Tekia is in 8th grade and doing well in school. She decided to take a year off from cheerleading and is just doing tumbling classes right now. Jamal's school situation has been more complicated. He was homeschooled last year and the plan all along was for him to return to regular high school for his senior year. His school knew this and agreed it was a good plan. However, no one ever told us that once a child turns 18, our school system will not admit them. Jamal turned 18 in June, so when my dad went to register him for school, the school said no. After two months of fighting this and talking to administrators and trying to find a school that would admit him, we finally came to the hard realization that it would be best at this point for Jamal to begin working on getting his GED. So that's what he's doing now. He began GED prep classes two weeks ago.
Both kids are struggling in other ways. Out of respect for their privacy, I won't go into details. But please, please keep them in your prayers. How are their teenage hearts supposed to handle losing two moms during their childhood? How can they trust a God who would let that happen?
Dad and I are both working full-time. And both feeling like we need to be at home all the time. We're currently participating in a wonderful class called Empowered to Connect. I can't recommend it enough to other adoptive and foster families! Visit the website and check out the ETC initiative. Mom and I have been to three ETC conferences in the last two years, and she and Dad had been planning on attending this class for months. I'm happy to fill in for her. We covet your prayers as we continue the crazy journey that is being part of our family.
In the days right after Mom died, I remember my older brother Jared saying, "I wish we could just fast forward a few months . . . like to September." I agreed. As if things were going to be less hard in a few months.
Wrong.
Here it is October, and many days I feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water. There are moments that are good - even great. I have days where I find myself driving down the road with my hands lifted in praise (okay, just one hand . . . I am driving, after all) as I sing my heart out to the One who is somehow able to fill my heart with joy during times like this. And then there are days when I have to pull over in a parking lot because the grief becomes so intense that I can't even catch my breath. And sometimes those are the same day.
But God is faithful, and as I struggle to keep my head above the water . . . to keep breathing . . . He hands me a snorkel. I get a text from a friend telling me they're praying for me . . . or I get a facebook message about how Mom touched someone's life . . . or Tekia says something that makes me laugh my head off . . . or someone randomly invites us over for dinner . . . or my daily devotional says exactly what I need to hear. I'm still swimming in the deep, but I can take a breath. Relax a little. For a few minutes or hours or days, I can breathe easy. The hurt is still there, but the hope is revived.
And even though snorkeling is more fun in the Bahamas, these days I'll take what I can get.
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