The struggle is real.

I've been really struggling lately with the unknowns of baby girl's future. I am struggling with the brokenness of her story. I am struggling with the myriad of emotions swirling around inside as the winds of March blow outside my window.

Little things affect me in ways I never thought they would...
- A DNA test to find out exactly who the father is
- Extended visits with mom that occur where Lil' Peanut was hurt
- Appointments on top of appointments and a week's schedule that is no longer my own.

What I struggle most with though is all the unknowns. Will I pour my heart out into her for months only to have her stripped from my arms in the end? Will she be safe, loved and happy? Will my heart recover - and how will I possibly survive the waiting?

I know love is sacrifice, but I've asked myself often the last few days why it has to hurt this much?

Ryan is always telling me I am stronger than I think. I don't want to be strong...not if this strength keeps putting my heart in these situations.

I just want to know:  Is.  She.  Ours?

Then I think, If she is not...Would it change anything about my life now?
And the answer is:  No.
It wouldn't. I would still make bottle upon bottle and gently wipe the spit-up from her bow-shaped lips. I would still pat her back and rock her to sleep and slather her with an ungodly number of kisses. I would gaze lovestruck into her hazel-gray eyes and snuggle her head into my shoulder. I would cherish every second - and still choose to love.

The question God keeps asking me in all this:
Do you still trust me?

Well, yeah, but God!......
Do you TRUST me?
You know I want to, but can't I just know?
Dear one, do YOU trust ME?

And finally, I let go...weak and tired from the struggle, able to rest in the freedom of faith.
Trust in Him is the only thing getting me through this. Trusting there is no "worst case scenario" -- Only His best.

For her.
For her mom.
For us.

The pain of these moments is temporary. Someday I will "know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12) He knows. He knows my heart. He knows my struggle and doubt and angst and He will carry me through. He always has. The aching cracks of it all just serve to let in the glory of His brilliant light.

In my quiet time the other day I was reading Genesis 18, where God is again reminding Abraham of His promise to provide him with an heir, a son - even in his old age. Abraham is doubtful and God replies "Is anything too hard for the Lord? At the appointed time I will return to you..."

It was such a poignant reminder.

There is NOTHING too hard for my God. He is fully capable of making this house Lil' Peanut's forever home. He is also fully capable of healing my heart if she leaves. That is what this all boils down to...His capability and my willingness to Just. Let. Go. Let go of my expectations and the desires of my heart and for this sweet girl. He knows all of it anyway.

I lift my eyes up to the hills - and His help is coming.
He made heaven and earth and my heart and this little girl and He knows all and is IN all.
His grace is here, in the hurt and the pain and the love.
And He is trustworthy.

All is Grace,
Carie

Here we go again...

I'm consistently blown away by God's intentionally personalized gifts of mercy. It's easier for me to grasp the bigger picture - the gift of the cross, waking up each day healthy and alive, the love and presence of my family. What I fail sometimes to look for are the creative out-of-the-box ways God chooses to remind me I am His and He is ever relentlessly pursuing me.

When we first started along this adoption road, we felt led to search for an African American sibling group, either a boy and a girl or two boys. Every once in a while, Ryan would look at me as we perused profiles and say, "You know. Every time I've ever thought of adopting, I've always thought of us adopting a white baby girl." I would kind of roll my eyes and remind him of my our plans and the direction we were heading, not to mention the small likelihood of us ever getting a caucasian female newborn without first going through an adoption agency.

It's not that I didn't want a caucasian baby girl - I'm happy with whatever God gives us. I've just always had this idea that we would be bringing our child home from either a third world country, or older siblings from a minority group in the states that are harder to place. 

Time and time again God has shown me that it doesn't matter what I want or think will happen - He's going to do what He wants. Apparently He doesn't need my help in the process. Slowly the plan has changed and evolved...from focus on International adoption, to adoption from foster care. From Interstate adoption to focusing on kids within our state's boundaries. From adoption from foster care to emergency placement and respite. From only sibling groups to individuals. From only boys around the age of 6 to any gender and any age under 7. 

I'm learning expectations are saboteurs of faith, but living arms wide open, expectant and ready allows God to write you into stories you couldn't possibly have dreamt up yourself.

Five days after my last post and two weeks after we told our caseworker we were open to pretty much anything, including infants, I got a call on a Sunday afternoon from a CPS worker. She mentioned she had talked to our caseworker who recommended our family as a perfect placement for the child she was advocating for. And the placement? 

A four week old caucasian baby girl. 

My heart nearly stopped.

I took a deep breath and said, "Yes, I would like to hear more." 

There wasn't much to tell. Baby girl was four weeks old and in a Spokane hospital scheduled to be discharged the next morning. Baby's mother was nineteen and living in Missoula with no known history of substance abuse, and could I please make this decision within the hour? 

I said I would need to talk to my husband but I could be fairly certain I knew what he would say. I immediately called Ryan and told him the news. 

*Silence*

Then: "You know what I'm going to say." "Yep." I replied. "Just needed to make sure." And with those words, our lives were flipped upside down for the second time.

Most people get ten months or more to get used to the idea of a newborn. I had less than twenty-four hours. By five the next evening I was holding the teeniest, scrunch-faced, tiny little girl I'd ever seen in person. She weighed a hair under seven pounds (two pounds less than my lightest baby at birth), had a pinched little face and eyes perpetually crossed and locked into an expression of shock...Like she still couldn't quite believe the road she'd already been on. She had toddler bite marks on both arms, a huge nasty scab on her nose and small puncture wounds on her scalp. She had been in Spokane for blunt force trauma and a small brain bleed. Other than her wounds, I knew practically nothing about this child, except for her name - and even that we didn't know how to pronounce correctly for almost a week.

The first few days were overwhelming, and as I recall them now, a bit fuzzy. It's hard when you can't decipher cries and your body isn't sending cues when it's time to feed the little one. She wasn't very hungry, eating only one to two ounces at a time. The first night she was up every two hours for feedings and would only fall asleep for naps the first couple days if I walked her in the Ergo. But moment by moment, hour by hour, feeding by feeding we started to adjust. 

LeyAna Grace (pronounced "Lay-Ahna") has now been with us for a month. She eats four or five ounces every three to four hours, has gained over two pounds and last night slept for a solid eight hours. (Proof that miracles do, indeed, still occur.) She will sleep just about anywhere, through just about anything - even the unwanted slobbery affections of a four month old golden. She is oh-so-close to smiling, her eyes clear and focusing correctly. Her wounds have healed and only a small w-shaped scar is left on her nose to remind us of her trauma. 

Even though tired, I've moved out of the walking-dead zone and come back to land of the living. Our schedule has settled into place and the kids are so great, jumping at chances to feed, hold or fetch. 

Twice a week I drop LeyAna off for a two-hour visit with her mother and a CPS worker returns her home. Each time Georgia asks "where her baby go?" and each time I say she will be home soon. Last week the judge ordered LeyAna to remain in foster care for at least six months while her mother works on a treatment plan. There is a lot of relief knowing that even though it may not be forever, we do have some time.

So, how are we doing? 

We are - all of us - emphatically, blissfully and completely in love. My love for Ryan has grown a thousand fold as I watch him pour himself into this little life. He is teaching me the meaning of selfless compassion and love. He tearfully nicknamed her "Heartbreaker" - because if she leaves she will be taking the little shreds of our hearts with her. This experience is as peaceful, sweet and healing as our last was anxious, heavy and traumatic. 

God is so good. He knew she needed us and we needed her. Loved ones have warned me against loving her too deeply or letting my mind go where our hearts desperately want to. But that's not how I was made and honestly I have never seen anywhere in the bible where it says to love partially or hold back. LeyAna has one hundred percent of my love and God has one hundred percent of my trust - either to bless us permanently with her snuggles or to heal our wounded hearts when we give her back. I trust Him with all of it. Our present. Her future. 

Resting on the waves of His sovereignty brings so much more peace than fighting for the future I can't change or do anything about. There is peace in the unknown. There is new life from brokenness and death. This is my prayer for our hearts and LeyAna's life...That the scarred places soften and yield to His new life and all the possibilities it contains.

All is grace (even her middle name),

Carie 

Sweetly Broken

It's been a while since my last post. We've taken time away to celebrate the holidays, hole up and attempt to recover from everything we've been through. The distance has left many wondering how we are and what we've been up to since the boys left. I've had some people tell me my last post left too much open-ended, that it was tied up with too neat and pretty a bow. Nothing about this story is neat, and very few parts are pretty.

The first few weeks after the boys left were spent grieving, questioning, praying and grieving some more. The emotions felt much like our previous miscarriages, except this time we had faces and names, smiles and memories, visions of how we could become the "perfect" family. It was a hard loss.

I can't even count the times I've questioned myself, wondering if when their social worker asked how we were doing, I should have responded with "Oh, you know. It's hard, but we're adjusting." If I should have gritted my teeth and pushed on. But I didn't. She asked and I responded with the truth. That we weren't adjusting. That I was seriously concerned about my health.

I've had several people tell me that my panic attacks may have been attacks from Satan and that I should have held on in faith and pushed through. Others have said maybe it was God's way of getting me out of a situation that would have been traumatic for my family down the road. Regardless of their source, there is a big difference between anxiety and panic attacks. It's easy for those who have not truly experienced them to write them off as just an excuse to get out of hard things, or as something tough to work through. But for many people who live with them, prayer never solves them and medication becomes the only solution.

Even though we want desperately to heal and move forward, we have chosen to stay involved in Jessey and Irvin's lives. So each week the kids and I load up, head over to the children's shelter and try to pour love and grace into two little lives that can't help but resist and push back, even against something that is breath and life. Those visits are the longest hour of the week. Five little people and one big one crammed in a much-too-small room for 60 minutes. Trying to act like this is natural. Trying to act like this is good. It's not. They don't belong there and it kills me to think that - however unintended - it is because of me. My health and my decision to share truthfully the struggles I was facing. The if-onlys are constant and brutal.

I have faced the guilt of knowing I broke not only their hearts, but the heart of my husband. Ryan was all in. He handled them with such grace, strength and love. He is my hero. He would have preferred they stayed. He knows now and agrees that it wasn't a good fit and we weren't the right family for them, but it doesn't change the ache in my heart from causing my man such pain.

I have come face-to-face with my own pride and fallen before the Father and wept for my shame. The way I would judge others at face value, not bothering to ask about their stories. I have been that mother who judged another mom with a kid throwing a full-blown tantrum, thinking "if only they disciplined more." I have seen the teens with sullen expressions and no desire to listen to authority and felt thankful they were not my problem. I have heard about other's stories and wondered "why in the world" they were making that decision. I have given out little grace and compassion to others when their stories end in heartbreak because of decisions they made and in my mind, could have avoided. I have been wise in my own eyes.

Daily now I pray that I will never have the audacity to judge, or gossip or fill-in-the-blanks of someone else's story. It is not my right. Not my place. No one - even those closest to us - will ever know exactly what we went through. I will never know exactly what you have been through. But I pray so desperately that I will have the courage and love and desire to ask you about your story. To look you in the eyes, keep my mouth quiet and just listen. Listen to your hurt. Listen to your pain. Listen and respond - not in judgement, not with an "I-know-best" response - but with grace and love.

The empathy and respect I have gained for others is monumental. The workers and families and individuals that willingly step into these hard places to care for foster children and push through the muck with them day-in and day-out...They are the real heroes. They have such thankless draining jobs. I have loved seeing the same worker at the shelter each week when we go to visit the boys. It was an honor to write her an encouraging note tucked into a coffee card letting her know that we see and we care and we are so proud of her.

There have been people who question our sincerity. Who have questioned what right I had to encourage others to step in to hard places when I wouldn't even stay there myself. They have questioned "how high I built everything up" and the swift and abrupt way in which it all ended. I have always been the one gung ho for adoption, Ryan less so. Ironically, he is now ten times more committed to the idea of foster care and adoption. I am the one both excited and fearful for the future. I trust him and am so thankful for his faith and leadership. I believe him when he says "Someday when we are old we'll have a wall full of pictures of lives we've impacted or poured into."

We have met with our CPS worker and discussed what happened and where we go from here. We are still on the list for emergency placements. We are still waiting to get a call with an adoption case that may fit our family. We are praying daily that Jessey and Irvin get placed in a forever home, and if that home is local, that we will be allowed to play a part in their new story, providing occasional respite for a family that will definitely need it. I have no clue what will happen in our future - but I do know that God is for us. He is still on His throne. We are still called to love and serve. Most importantly, we are open to whatever God calls us to, whatever form that looks like.

Foster care is messy. It is hard. It is ambiguous and confusing. But it is worth it. I still wouldn't change anything, even though it was the hardest, scariest thing I've ever done. The lessons learned and empathy gained are more than worth the pain.

To those of you who have given to us - either time in prayer or money - we are so thankful for you. People have told us it seems fishy that we would accept money for an adoption that never happened, or for foster kids who were only here for 7 days. If you are one of them, please let us know and we can work out a way to get your money back to you. I would never want money to be the cause of a rift in relationship, or want to accept money that comes with conditions.

I realize that sharing our story in such a public way and then leaving such a long break in communication has lead many of you to question and wonder to each other "what is up" with the Edsons. I realize that it is only natural to fill in the blanks when no information is given. If you still have questions after reading this post, please come and talk to us personally where you can get accurate and truthful information. If someone has been coming to you and asking questions about our story, please point them to this post - or better yet, give them our phone number and encourage them to come talk to us.

We still need your prayers. We will have decisions to make in the future regarding the children we take in and the timing of it all...it may be next month, it may be years down the road when our children are older and more able to deal with the emotional upheaval of it all. We will keep pursuing this path until it ends with one less orphan in the world or our Father makes clear to us this isn't His will for our lives. Either way, your love and support mean the world to us.

I never started this blog to make people happy. I know I've ruffled some feathers. I have prayed over every post and written from the heart. Life is messy. It can't be contained in a perfect box or painted exactly between the lines. We don't live this life to honor man, but to honor the One who made us. Honestly, His is the only opinion we care about. I am so thankful for the sin he revealed and the grace he bestowed. There is now no condemnation because I am IN HIM. I'm fixing my eyes on Jesus and moving forward in faith. The road ahead is wreathed in fog of unknown, but above the inversion the air is clear, the sky sparkling and golden and my Beloved is waiting.

All is grace,
Carie