Keeping it real

(Please forgive me if I've said any of this before.  I'm too tired to go back and reread all my posts and my brain's synapses aren't firing at full strength to remember.  Another problem is that I've spoken to so many people that it's hard to remember with whom I've shared what.  But this is on my mind today, so bear with...)

I am 48 years old.  (Yes, I had to backspace and edit that after typing "47" because if you know me very well, you know that I struggle remembering exactly how old I am.)  I am 48 years old.  I have been married for more than half of my life, for almost 25 years.  I was raised in the church and made a commitment to Jesus when I was only 7.  Sadly I do not have 41 years of Christian maturity under my belt, though, because it took a long time for me to really walk the walk.  But I do have experience, and here's what I've learned in my life about becoming Christlike (the fancy Christianese term for this is sanctification).

When Robert and I became engaged in 1992, we both recommitted our lives - and our marriage - to Christ.  Over the next few years I experienced what I will now call first-level sanctification.  Sounds clinical, doesn't it?  A new phase of sanctification begins when you seek to honor God in your marriage.  Suddenly decisions are no longer made in terms of you as an individual, but in terms of you as a couple.  Self begins to die in a new way.  It matters less what *I* want and more about what is best for the *us.*  And of course, marriage is a beautiful picture of our relationship with God - which is why divorce breaks His heart.

Four years later, we entered into a phase of what I'll call second-level sanctification:  having kids.  Definitely our relationships with the Lord deepened as we learned we needed Him to give us wisdom and patience in dealing with these tiny miniature versions of our carnal selves.  Certainly, if you've raised children, you can see time after time of how much the parent-child relationship is a parallel to the God-man relationship, a time-after-time reminder of how God parents us, His children.  It's crazy, right?  When we beat our heads in frustration because our child just misbehaved in the same way for like 5 days in a row, we get a glimpse of what might possibly cross our Father's mind as we continue in the same patterns of sin ourselves.  "When is she going to get it?" I feel I can hear Him say, just as I may have said to myself about my child.  But He loves me through it with grace and patience, the Perfect Example for me to follow in my own parenting.

Phase three in my personal sanctification was taking care of Pop.  In the last few months of his life, it was certainly the hardest thing I'd ever done.  I am grateful we got Emily's help, and I know I had support and prayer from others - but this was a level of dying to myself and putting loving service ahead of everything else that I'd never experienced.  I also saw a selflessness and servant-heartedness in my husband that gave me a sense of awe. 

And now, in this adoption process, I have to say that this is, as far as I can see, top-level sanctification.  In fact, I often refer to Charlie as "my sanctification."  Parenting our three biological children had its challenges, of course, but when you decide to love unconditionally another human being that came from what feels like another planet sometimes - when you don't understand the way he thinks or why he does what he does - when he doesn't understand your sense of humor or way of speaking or ways of doing things (even brushing teeth!) - it is exhausting.

You think, with 2 1/2 children raised successfully to adulthood, that parenting a fourth wouldn't be that hard.  But I'm telling you, it's like if you raised chickens all your life and someone suddenly handed you a mule. 

I cannot discipline Charlie in the same way I have always disciplined my other children.

I cannot joke with him the same way we Wigginses joke.

I cannot understand his logic or reasoning for why he does what he does.  (And I'm not sure he does, either.)

I do not know how to explain why we parent him differently than the other kids. 

He does not learn in the same way my other kids learn.

This process is hard, folks.  It's frustrating, and it's draining.  Sometimes I feel like he really is from another planet.  Or that maybe we are. 

Last week, a well-meaning but offensive individual asked me how the process was going, and then: "Do you regret it?"

Let me explain something.  When I married Robert, we agreed before ever walking down the aisle that divorce was never an option.  And so, 25 years later, even when we fight, I never allow my mind to go there - I will not consider or entertain even the thought of divorce.

When I became pregnant with Grace and was told that she had Down syndrome and that they would schedule "the termination" right away, I was offended.  This was my child.  I didn't care if she would be born without a head or with three legs - abortion was off the table.  I will not consider or entertain even the thought of abortion.

And after dragging my feet about pursuing adoption for many, many months, when I finally did decide, it was just that: a decision.  I was all in.  I would commit to him, no matter what.  I will not consider or entertain even the thought of regret.

We are tired.  We are overwhelmed.  But this is what God calls us to - so that we will come to Him, and abide with Him, and be refreshed and renewed.  So that we will learn what it means to die to self.  So that we will become more like Christ.  So that we will be able to meet the needs of others, particularly those who have no one else to advocate for them.  So that we will be able to teach them about Jesus, and His self-less example of giving and serving and dying for us.

Regret is self-focused. I want to be a Jesus-focused, Jesus-consumed Jesus freak.