Chapter Nine--Childhood wanes.

 Keep in mind as you read that this was how I felt. Not how I should have felt, or even how I feel now.

Gretchen's Wedding.

The Story
The early days of my twelfth year of life were bright and full of sunshine. My sister was getting married and I was going to be a bridesmaid. I highly doubt there was much homeschooling done that year, due to all of the planning and shopping. I was so excited, and I don't even think it was the wedding as much as it was all of the people I loved altogether at my house, day after day, preparing for something. All of our closest friends and relatives were around to help. The house was never empty. There was always something for someone to do or help with. Gretchen had decided that she wanted her wedding reception at our house, my mother had reluctantly agreed. She also didn't want a caterer or cake. No cake. Just pie. Homemade pie. In a tent in our backyard. The day dawned bright and ...well chilly. Quite chilly indeed for the second of June. Everything was so much fun though. I remember since the reception was meant to be quite casual, people were showing up in sweaters and hoodies. I remember playing outside with my friends, and eating pie. It was the most fun I think I had ever had at a wedding. (to read more about that day, click here.)
Then summer began. One month after their wedding, my newly wedded sister, invited my little sister Abby and I to come up and stay with them in their apartment for a week. I think my parents were going out of town and so this is how the arrangements came to be, but I also think it was because they liked having us around, and they were extremely gracious for newlyweds. Abby and I camped out in this little walk-in closet sized space that became our little spare bedroom. Gret and Josh lived in a teeny-tiny town, without much to do. Yet, I look back on that week as one of the best in my life. We had so much fun. We played games, rented movies, got ice cream, took little walks, and went to the public pool. We did all those fun summery things that kids love to do. Then, on the Fourth of July, we went to the fireworks show. I remember we got there early so that we would be able to get a good seat. We got really great seats, but there was lightning off in the distance, and everyone rumored that they were going to cancel the fireworks. Some people even left. They didn't though, they had the show and it was the perfect way to spend the Fourth of July. I had no idea at the time, but I was living my last moments of being a real kid. I was a kid through and through that week, and in the nearer-than-I-ever-could-have imagined-days it all had to come to a close.
Not too long after that week was summer camp. Summer camp for me was always the highlight of my summer. The camp we went to was only about 45 minutes (if that) away from home, and so at a moments (or injury's) notice, I knew my mom could be there. That had helped me to get over my initial fear when I went for the first time in 3rd or 4th grade. This time I was a big bad 6th nearly 7th grader, and I was the oldest I could be to be there. So it was the only time (until five years later) that Abby and I went to summer-camp together. I remember being all worried that we would fight or that she would be homesick, and I dont remember, maybe we did, and maybe she was, but I also remember being really close to her. Like so glad that I was there for her in case she needed me, and also so glad to have her in return. We had no idea of what would await us at the end of this week.
My mom came to pick us up, but she did not come alone.
Abby and I had met Nancy sometime earlier that spring. Gretchen had worked as her tutor. She had expressed to my mom her concern because she knew that Nancy was going to be going to her twenty-something foster home. Abby and I had played with Nancy. We didnt really think anything of it. We were sort of used to meeting new people that we were expected to play with. We didnt know that she was going to be a part of our family. We were kids, and had no clue what a huge adjustment it would be for us.

Trip to Mississippi, Fall, 2001.

For Mom
 I read a blog post the other day, that I think would have been a huge encouragement to my mom if she were still here. It was concerning adopted children who have had a lot of love, care, attention, money, and many other valuable resources given to them, and yet at the first sight of "freedom" they run. They give it up. They have been offered the world, and yet they return to the wickedness from which they have been rescued. If you don't know us, then I will tell you that that is our situation exactly. The blog-writer compared it to us as sinners. We can be saved by our heavenly father who offers to us all of the richness of his love and mercy on our lives, and yet many do not choose him. Many choose to continue in darkness. The question then is, Was the Savior's love and sacricfice in vain? We shout a resounding "no!" Love for other individuals no matter how they respond is a beautiful thing. It teaches us how to open our hearts and give to a cause that we may never understand. It reminds us of our humanity, how little control we actually have, and it reminds us of the abilitiy we have in Christ to love the unlovely and unloving.
So, thanks mom. Thanks for stepping out in faith when you had no idea what you were doing. Thanks for keeping on keeping on long after the rest of us had given up. I feel guilty sometimes, like somehow if you were here, things would be different in that situation. Then again, I'm sure you understand. Your love for a person who is ungrateful to you was not in vain. If nothing else, it taught me how to love and modeled for me what a righteous woman looks like. Thanks.

Abby's birthday party.

Personal Feelings
 Thus began my inward struggle. I knew I hated the whole situation, I knew my heart was not open to this, I knew I loved my perfect little family. I knew, and yet I couldn't say. To say anything would be horrible, horribly rude and horribly selfish. I was old enough in Jesus to know that. So I contained it all. I contained my bitterness towards my parents for naively showing up with her in the car assuming we'd be fine with it. I contained my anger towards Nancy and all of the difficulties that she had, all the brutal scars that left her so different from what our family had ever witnessed before. I contained my resentment that I couldn't be more like Abby, who was cuter smaller, and allowed to remain a child. In those moments I grew up. I had to. It was either that, or allow my mom to face it all alone every day when my dad left for work. So, I did. I swallowed what bit of little girl was left in me, and bit the bullet.  Everyday was a battlefield. It was an endless day full of bruises and scars. Often, situations would lead to eruptions. Eruptions from me and all of those present. I would scream all the insults and  hurtful things I could think of. I had never spoken such words to my mother, and just typing this out makes my guilt return, but its under the blood, and so I have no need of guilt. I remember and see in my mind's eye how my mom would respond. In quiet tears. My heart breaks for her. She sat and wept, because there was nothing else to do. Her daughters were (and still can be at times) emotional train wrecks. Even baby Abby at the teeny tiny age of nine, was appalled at the attention that was getting taken away. She had always been the focus of everyone, and now there was someone who for their own shortcomings demanded attention in such a way that Abby and I could have never dreamed of. I always returned to my mom, apologized for screaming, and she would do the same. We would hug one another, and return to our business. Looking back though, I believe that a lot of those hugs were just meant to "clear the air". I hate tension, and I always look for the quickest way to resolve it. I don't know if I ever truly repented to my mom, or ever said that "I was wrong" for the ways that I treated her. Being 12, I honestly don't know that I knew how or why to do that. A consequence of that is that it was never truly over. It would creep back up here or there until it would result in another entirely irrational outburst. Thank you Jesus, that I never have to be 12 again.

Chicago trip.

The World
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. We had just gotten home from one of Nancy's counseling sessions. We sat down to do our homework. The phone rang and my mom answered it. In a fearful voice I heard her asking questions. She didn't call us to her, but walked to the TV and turned it on. I was a room away, and before I knew what was happening, she was calling us in to see what was all over the TV screen. Two planes had just crashed into the Twin Towers. I remember not exactly comprehending what had happened or why it was such a big deal at first, and then just like that. We sat there watching as the fell. They just fell down. As if someone had made a sandcastle, and their mean big brother just knocked it over. My mom was crying saying, "All those people" and shaking her head. I cried too, although more out of fear than sorrow. There were still so many mysteries at that point as was to who was behind it and why. I remember after my mom had called everyone in our family to make sure they were OK, and to make sure that they knew what was going on, she prayed with us. She prayed that God would keep us all safe, and that we wouldn't be afraid. That entire day was spent in front of the television with a Kleenex box close by. We watched, and watched as they searched for survivors and cleared away those who weren't nearly so fortunate. That night at our church we held a prayer service for our nation. I remember praying to God that I wouldn't be afraid. Praying that this didn't mean that the world was over, praying that this didn't mean war. In my little seventh-grade prayers, I remember telling God this, "God, I want a lot of things. I want to grow up, I want to get married, I want to have children, but I have decided to give that to you now. Now you know what I want, and it is your choice whether you allow me to have it or not." That may not seem like a big prayer, but I can tell you that many times since then, my mind has wandered back to that day when I was so scared, and yet had such peace because I had given all of the control over to the one who had it in the first place. The nights and weeks that followed were troubling times for me at that in-between age. I remember jumping at the mere sound of our telephone ringing and quickly praying that everything was OK. Somehow this tragedy, and fear for me caused a reality check. The very fact that I was safe and that I had a family was remarkable.

Spring Formal, seventh grade.

Hearts I Loved.
12 is the age where you start turning to peers for that reassurance of belonging. Everything in my being wanted to belong with these other girls. Fashion and the whole idea of being pretty consumed me. Luckily, I had been raised well enough to understand that I was beautiful from the inside, so I never struggled with eating disorders or anything like that, but I began wearing make-up and feeling like I had to look a certain way just to leave my house. The ironic thing is, I'd give anything to have the skin and hair I had back then! It just goes to show, that you dont know what you've got till its gone.