When the Lies Creep In (by Jenny Marss)

Oh, the stories! Stories of heartbreak, confusion, disillusionment, and despondency. Not just my stories, but others have them, too. Stories validate our feelings. Stories give us hope. My story of parenting five children adopted from Russia is shared often in these pages. But what about the stories of other such moms? You’ve simply got to hear them! The struggles we all identify with are present in their stories – along with the hope that not all is lost.

Today, I have the privilege of sharing words of wisdom from Jenny Marrs. Jenny understands the struggles of parenting a child with attachment issues; but she also believes God’s Word. When I read her thoughts a few months ago, something deep inside me said, “Yes!” I’m so grateful she’s allowed me to share them with you today.

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I wanted to write a post about our little family’s Advent traditions this morning. I wanted to share something light and straightforward.

Yet, here I sit, my hands hovering above the keyboard. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I refill my coffee.

I check my Facebook notifications one more time.

I start a load of laundry.

I’m avoiding the words I need to write.

The words pulsing through my head. The ones I can’t quite grasp, the ones just out of reach. I know I need to find them and they need to find their way through these tapping keys. I know because of the long discussions with fellow mommas and the text messages and the email steeped in sorrow I received this very morning.

The thing is, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to share the hard while still protecting my girl. And, honestly, I wonder why I need to share any of this. No, no…that’s not entirely true.

God keeps whispering, you’re not the only one.

And, maybe, just maybe, there is one who needs to read these words today and rest in the simple truth that she isn’t alone either.

So, how do I say this? How do I say that my daughter, the one who has been here under my roof and in my care for two and a half years now, still doesn’t understand that I’m her momma?

Yes, she knows the words. Yet, she doesn’t know.

In adoption circles, this term is called attachment. A strong, secure attachment is the pinnacle of achievement for us adoptive mommas. It’s the measuring stick we use to determine our ability to implement “connected parenting.” The style of parenting we studied about at the workshops we’ve attended and in the videos we’ve watched (repeatedly) and in the stacks and stacks of books we’ve read.

A faulty attachment is the equivalent of a faulty parent. You see the lie, of course. It’s clear when typed out in black and white. Yet, when you are living in the lie, you slowly start to believe the whispers of the enemy. You start to believe you aren’t good enough. You start to believe you really and truly cannot do this. You start to believe you heard God wrong. You start to believe that all of the people who have loved and prayed and advocated and donated and sent gifts and cheered at the airport will see through the veneer and find out that you are a fraud.

They’ll see you as you are: a momma who desperately wants her baby to love her back. A momma who tries and tries and tries. A momma who shuffles schedules and bills in order to get her girl the professional help she needs. And, a momma who eventually closes off bits and pieces of her aching, rejected heart. A momma who lets resentment and anger and fear and frustration and heaps of guilt creep in as the days pass into weeks and into months and into years.

I’ve been walking through a process called Chavurah with a small group of dear friends. Chavurah is a Jewish tradition, translated from Hebrew meaning Fellowship. Chavurah is traditionally a small group of like-minded Jews who assemble for the purpose of facilitating prayer services, sharing communal experiences and Jewish learning. In our case, we aren’t Jewish, yet we are applying the practice of gathering each week to focus intently on the gospel and the working out of the Kingdom come on earth as it is in Heaven in our daily lives.

This week’s practice has us shifting our mindset to one of a rejoice prayer. According to A Guidebook to Prayer:

“Rejoice prayer is a prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude. It lifts our eyes to the hills from where our strength comes. It reconnects us with God who delights in our praise. By praying with gratitude we are lifted in spirit and we are given a broader perspective. The Holy Spirit comforts us and reminds us of Jesus’ love. The Holy Spirit gives us wisdom to see beyond trials to the power of the cross to turn on the light in every place of darkness.”

As in life, this post will not have a tidy bow holding it together. I don’t have the answers, I know the brokenness in this world and in our little love’s past is abundant. I also know love is greater than fear. And, I know each day is a new opportunity to practice love and to pray for healing. And, certainly, I know the Holy Spirit gives me wisdom to see beyond these current hard days straight to the power of the cross. I absolutely know He alone can turn on the light in every single dark, desolate corner of her heart and mine.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. {Lamentations 3:22-23}

There is no one like the God of Israel. He rides across the heavens to help you, across the skies in majestic splendor. The eternal God is your refuge, and his everlasting arms are under you. {Deuteronomy 33:26-27}

Because of God’s tender mercy, the light from Heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to the those who sit in darkness and to in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace. {Luke 1:78-79}

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Jenny Marrs is a wife and mom of four. She is passionate about fostering authentic community, social justice and adoption. She loves deep conversations with close friends, thrifting and sipping from a steaming mug of fresh pressed coffee on her porch swing. She blogs at Blessings & Raindrops where she encourages her readers to seek joy in the midst of the ordinary and relentlessly pursue hope even when brokenness is abundant.