All is not Calm...

 

If you look around my house this Christmas season you will definitely see the effects of motherhood here.

You'll see school books strewn about all throughout the place. Constant reminders of frustration and fights that feel completely unnecessary to a mom and completely life-changing to a kid. I never wanted to homeschool my teenage daughter. I simply didn't want this kind of hard. But I saw her struggles and her self-esteem start to crack as she fell more and more behind her peers in school. A scar from her years of home-hopping which led to inconsistent schooling. A kid who got overlooked and pushed along anyway. So I pulled her out and we started from the ground up. And she's bright, let me tell you. She's catching up one day at a time, and I get a front row seat to see her shine. I push her more than she wants, and she hates when I do it. But I didn't become her mother because of what she could do for me...I became her mother because I knew what I could do for her...what no one else had been willing to do for her.

You'll see an advent devotional that we're constantly behind on even though we always try to catch up. And an obnoxious elf on the shelf named Sugarplum that haunts me. Even though she doesn't believe in it, and is way too old for it, she's still desperate for me to pretend that the magic is alive. Every morning she says "Kackie, look what the elf did..." and every morning I pretend to be shocked and annoyed.

You'll see a bedroom with a missing door. A stark acknowledgement of all the times it was slammed before it got removed from its hinges. Because, when I tell you that raising an abandoned teenager isn't easy, I want you to feel it. The way I felt the house shake when her door slammed...and pictures fell off the wall. The way I felt when she cried in her room about how much she hated me...the way I felt when I heard her yell that at me that first time.

You'll see an abandoned bathroom because somehow the shower decided to start leaking through the floor into our kitchen...and now we have to share my bathroom. Because I cannot fix it by myself...and I don't have the money to pay someone else to fix it. Because my kid's adoption drained all the savings I ever had.  And thank goodness I don't get invoices from lawyers, or social workers, or the state of Georgia anymore...because I have nothing left for them. But I'd choose her every single day over and over again.

You'll see a meticulously chosen, live Christmas tree full of lights. Covered in ornaments we've collected from all our adventures (her's and mine as well as mine and John's). And Ornaments I've bought to commemorate moments in her life that I missed...and she doesn't remember. I've created a map of her life through ornaments...partially real and partially just wishful thinking.

You'll see a little note on a piece of paper that says "if John and Kimber had never died...would you still have chosen to adopt me? Knowing everything that you do now about me...about my attitude and issues...would you still adopt me?"

You'll see a message about family counseling in the hope that this will help us communicate better and heal more. Because there's a noticeable lack of attachment from the kiddo who might never call me "Mom". Because she's still just the little kid who was told over and over again "you can call me Mom..." and then was given away. 

So really...all is not calm this season. It's hard and broken and hurtful.

But I refuse to believe that that is ALL that it is.

Because it's also so wonderfully bright. 

Bright with moments of promise and hope. Moments of laughing over cheesy Christmas movies. Or the accomplishment of an aced test. The simple love of a shared shopping adventure. Or of making a memory while holding hands in the crashing waves at the beach. 

Bright with hope for the future...

Bright with promises of the scriptures that remind me that this work of motherhood is not fruitless...and that redemption has never been easy.

Bright with all the life she has yet to live and all the opportunities she has because now she's a Cunningham. 

A little bit of calm is still at the top of my Christmas list...but I'll choose to bask in the bright until we find that season.