Not My First Miracle

Foster Care Awareness Month

(Sort of foster care, medical mama, or just person awareness)

This is not the first time I was told a child of mine would "never do anything."

Look, I get that part of a social worker's "due diligence" is to give you all the worst case scenarios so you cannot come back and say "You never told me!" Or "This is not what I signed up for!" But can we stop speaking so bleakly about children that families completely give up hope and back out? Can we offer hope and resources and a list of services and groups and support so foster parents feel equipped and empowered and prepared and supported when they say Yes?!?!

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I sat on our living room floor as Bear napped and Arianna colored. A friend had called about a little boy who needed permanency and it was an ICWA (Indian Child Welfare Act) case so permanency might be hard to find. I spoke briefly with his worker who informed me of the newest medical information. Medical information that caused the family ready to bring him home for adoption to back out. 

Possible brain stem damage - a conclusion they made based on his history and sleep apnea. 

"He may not walk or talk, he may never do anything. So I understand if this is too much for you."

I understand she did not know the right words to use but those we definitely the wrongest words she could have chosen! 

God opened the door, and we said Yes until He closed it, which He didn't. 

We met this little boy with "possible brain stem damage" with his foster parents in Fargo during some appointments. I went with his foster mom. Doctors spoke of sleep study results and surgery needed to remove his adenoids. Hopefully this would help. 

Now, I am there with only the information that his social worker told me. And I'm sure his foster mama could have told me so much more, and she did throughout the day. But I always wonder, did we have the same information? Was I told accurate information? Did she know what the social worker told me? Maybe one day I will sit down with Mechelle and ask her these questions. 

He was tiny and he had no affect, no facial expressions. His eyes looked glazed over. He was clumsy and had hardly any head control. He took a few steps here and there. 

Doors kept opening and we kept walking step by step through them. 

February 4, 2017, we brought this little boy home forever. 

Within two months, he was a completely different kid. Doctors looked at his chart and him and asked me, "This is the same kid, right?" The change can only be described as a miracle. He no longer had sleep apnea. No longer needed surgery. And had a zillion facial expressions. So much energy!!! 

That little boy did all the things, and more, that the doctors claimed he would not do. He walked and then did a cartwheel at 2 years old! Now he rides his bike, runs, skips, karate kicks; he talked - now he talks nonstop; he's reading and swimming and All. The. Things. It took a lot of work and dedication. But also just allowing him to do what he's going to do in his time. 

Jase taught me, and continues to teach me, that everyone is created differently with purpose. He is fearless and unashamed. It makes it difficult to get a true apology out of him (ha!) but I firmly believe God will call him up one day for an amazing task that others will shy away from. Jase will boldly say, "Yeah, I'll do it." And not care one bit what others think of him, because he never has. 

So when I hear bleak news from a doctor, I want to say, "And so..." Or, "But, God..." 

I don't completely dismiss what they are saying but...these are moments just ripe with possibility of God working a miracle. I want to tell them that no one should be reduced to a number or a test result. And to never underestimate God's power, faithfulness, and provision. 

Jase isn't the only reason I know this. I know this because it was me.

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The neurologist looked over her papers, and gazed at me gravely. "Her Apgar scores were 0 and 2," with a pause, expecting me to gasp or be upset. 

I smiled just a bit and said, "Yes, and...?" Then I explained, "I was born by emergency Cesarean with an Apgar of 2. Apgar scores don't scare me."

I am a living, breathing miracle. I should not be alive. I was born blue and survived a possible SIDS episode at 3 months old, had a hole in my heart, and an asthma attack when I was 10 that landed me in the hospital. And I probably should have died when I totaled my car when I was 16. 

I didn't think much about all those miracles but now I am beginning to see how God has woven our lives together.

My experience with low Apgars made me less afraid to bring home this baby. My experience with respiratory issues and lots of clinics/hospitals gave me necessary knowledge to save her life in December when she had acute respiratory failure and made me unafraid of advocating for her in a room of a dozen medical professionals. I've seen miracles so I am ready step out in faith believing miracles will happen again. 

I don't have it all together.

I definitely don't know what I'm doing half the time. But what I do know is God is showing up in incredible ways in this little girl's life. God does not use the strongest, fastest, biggest, best. God loves to use the misfit, weakest, the outsider, the cast aside, the broken body, the overlooked, the "never do anything" people. 

Watching the biggest, best overcome does not prove His power or gain Him glory. But seeing the weakest, broken, or least conquer the impossible by His power gives Him all the glory. 

Her weakness will be her strength - time and time again God will faithfully prove His power and provisions (2 Cor. 12;9). We know He is able to do immeasureably more than we can ask or imagine (Eph. 3:20) and He works all things together (yes, even this) for the GOOD of those who love Him and have been called according to His purposes (Rom. 8:28) - so I am fully expecting to see God moving in amazing ways. 

This journey together will not be easy. We will be broken and overwhelmed and terrified. I definitely do not feel prepared or equipped. I often stand next to her crib in the middle of the night, while getting meds ready or a feeding, and wonder if God made a mistake -- did He really want ME to be her mom? Is He sure I can do this? Then again I am reminded that it is not about me or my abilities, but His power through me. I'm scared. This is not what I expected when we began our adoption journey in North Carolina. But how much more incredible, beautiful, amazing, surprising, miraculous than I could have imagined!!

She is worth everything. She may be function differently, but she is a person, with a soul that will live eternally, lovingly created by God. 

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We need to do better. We need to speak first about positive possibilities. We need to tell parents there is hope, even if it is whispers. We need to celebrate life even when, especially when it looks a little different than we were expecting. God is not surprised. We need to stop saying a child will "never do anything." I firmly believe that some of my girl's doctors have never seen a child with her diagnosis outside of the hospital. They have never seen them learning, playing, growing, joyful, and living life to the fullest. We can do better.