Gotcha Grimm

Three years ago our son walked into our home to stay, for the second time. He didn’t remember me. At the age of 4.5 years old, he’d had more “Mom” characters in his life than anyone ever should. I was nothing.
This child that I’d wept over, grieved the loss of for nearly 2 straight years, nearly lost my mind and my life trying to keep myself together after he’d been so tragically taken away from us, did not remember me.
“This is my house.” He said in his grabbled language. Speech was not something that came easy for him. He’d made such strides when he’d been with us 2 years earlier, but thrust back into a life of instability had left him without the resources he needed to succeed in that area. “That’s my girl.” He declared as he looked at Hannah. His wonder twin. 22 days apart in age. Hannah was his voice when he lived with us at the age of 2. He could not speak a word other than “car” when he came to live with us, so Hannah would tell me what it is Noah needed. She was his girl, and still is 3 years later.

After 3 years of having him, I still don’t. That child I lost at the age of 2 is gone. The one I got back at the age of 4.5 was more wounded and far more guarded, or maybe it’s me that’s more guarded. All I know is that 3 years later I am still learning to love him well.
I mean I LOVE him. Lord be with you if you get between me and my boy. Ask any one of his previous teachers who implied that he needs more correction from me and his father. He’s mine.
Foster care hurts.
I have him back now, but I am not the only Mama anymore. I was when we’d had him before. He screams at me that he is going to run away and pick a new family when he’s angry at us for…for what…loving him enough to discipline him.
God spoke promises over our marriage and life early on in our walk with Him.
You will have 5 children, but be the mother of many.
You will end well.
This was spoken to us before Ella, before Boaz, before Noah left. We had 3 children and planned to have no more. Yet, here we are years later and I have 5 children (after multiple vasectomies-yep, had to add that Big T) and I’ve mothered many.
Here I am with my man, determined to finish this life together well.
Yet, the number one thing I wrestle with is: should we have adopted Noah.
Hold the judgment. Or don’t. Whatever. That’s your bag to carry.
My love for Noah is not the same as the love I have for the children that came out of my womb. It’s different. Everything about my relationship with him is different. His smell is different. His skin feels different. He has history that doesn’t involve me. I’ve struggled to attach to him this second time around, but I love him. It’s a different kind of love, but I love him. It’s a love that was hard fought to have. It’s a love that was chosen, not given through birth. It’s a love that is chosen every single day, because some days he acts SO unlovable. In all his differences, though sometimes stinky and mindboggling my love for him remains. The issues isn’t my love for him, it’s my ability to parent him.
And this is when I remember that God is so much bigger than me. He sees my weakness and tells me to boast about it because through it, He will be glorified.
I am quite possibly the worst equipped mom for Noah. I frustrate easily at his unique challenges. I swear my neighbors probably think I have it out for him with the amount of times they hear his name in a correction tone.
The only redeeming quality I have to be his mother is that I love him. I loved him and wanted him when no one else did. I loved him and prayed for him when it was beyond a possibility for him to return to us. I still believed in my heart of hearts that God would be faithful to His promise to me, and would return my son.
Every time I look at Noah I see God. I see how God adopted me stink and all into His family. I see how God waited out my struggles to believe that He was my true family, and that I could try and run away all I wanted to, but He was going to find me and bring me back. I see how God is true to what He says. Noah is a fulfilled promise in my life, and because of that, I know that the other promises God has spoken to my family will happen.
Mostly I look at Noah and see how God chose me, and continues to choose me when others don’t. God says “I gotcha.” When I feel like I am all alone and no one has me. I am so thankful that I get to be a glimpse of that to my son.
I gotcha Noah. I didn’t give birth to you, and your stink is like something I can’t even describe. But baby when the world gets you down, and you feel alone and unloved, it’s just not true. I gotcha, but more than that baby, I hope you see that God gotcha. From the day you were born, He held you and wanted you and knew that you belonged somewhere. I know at 7 years old our trials are just beginning. Things are going to get tougher, but you are a part of this family now. And we are fighters. We don’t give up easy and no one gets to quit. We will never quit on you boy. Never. You are ours. We gotcha.