Everyday is a miracle, but not everyday is a miracle day. Some days things flow and the kids have breakthroughs, letting go or moving from past pain. Some days they finally have the blow up where they rail against you as hard as they can and see that you aren't leaving them to pick up the pieces alone. Sometimes, you see the light come on as they finally grasp a difficult concept in school, or begin to work toward a goal, or admit they need help. All of these days are miracle days because something changes and progress, even if just in a small way, is made. Then there are days like yesterday where I am frustrated, they are frustrated and we all go to bed hoping to be recharged enough tomorrow to be able to actually have some fight in us. Those days are the days I put my head down and just get through. You can always tell when it is one of these days because you feel it in unit, that something is off. The girls are quiet and tired, waiting for someone to tell them what to do next, and that person has to be an adult who is every bit as tired as they are in that moment. More problems and issues are heaped upon the unit, but the kids aren't ready to look at them yet so you don't force the issue. You have the off day, where you get through routine and make plans and you come back in the next day to see where everything has fallen in the 12 hours you weren't there. Those are the days you wait, and I hate waiting. I want everyday to be a progress day because no matter if my kids are 17 or 7, I have a limited amount of time with them. I want them to make as much progress as possible while with me because I never know when a case worker or some other force much higher up the food chain than I, is going to make the decision that this kid, the one who is so close to getting it, needs to go somewhere else. They could run, make a decision that removes them from my care, or give up. I have seen it happen. I have felt the loss of knowing that this one kid, the one who was given to your care, is beyond your help. It sucks. But kids are not all the same, and while I serve an amazing God who equips us for what he calls us to, I am sometimes given kids I can't help. The only thing I am equipped for in that instance is to let them go. While I haven't abused, hurt, abandoned or terrorized these kids, I can't always be the one to help them either. Sometimes not being the problem is as close to a solution as I am able to be. Yesterday was that day. Nothing was wrong, but nothing got better. While these off days may seem like a welcome break because I am not having to break up fights or stand between an angry kid and a door or looking for the one who is lost, my girls are still carrying around weight they never asked for and are submerged in trauma from someone hurting them along the way. That is the most frustrating thing of all, that they still carry the weight from choices they didn't make. All in all, I still have a job to do today. I am hoping today I get to meet some challenges head on, but if I am to wait again, I'll wait until they are ready to move forward. I might not like being able to see what is in the distance looming closer as I sit, but they might not be ready to jump into the battle yet. So I sit, eyeing the danger, ready to follow their lead when they decide how they want to tackle it, but knowing I can't make these choices for them. I wait and pray for patience, take deep breaths and get through the days.
Friends, I would ask that in these days, the ones of progress and the ones of quiet, you take a moment to pray for my girls. I would not have been able to handle my life without the prayers of those who surrounded me growing up, and I covet your prayers for them. Pray that I am able to help where I can help, and let go of what I can't. Pray that my girls learn to trust the one who made them for a purpose so much greater that their pasts, and pray that every person who makes decisions for my girls is able to clearly hear God's voice as they do.
