Tomorrow I'm being Adopted

... and I've hardly told anyone.  I'm not ashamed, mostly I keep forgetting, because honestly we have been family already. But also I just don't know how to explain to people why.  So, I'm writing this mostly for me, since I'm a processor and also so maybe someone else can understand.

I need to put my thoughts together about how I feel about tomorrow.  I am 30 years old and tomorrow I am being legally adopted into a family that I’ve been a part of for nearly 15 years.  It’s quite redemptive really, when I was 15 I lost the people who were raising me.

If you don’t know my story here’s a quick recap.  My mom got pregnant with me at 19 and gave birth to me, my birth dad left some time after that. There was some sort of family squabble.  My mom took care of me those first years of my life with help.  She ended up living with her (aunt/mom and husband) who I called my Nan and Pa (my great aunt and great uncle).  I’m not sure how the conversation went really, but my Nan and Pa ended up taking guardianship of us when I was about 4 years old and my sister was around 3.  My mom got married sometime after and lived with her husband, my sister and I would visit still. 

Fast forward to me at 15.  My nan had a lot of health issues and one night she fell in the bathroom.  We called the ambulance and they came to take her to the hospital.  This time she didn’t come back.  About 6 months later my pa has a stroke and ends up in the hospital for about 3 or 4 months.  My aunt Laurie started taking care of us.  When my pa got out, he never really came home. He got

remarried and we didn’t end up living with him again. My grandma and aunt Laurie got joint guardianship of us.

I am beyond grateful to all of these people who took care of me during my life, I could never repay them for all they did for me, and all they sacrificed.  And that’s what parents do for their kids.  They do their best where they’re at to give their kids the best life they can. 

Sometime that year we got a new youth pastor at the church I attended with some of my best friends.  He was funny and I remember laughing so much during his first sermon.  Little did I know what that man and his wife would be for me.  Little did I know all that God had in store for me. 

I didn’t even fully understand how broken I was, how sad I was, and how much I needed healing. 

The first time I really talked to his wife she was painting her living room.  They had just moved in.  For some reason I word vomited all over this woman about my life.  She just listened.  Little did I know how many more times she would listen to me about my life.  Little did I know all that God had in store for me. 

I remember telling the story non-chalantly, as if it was no big deal.  I had no tears, no sadness, just walls and walls guarding myself.  I had no idea how lonely I was.  How hurt I was. Now, as I write this I have tears streaming down my face. 

Chris saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself.  He saw a leader.  I had long forgotten the bossy, creative, strong little girl I once was.  But you know he saw something in me.  He invited me to be a student leader, then a junior high youth leader when I got older, asked me to be on the worship team (a mistake lol), asked me to share my testimony around the campfire at a youth prayer night.  Asked me to lead small groups, to have a girl’s bible study. Be a leader at camp and mission trips. Then he started having me teach the youth.  The list goes on.  Then I started getting my own ideas, my own vision.  I wanted to lead a discipleship group, put on a prayer and worship night, start a homeless ministry, teach this and that lesson.  Then when he was offered another pastoral job he recommended me for the youth pastor position.  

Kim poured into me and mentored me.  She started a young women’s discipleship group where she taught us so many things about Jesus, about love and hospitality.  She prayed with me countless times.  She would invite me to go shopping, to dinner, to babysit her kids.  She would give me rides to church or wherever, even with her 4 small kids.  She would call me out when I was being stupid and give me advice I wouldn’t listen to.  But she loved me, even when I screamed at her and cussed a few times and told her “you’re not my mother!”  I kept going back, no matter how mad I would get, I knew I was loved by them.  She has been a rock to me, someone who I could cry with, pray with, laugh with, eat with, and cook with.  

I was 15 and their oldest Emily was 5, the twins Madi and Krista were about 4 and Ethan the baby was 2 when I started hanging around.  As they got older they would tell their friends about their “big sister.”  Something I just did not understand.  If I was a big sister, I wasn’t a very good one, but just like a Robbins they loved me unconditionally too.  To this day they tell people I’m their big sister, and sometimes I still have a hard time believing that they feel like I’m family. 

It’s a weird thing that happened.  It wasn’t planned by me or by them.  But our lives just fit together. I had needed them, and I didn’t even know it. And they needed me, and they hadn’t known it.  I still have a difficult time explaining it to people.  Sometimes I fumble over my words explaining our relationship.  We’ve had a lot of people say, “you’re not really family,” some jealousy and even some being left out of things because not all parts of our family understand.  I know it doesn’t make sense that a 15-year-old who never lived with these people gets called a daughter, or why a 30-year-old would be adopted.

That’s the funny thing about God’s family though, he invites everyone to his house to sit at his table.  He invites everyone to be a mother, daughter, sister, brother, dad, son.  We all get invited.  Psalm 68:6 says, “God sets the lonely in families.”  Let's admit it, we can all be lonely, we all need to be set in a family.  

I am not discounting blood here at all.  I love my mom, my aunt Laurie, my pa, my sister, my uncles. I miss and love my nan, my grandma, and my uncle Bob.  All these people who have raised me and made me who I am today.  We will always be family.  My family just grows tomorrow, it doesn’t get replaced. This also doesn’t take away from all the other families who have poured into my life, my best friend Amber is the one who brought me to church, her parents told me about Jesus, they were a second family to me as a kid.  I am forever grateful for everyone who has poured into my life.  And it definitely doesn’t take away from my family on my husband’s side, I love all of you also, and thank you for accepting me as yours. 

If I’ve learned anything from the Robbins it is this: everyone is always welcome at the table, we are inclusive, our door is always open and there's always room for one more.  God will provide what we need to feed people.  This showed me what God is like. I swear God multiplies food at their house like he did at the feeding of the five thousand (can someone tell me how these people always get free food!?)  

When they first asked me to adopt me, I was so taken back, and it sounded weird and crazy and unnecessary.  When I prayed through it though God showed me that this wasn’t about a piece of paper announcing that we were family, (though even then I had a hard time accepting that they truly loved me like their daughter or sister) it was more about being vulnerable enough to let people love me and learning how to receive that love fully so that I could fully give love out. 

So what is family?  Is it blood only? Then what about adopted kids?  Is it just people with a common last name?  Is family people who live in our home? Or is family more?  Maybe we can be inclusive. Maybe family is those that sit around our table. Maybe it's those who say yes to us, and we say yes to them.  Maybe it's being willing to say, "these people are my people" and embracing them with open arms and hearts.  I mean we teach our kids to share from a young age, we have to learn to share our family, and in the end it is so very worth it.  

For 15 years I’ve known the Robbins, which is as long as I hadn’t known them. God has redeemed much of my past, he’s taught me about family, being a mom, raising children and loving others. I’m still growing and learning every day. 

I’ve been a Robbins for a long time though, tomorrow it becomes official and legal. 

Wounds and Healing

When I was 6 my sister and I had this hot pink plastic bat that we'd gotten as a gift. I think it came with a white plastic whiffle ball. At some point I decided it was mine and it needed to be hidden from my 4 year old sisters little hands. I went outside and climbed our little tree house.

I found this highly contrasted picture of my sister and me around ages 6 and 4. 

It sat about 5 feet off the ground and had a little staircase leading to the top floor of our abode. It was made inside a juniper tree, perfect for our little selves.

I stood on the wooden floor and reached on my tiptoes for a high branch, wobbling the pink plastic bat to balance on top.  Then my foot slipped off the edge. The inside of my thigh caught the corner. The corner took about a quarter size piece of flesh with it (I think Shakespeare's Shylock would have been pleased). In shock I got down, saw blood running down my leg. I quickly covered the wound and hobbled down the little hill to our front door.

After that, I remember a swift carrying to the car and a trip to the E.R. I don't remember everything that happened though I'm sure they had to clean out the wound, maybe give me a shot to dull the pain and then stitched me up. It was probably anything but pleasant. I remember a few of the doctor visits that followed, one to check it and another to take out the stitches. I remember the best part, showing my friends at school my battle scar received in my war against little sisters.

I often think about suffering, wounds, pain and the healing process. 

I know it sounds a little morbid, but I often hear of people who have been emotionally or physically hurt by others, especially working in ministry for so long. When this happens I usually think back to my own experiences with pain and suffering.  The only way I’ve truly found healing is to allow the Great Surgeon to clean the wound, and stitch it up. 

Sometimes I don’t though. Sometimes I let it sit. I let if fester. 

I don’t want to face the pain.  So I stuff it. 

When I do this, I often find it hurts so much worse when I finally deal with it.  Sometimes I don’t even know how to deal with it, because it just hurts so stinkin bad and I’m in shock.  I find myself wobbling through life gripping the wound, letting it make all my choices.  When I’ve been wounded, sometimes it’s my fault, because I was being a selfish turd, like the 6 year old version of myself, I am hoarding something or caring only about myself.  Other times it’s no fault of my own, sometimes my foot slips and bam I’ve been hurt.

When we’re dealing with a wound from our past, it always seems weird to open it back up again, because it feels like it was so long ago. Like we should be over it by now. But those moments whether we’ve dealt with them or not will shape the people we are today.  We can choose to not dwell in the past, but to deal with it so we can truly walk forward into all that God has for us.  The process of repairing wounds is painful, but it’s worth it.

I’m not saying this process is the same for everyone but I’m just going to share some things I’ve done to become healthier and healed.

       1.  I let myself remember it. To truly remember it every detail and cry if I need to.  During this process I also have learned to give over the memory to God.  To allow him to show me what and where I need to forgive. I usually write some of these things down at some point.  I hate this part, because sometimes it ends in sobs. Sometimes one memory leads to another and another memory of past hurts, or grief and before you know it I’m a hot mess curled up in the fetal position on the bed, bathroom floor or wherever I’ve decided to have my melt down this time. (this may need to happen in the presence of a professional and under their guidance and direction when dealing with intense trauma. Again this is not a one size fits all list.)


2.     I write. I write down every single thing that hurt me about the situation. Every single person I’m angry with. Sometimes on that list is God, which I think is okay, we should admit when we blame him, not get overly religious and act like we really trust and believe in him ALL the time. We all have doubts and faults in this faith walk thing. Later, I ask forgiveness for harboring bitterness against God and not trusting him.  I also write down what I have done that has wronged either God or someone else.  I also write what I’m feeling: guilt, anger, betrayal, grief, etc. It helps to put a name to the emotion. Sometimes, I go back and write about the event in a poem or story. It may not always be print worthy at the time, but it helps me to sort things out and process. 


3.     I pray.  I go down my list and say I forgive so and so for such and such. To each and every person on my list and for every act of wrong that has been done against me, or that I feel has been done against me.  I ask forgiveness for what I’ve done that has been wrong in the situation. I repent.  This is also a time where I ask God what I should do about it (should I confront a person, should I ask forgiveness of someone, should I do some kind act, or should I just release them and let it go.)


4.     I seek community. Often for me this is the hardest part.  This part can mean one of many things for me:  It can be sharing what God’s been showing me with my tribe; Talking with family and friends about what I’m feeling, especially if they’re going through the pain also; Asking for prayer during church or from friends; Asking for deeper prayer with a couple of people who are discerning and who can pray on my behalf and help me to truly get to the root of the problems I’m having; This can also mean seeking counseling from a professional, sometimes it’s nice to get perspective from someone who is not so invested in my life.  This part is also the bit where I stay in community, real authentic community. I believe this is fundamental to the healing process and learning to trust again.  Being in community also helps with forgiveness, because when you are real and open with one another you tend to get hurt a lot.  Just like in families, and forgiveness is learned in these types of settings, where grace and forgiveness are extended often, because none of us our perfect and we have all hurt and wounded others, just as we have been wounded.  For some reason though God calls us to be close with others, not to hide in the covers (though this is my knee jerk reaction sometimes), he calls us to love like him, forgive, give grace, and do it all over again when someone hurts us.


5.     Repeat any steps if necessary.

At the risk of beating a dead horse, I have never found healing in going about life as usual.   In fact when I have stuffed it, the pain always finds a way out, through bitterness, anger, fear, or anxiety does not heal all wounds.  However, it does take time for wounds to heal, but it also takes work. Sometimes years later, a wound can still haunt us, or rear its ugly head when we face a situation that is similar. The first thing that happens to me, is all of my insecurities come out, and I know it has hit some deeper issue.  And then guess what? I get to deal with it again, in a new light.  I’ve found that scars never go away, but wounds can heal. I’ve also learned that God does not always make us deal with everything at one time, he goes as deep as we are ready. Then later he may go a little deeper and do even more healing work in our lives. 

I’m still imperfect and I’m still learning how to heal and see when I’m stuffing it.  I really do hate dealing with my feelings, because when I feel I FEEL EVERYTHING.  I feel it in my bones when I’m hurting.  In the end though, I know it’s worth it. 

I don’t want to be a victim of what has happened to me. I want to live victoriously, despite crappy circumstances.  Who’s with me?

Side note: I still have my ugly quarter-size-star-shaped scar on my inner thigh.  I may never be a leg model, and I'm okay with that.  Also, I won’t be hiding any more toys from my little sister 😏

Sometimes I grow weary of the journey.

Even when it's a place I really wanted to go. Like when my husband and I went on our honeymoon. We decided we would take a road trip up the coast and back down, stopping at different places along the way. The first day our journey was 3.5 hours to wine country, we stayed one night. The next day we made our way to Big Sur, which was another 3 hours. We stayed there for two nights and then drove to Santa Barbara to stay one night. Even though I enjoyed seeing everything up and down the coast. I got really sick of packing and unpacking and driving for hours at a time. By the end of the trip I was ready to go to my new house and start making it into our home.

Growing up my sister and I lived with my great aunt (Nan) and great uncle (Pa).  I remember my mom lived there too on many occasions. She was always there when we were really young because she was still our legal caretaker. My nan and pa’s home was our home. When I was around age 4 we moved out to live with my mom’s boyfriend.  

I was devastated.

I especially remember when they took my bed.

“Home" was being taken from me.

Later, we moved back and my nan and pa became our legal guardians. We lived in that house for 11 more years. That was my home.

There's something about home isn't there?

A place that's warm and cozy.

A place you can return to after a long day at work or school.

A place where people know you, love you and that you belong.

A place you long for when you're on a trip.

The place where your bed is.

That first night back in your own bed is always the best. It feels familiar and dreamlike. Like you've never left and like you've been gone far too long all at once.

When I was age 15 my nan died. She had many health problems and took a lot of medication, but none were life threatening that we knew of. One night she was acting sort of in a daze and just slipped off to bed without saying goodnight.  At about 4 am my sister was screaming in my ear to wake up. We ran upstairs to see my nan had fallen and hit her head on the bathroom wall. She passed away on the ambulance ride to the hospital. 6 months passed and then my pa had a minor stroke and another more serious one in the hospital. After 3 months of hospitalization and rehab he came home. Sort of. Then through a series of events he and his soon-to-be-wife chose to sell the house. Our home.

The worst year of my life.

When I was 12 I recall sitting on my bed thinking of some of the friends I had who spent their childhood moving from one place to another. I thought of a girl at school who lost her home in a fire and all the people who don't have homes at all. I thought: I would hate to be one of those people. I liked feeling safe and comfortable and taken care of.  Who doesn’t?

While they were selling the house, we moved in with my grandma. Then a year later we move out with my Aunt Laurie. After that we moved back in with my grandma. My sister moved to San Diego with my Aunt Laurie later that year. I stayed with my grandma as long as I could, but my grandma’s house was going to be foreclosed. So, I moved into a studio apartment. I rented a house with a friend after about a year and a half. Then I lived with my best friends mom for 6 months.

After our honeymoon, I was finally going home.

It felt like the promised land.

Maybe you've felt like you don't have a place you belong.

Like you don't have a place where you're loved and accepted for who you are.

Like there's no comfy bed to go home to.

I also wonder if you've ever been on a trip and longed for home.

That feeling of longing can lead us to many things:

Unhealthy relationships, partying, bars, addictions, sex, a spouse, family, friends, books, video games. I don't know what you try to fill yourself with to fulfill your longing for home. But I do know that longing is a very strong feeling.  Notice how not all of those things on the list are bad things, but none of those things can ever truly fill us, not completely, not forever.

I longed for a home for so long and finally found it.

What I had forgotten in my longing is that home is not necessarily a house or a bed. 

My sister sent me this ^ after reading my blog. It was too perfect not to add it.  <3

One day as I contemplated moving from our home I realized I feared moving.

Still.

Moving felt like the pain I'd endured as a preschooler as my bed was taken. It felt like being tossed from place to place as a teen, after enduring tragedy.

It felt like chaos.

Like hopelessness.

Like being left alone with no bed.

God gently spoke to me in this moment of fear and anxiety. 

He said, your home is with me. 

I took a deep breath.

Peace.

In a literal sense our home is and was always supposed to be with Jesus in eternity. There's a very real longing for home in us because there's a longing to be with Jesus.  The Bible says that he has “set eternity in the human heart” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

In another sense wherever God takes us on the earth, wherever he calls us, He will be there.  He does not leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5).  It doesn’t mean he always calls us to the safe or the comfortable, but it does mean we will always find a home in him.  Heaven isn't just some place in the sky that we go when we die (That rhymed. Unintentional. [for the Hot Rod fans]). Heaven is all around us. When we choose to love others, choose to live our lives for Jesus, we bring heaven. Heaven is a real place, but the kingdom of heaven is also wherever the king is. Wherever his kingdom is being brought.

So, I choose to hold fast to Jesus, not a physical house or building. I choose to believe Jesus is not in a temple, a church, or a house. That's why the veil was torn on the day of Jesus' crucifixion, to prove that God doesn't dwell in a temple any more, but in the hearts of his people.

Jesus is where his people are.

My home is with Jesus. 

And let’s not forget what Jesus said in Matthew 8:20:

"Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."

Jesus didn't have a bed. He didn't have a "home" while he was doing ministry. His home was with the father. If I'm following Jesus then I will not always have physical comfort. Jesus didn't. He relied on the kindness of others as he loved them and ministered to them.

I knew that when I had kids I didn't want them to go through what I went through. I wanted them to have both parents, to feel safe, to have a home.  But, something I've come to realize: you can't always choose the path your life takes. However, you can choose to follow the God who loves you, no matter the path he takes you on.  

Not to say I’ve achieved this faith or trust thing.  I still cling to home, to comfort.  But I’m choosing to try following Jesus wherever he takes me and trusting that he will give me the feeling of home my heart desires.  I’m going to open my hands and start letting anything that is not from him fall out.

Are you holding too tightly to something?

What do you need to let tumble to the ground?

Let’s trust that Jesus will be enough to fill all of our longing as we keep traveling this journey. 

I’ll end us with some words from Jesus.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  Matthew 11:28