Even When My Love Fails

Tonight, I am weary to the bone.  Like a bit of rope drug too many times over a rough edge, I feel frayed.  Sometimes I wonder if the next bit of friction might cause me to snap altogether.  Forgive me if I risk a little too much authenticity here tonight.  Maybe I will edit this post to make it a little more palatable.  Maybe I will just vomit it all out on the page.

Here's the deal.  Trauma. Freaking. Sucks.   It is two and a half years in and I find myself torn between two extremes.  I SO desire to paint the beautiful lie.  The Photshopped picture of adoption.  The one where there are elements of truth, but they have been edited to look a little more picturesque.  Whitewashed.  The subjects and the setting are real, but the lighting has been adjusted, the ugly parts of the background have been softened, or erased altogether.  I want to share the picture that draws others toward the beautiful story of being grafted into a family.  The one that screams of redemption. One that makes everyone line up at the closest adoption agency to get on board as foster parents.  It is so easy to do, you know?  To post the right pictures on Facebook.  To share the funny tidbits and laughable anecdotes.  To photoshop reality into something that looks authentic but is at best only a shadow of the truth.

The other half, the part of me that is desperate to come clean, screams to share the raw, unedited truth.  The kind of truth that makes you squirm because there is a little too much reality.  Too much pain.  Too many rough edges.  The real picture is much less attractive.  Someone is almost always forgetting their game face.  There is anger and frustration and exhaustion and giving up - trying but failing again.  And again and again and again.

There is walking on eggshells...always the eggshells in hopes of maintaining peace.  Constantly wondering if today will be free of a blow up that will set the entire house on edge.  There is the deep, deep mourning of what was.   What was true for my family before we chose to take on so much hard. There is desperately missing days of easy, comfortable joy.  There is guilt and shame and pain and struggle.

There is second guessing EVERY parenting decision, where you once felt confident and secure.  There is battling hard to love authentically in the face of hate and venom that you KNOW is not really directed at you, but makes you bleed just the same.  There is secondary trauma, when you begin to live so defensively that just sharing a room causes your heart rate to rise and your guard to go up because you simply cannot do battle anymore.  There is rejection and failure and feeling like you just want to lay on the ground in the muck because you cannot get up again.  There is feeling so exhausted and bone weary that you cannot put one foot in front of the other.  There is hiding at home because you simply cannot plaster on the fake smile. . .not even (especially not?) at church.  There is this desperate desire to be known. . .really known.  For others to know how much you are struggling.  But that desire collides with crushing guilt that you might turn someone away from this holy call to  love beyond yourself, if you are that uncomfortably honest about the hard.

And even in the midst of the true story is the truth:   I would choose every bit of it again.  I would choose the ones that no one else wants to choose.  26 placements in less than 2 years.  Twenty six declarations of rejection in twenty four months.   I will look you in the eye and from the bottom of my heart, I will say, "I choose you."

In the midst of more struggle and trauma and pain than I ever could have imagined . . .I choose you.  I will fail.  I will put up walls of defense when I should tear them down.  I will sin.  I will keep a record of wrongs when I should forget.  I will get angry when I am called to be patient.   I will lose my temper when I should be slow to anger.   I will blame when I should choose compassion.  I will grieve and mourn when I should hope. I will be jealous of those who reach your heart when I could not, though I should rejoice.  I will give up when I should persevere.   I will choose self protection when I should lay down my life.   Even so, I will choose love.  I will choose you.  Because even when my love fails?  His NEVER does.

Redemption is not pretty.  It is not sanitized or fluffy.  Our redemption cost Jesus EVERYTHING.  It cost His reputation, His standing, His life.  He gave up His very nature, every comfort, every privilege, every advantage, so that we could find life.    He took on every bit of our sin and shame, deserving none of it.  He CHOSE suffering, not for His sake but ours.  How could I expect it to cost me any less?

The truth?  I feel like a failure most days.   I suck at this. . . this laying down of my own life when it really matters.  Tonight, the truth is I feel discouraged and defeated and alone. The truth is that sometimes just surviving today is the best I can do.  The truth is that I also still feel fiercely called to this path.  And the truth is, I will pick myself up tomorrow, and whisper to my heart that mercy triumphs in the end.  And despite every bit of hard, I will choose love again.  Because even when my love fails, His Never does.  And that is enough.