of cute puppies and rainbows sprinkled with love and magical fairy dust. Since those aren’t available on Amazon Prime though, we’re out of luck.

This 6 week old screams loudly so he fits right in to the Fearing house. He struggles to sleep for longer than 20 minutes at a time, constantly fidgeting his limbs even inside a swaddle. Hasn’t figured out quite how to suck out of a bottle so just lashes his tongue at it, spilling milk down his neck and yet so desperately hungry. He’s the size of my babies when they came home from the hospital, barely hitting 8 pounds and unable to fill in newborn clothing at 6 weeks of age.  He cries for no reason, even after a bath, bottle, changed diaper, clean clothes. The only time he settles his little body and sinks in letting himself succumb to sleep is when he’s lying on my chest touching his face to my skin and just letting go. It’s then that his breathing calms and he falls into a deep sleep. The kind where you touch him to see if he’s still actually breathing. His helpless body is going through withdrawal of heroine.

Tonight was not part of my plan.  The call.  The news.  The letting go.  I have to unexpectedly take that sweet baby back to his mom in the morning, immediately after dropping my own baby at school.  And typing that sentence makes me erupt into tears once again.  It's not because I didn't know this day was coming or because when I return home I will feel the void in our home without his coos, but I have wept tonight for his mom and her choices, and the tough love I had to give which should be renamed to excruciating heart-wrenching love.

When I was a little girl, I used to tell my great aunt Lois, “I want at least 20 kids!” She personally never had children, so she’d chuckle and say something like “Oh Kim, I think that sounds wonderful.”

I know if she had even one child, her response would have elicited gnashing of teeth, pleading, shouting, convincing.  I’m fairly certain it would have caused her to blast out her first cuss word in her lifetime. Can you even?! Remember she never had children so that should clear up your bewilderment over that statement.

It was when our 3rd was about a minute old that I turned and looked at Ben and told him I wasn’t done yet.

A friend I don’t see often asked me this question over dinner a few weeks ago…

“If you knew you couldn’t fail, what would you pursue?”

It wasn’t a hard question. I knew the answer immediately. I’ve known it a long time and yet the instant those words washed over me, my stomach got tense and my heart started racing. It wasn’t that I didn’t know the “what.” Oh no I could confidently answer that. But I was afraid of the “If.”

I’m a full-throttle, strong-willed, obstinate, opinionated, risk-taking, adventure-seeking and ok, often prideful, kind of girl.

You know that kid.

Yesterday was just another typical Sunday in so many ways. Scrambling to find Greyson’s one pair of matching shoes (seriously that poor kid lives in the house of Matilda Jane and doesn’t even get a second pair of shoes).  Arriving late to church. Greyson begging to go night night for naptime. Emilyn shouting she doesn’t need to rest while begging for the nearest sugar rush she can find.  Sometimes I’m just waiting for her to start throwing poop at us in anger like the monkeys she loves. I guess we have another 10 years before that teenage symptom rears its ugly head.

Sundays also mean Ben flying out to I’m not exactly sure where. Haha you all say. But seriously I never remember where. I just know he returns every Thursday night or Friday morning and Lord help that poor man and the fool who answers the phone at American Airlines if his flight ever gets delayed.

BUT THEN there are always God’s little twists in there.