Sunday, September 10, 2017

My coffee...

The coffee I drink is never hot. Autobrew setting on my pot, bless you for brewing coffee magically at 6:45 each morning. I come downstairs with a baby or two in tow, grab a mug and pour. I have a habit of letting it sit, preferring a temperature somewhere between molten lava and warm bath water. The mug usually sits untouched for about 1 hour, when I finally walk by it again and remember my liquid sunshine is within reach waiting for me. I take a sip, my coffee is never hot or really even warm.

These last 30 years on earth have taught me, if nothing else that life is seasonal. Our existence is a blip in the realm of history and eternity. We have but a moment, a season, one chance to live well. This is the mindset I keep in view in this season. Cold coffee, minimal showers, interrupted sleep, social potty breaks, pokes, boogers, “Mama, me see you” these are my realities.

It feels like yesterday I was sitting there wondering who was going to join my life and fill my bedrooms. I merely blinked and they have grown up, lost teeth, started reading and tying their shoes. Three and half years later my rooms are full (we still have one open), my days are a blurred production of diapers, chaos, homework, meltdowns and snuggles. I don’t want to blink because time doesn’t stop, or even slow down.

These past several weeks something has changed. Each day that goes by it seems I am settling in, deeper to this role of Mama. It’s been several years now but something this time feels different. I have a range of ages and different level bonds in my house right now. Babies who have been with me months and some years, some I have been there for all the firsts, others who I am still putting the pieces together.

It was a rough week for our Baby Mamas, we had two that relapsed. The longer I am here in this the more I realize how devastating addiction is. One of our mom’s wrote me, feeling such shame about it, she was afraid I would think differently of her. I sat on her message quite some time, wondering if I did. I can’t say I do, I don’t see her differently, sensing her shame my heart was filled with compassion for her. These moms miss so many sweet moments that I get to collect. They miss the first steps, words and daily snuggles, the cost of these moments, is great.

Being a foster parent has some weighty requirements, we are not replacing our birth parents but standing in the gap, advocating for them (the parents and our children). We are place holders, sometimes we turn into forever fixtures. Collecting, soaking and breathing in hope and healing. The cost is great, the risk is much but the reward that is priceless.

Yesterday at breakfast I looked our half full table, hopeful of what is coming. In this season, I want to soak it all in and for now may my coffee always be cold. May my days be full, may my to do list go undone, may my soul find peace in the beautiful chaos of it all. May I soak us in, may a collect the treasures of these little souls. Our story is still unfolding, we have chairs yet to fill, we are growing together, healing as we go. May our lives be full and our coffee cold. 

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