Hello friend. I have not heard from u in a while. I can only assume it’s because u r so busy with ur new ministry, but I pray for u every time He whispers ur name across my heart. My daughter packed her bags last night and announced she was leaving home. It was like wading thru another nightmare-one minute we were just trying to have our “back to school routines” discussion, and the next—being accused of saying things we never said, and treating her like a “heroin addict.” My little girl is no longer little. It’s a big scary world out there, but all she sees are fields of candy canes and lollipops.
I’m reminded of when she was in second grade. We had bought her the most adorable lady bug raincoat and umbrella and matching boots. She didn’t seem too enthused to wear it, but she put it on anyway. I watched her rush out the car and turn to wave with a brave smile. Then when she thought I had left, she quickly took off the offensive paraphernalia and stuffed it in her backpack, before heading in the school gate. Many months later I would find out that some snobby girls from the “in crowd” of her class were secretly bullying her everyday, asking her to do things like, “hey Christi-Ann, could u crawl under that bathroom stall door and unlock it for us?” and then run away giggling bc she’d crawled thru a pee covered floor from an overflown toilet. She refused to use the school bathroom after that until well into High school—booking it straight for the bathroom as soon as she got home. She had lived in a quiet and scary world, bravely trying to fight her demons by herself, unaware that help lay as close as her mother’s arms. This, the aftermath of a well intentioned adoption gone badly awry.
After calling the police, and them calling an ambulance, I endured the kindly lectures of a pmt I recognized from the church I used to work for as a counseling intern (before my humiliating crash from a starbound career to a bed and four walls). Looking from the hostile glares of my daughter’s eyes, to the tired ones of the pmt, to the impatient ones of the police officers, I wondered how we ever got here. Reluctantly I agreed to let her go stay at a friend’s house, relinquishing temporary legal custodialship to a stranger’s kindness. It was a very long night, and I wonder if when she wakes up, will it be to an exciting new world without her “terrible” family hardships? Or will it be with the dreaded realization that the nightmares of last night weren’t just bad dreams after all?
I remember well my own journey leaving home at a young age. The door to my house couldn’t close fast enough behind me, and three days later when I returned to get my things, I found the room I had shared with my sister had already been redecorated and remodeled to look like I had never been there. But I had been running away from years of abuse. She’s running away from demons in her head. Still, I feel like I’m somehow being reprimanded for the sins of that past lifetime. She told us she didn’t believe in God anymore, as if she could suddenly announce Him into extinction. No, if God isn’t real, then demons are a silly story told to scare little kids into submission. Which means she’s safe from them, and from all the unwanted moral restraints of living in a Christian home.
I tried to comfort my son last night, blindly searching thru Scripture to try to show him how big and comforting and wonderful our God really is, a task made dubious by my own shouting fears and nightmares, and the emptiness of my own footfalls down the lonely corridor of my walk with a God who sits on high laughing at my foolish attempts at surviving this cruel world. I read some passages of John to him, and fumbled for words to explain to him why Sister suddenly decided to leave, and whether she really was saved, and if I believed that she will be in heaven. He quietly reads the story of Lazarus before looking up and announcing, “Well, Sister might not leave, because she loves her new kitty Mochi, and Mochi is here, right mom?” Ever the adoring younger brother.
I remember when he was little he had a friend he looked up to sooo much named Luke. Everyday he rushed home from school and announced that Luke had said he would come over to play. And everyday my little boy, ever so hopeful, would wait by the window watching for the older gradeschool kid who only showed up once. My son was so innocent, believing that if an older kid said, “Yeah sure, I can come over to your house to play,” that he really meant it. The same way he pined for his much older sister to play with him. And love him, like he had loved her. If anyone deserved a sibling to play with, it was my little boy. He would’ve made the world’s best big brother. But instead he is to settle for online gaming friends he’s never met face to face. I see him try to bury his loneliness with hours of video games, reading, and mindless dubstep.
Oh God it’s not fair! He didn’t deserve any of this. A dad who refuses to be a dad, a mom who’s stuck in bed, and a sister who hates our family. I remember when he was little he would tell me that he really wanted to go to heaven and grow up there. Because there it would be all right. And nothing bad would happen. I used to protest in horror that no! I would miss him so much! And he wouldn’t get to grow up and have his own family. Now I wish with my whole heart that we both could just have gone to heaven. It hurts too much to grow up here.
I’m reminded of when she was in second grade. We had bought her the most adorable lady bug raincoat and umbrella and matching boots. She didn’t seem too enthused to wear it, but she put it on anyway. I watched her rush out the car and turn to wave with a brave smile. Then when she thought I had left, she quickly took off the offensive paraphernalia and stuffed it in her backpack, before heading in the school gate. Many months later I would find out that some snobby girls from the “in crowd” of her class were secretly bullying her everyday, asking her to do things like, “hey Christi-Ann, could u crawl under that bathroom stall door and unlock it for us?” and then run away giggling bc she’d crawled thru a pee covered floor from an overflown toilet. She refused to use the school bathroom after that until well into High school—booking it straight for the bathroom as soon as she got home. She had lived in a quiet and scary world, bravely trying to fight her demons by herself, unaware that help lay as close as her mother’s arms. This, the aftermath of a well intentioned adoption gone badly awry.
After calling the police, and them calling an ambulance, I endured the kindly lectures of a pmt I recognized from the church I used to work for as a counseling intern (before my humiliating crash from a starbound career to a bed and four walls). Looking from the hostile glares of my daughter’s eyes, to the tired ones of the pmt, to the impatient ones of the police officers, I wondered how we ever got here. Reluctantly I agreed to let her go stay at a friend’s house, relinquishing temporary legal custodialship to a stranger’s kindness. It was a very long night, and I wonder if when she wakes up, will it be to an exciting new world without her “terrible” family hardships? Or will it be with the dreaded realization that the nightmares of last night weren’t just bad dreams after all?
I remember well my own journey leaving home at a young age. The door to my house couldn’t close fast enough behind me, and three days later when I returned to get my things, I found the room I had shared with my sister had already been redecorated and remodeled to look like I had never been there. But I had been running away from years of abuse. She’s running away from demons in her head. Still, I feel like I’m somehow being reprimanded for the sins of that past lifetime. She told us she didn’t believe in God anymore, as if she could suddenly announce Him into extinction. No, if God isn’t real, then demons are a silly story told to scare little kids into submission. Which means she’s safe from them, and from all the unwanted moral restraints of living in a Christian home.
I tried to comfort my son last night, blindly searching thru Scripture to try to show him how big and comforting and wonderful our God really is, a task made dubious by my own shouting fears and nightmares, and the emptiness of my own footfalls down the lonely corridor of my walk with a God who sits on high laughing at my foolish attempts at surviving this cruel world. I read some passages of John to him, and fumbled for words to explain to him why Sister suddenly decided to leave, and whether she really was saved, and if I believed that she will be in heaven. He quietly reads the story of Lazarus before looking up and announcing, “Well, Sister might not leave, because she loves her new kitty Mochi, and Mochi is here, right mom?” Ever the adoring younger brother.
I remember when he was little he had a friend he looked up to sooo much named Luke. Everyday he rushed home from school and announced that Luke had said he would come over to play. And everyday my little boy, ever so hopeful, would wait by the window watching for the older gradeschool kid who only showed up once. My son was so innocent, believing that if an older kid said, “Yeah sure, I can come over to your house to play,” that he really meant it. The same way he pined for his much older sister to play with him. And love him, like he had loved her. If anyone deserved a sibling to play with, it was my little boy. He would’ve made the world’s best big brother. But instead he is to settle for online gaming friends he’s never met face to face. I see him try to bury his loneliness with hours of video games, reading, and mindless dubstep.
Oh God it’s not fair! He didn’t deserve any of this. A dad who refuses to be a dad, a mom who’s stuck in bed, and a sister who hates our family. I remember when he was little he would tell me that he really wanted to go to heaven and grow up there. Because there it would be all right. And nothing bad would happen. I used to protest in horror that no! I would miss him so much! And he wouldn’t get to grow up and have his own family. Now I wish with my whole heart that we both could just have gone to heaven. It hurts too much to grow up here.
