This weekend, I finished the book No One Ever Asked. The book is about an impoverished school district in Missouri who loses their accreditation and therefore, a nearby affluent community has no choice but to open its doors to bussed students. Overall it weaves three family storylines together and tells a tale about the way we see one another, the lies we tell ourselves, the questions and stories that go unexplored, and the tragedies that result from our blindness.
One of the families presented in the book is Jen and Nick Covington. They adopted a 7-year-old girl, Jubilee, from Liberia. The family experiences significant difficulties related to attachment and trauma. Towards the end of the book there was an exchange between Jen and Jubilee: Most kids didn't like thunderstorms. Jubilee did. Tonight there was no thunder or lightening. Tonight there was just a good, hard rain. "Wanna go run in it?" Jubilee slowly lifted her chin off her arm and turned to look at Jen with big, wide eyes, like she couldn't believe what she just heard. Jen couldn't really believe it either. She wasn't the type to play in the rain. And Jubilee's hair would certainly be fuzzy when they were done, but she widened her eyes right back, her moth tipping into a grin. And just like that, the two of them dashed outside, the rain soaking their clothes. Jubilee held out her arms and scrunched up her shoulders and looked up at Jen with squinty eyes and an ecstatic, wonder-filled smile as the rain turned into a downpour. With matching squeals, mother and daughter ran to the driveway and splashed in the puddles while the cat with the luminous eyes watched them suspiciously from beneath the boxwoods across the street. They splashed like Brandon and Jen splashed in the mud all those years ago, before her dad got angry and told them "never again." That's how Nick found them. He didn't yell that they were going to catch a cold. He got out of the car and joined them, because Nick was nothing like Jen's father. He ran up behind Jubilee, stomped in the large puddle by the curb, and she shrieked so loud the cat across the street darted away. Jen stopped and watched them below the glow of the streetlight overhead as drops of rain sprayed all around. It was a moment worth capturing. The kind people would upload on social media. The kind that would have her Facebook friends clicking Like, because here was a family that made them feel happy. What had the elderly lady at church called them the other day? Inspiring. At the time, Jen wanted to laugh. She hadn't seen them before church, or the way Jen reacted when she realized Jubilee had stolen her makeup and ruined it all on Baby and stuffed the mess int he bottom drawer of her dresser, where it got on all her clothes. People didn't see those moments. To the watching world, the Covington family represented something. And a photograph of them now-in this particular wild and free moment-would encapsulate everything they represented. But it wouldn't say anything about their struggles. The things Jubilee had stolen. The things that had been stolen from Jubilee. Jubilee's big emotions, and Jen's big emotions. The tears and the battles and the fits. All of them very, very real. As wrong as her dad was about so many things, he was right about this one-the hardship. Which was why Jen wouldn't take a picture now. Because this was real too, and she didn't want to give the memory away. She didn't want to share it. This fleeting, perfect moment that was bound to pass, just like the rain. But the memory? That would remain. That would be theirs-just theirs-forever. This brought back so.many.memories from our foster care days with Mr. T. I've said it before and I'll say it again, it was the hardest and most worth it "thing" I've ever done. There was so much day to day struggle and battling for us, especially when school started, but there are moments I will never forget. Like the night before kindergarten we sprinkled confetti under his pillow, his first real birthday party, trying to ride a bike with no training wheels, picking out new school shoes, giving Scooby Doo a haircut, eating donuts bigger than our faces, the 4th of July parade, talking about eyeballs, and harder moments too, endless nighttime battles, tears about "my real daddy," and completely trashed rooms and fits of rage we had no idea how to deal with. Foster love. Adopt. Support foster and adoptive families. I really loved this book. I'm not a foster or adoptive parent at the moment, but I had loads to learn from this brief story in the book. Sometimes (ok, a lot of the time) I think I give too many family memories away by focusing on taking a picture and thinking about what will be shared later. Time is going faster than I can explain, and so many moments are precious and fleeting. Jen Covington, I want to be like you, someone who recognizes moments for what their worth and stills their heart to "be here now."
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Tomorrow marks 3 years since my first best friend, Courtney passed away.
3 years ago, we were living in Evart with a 5-year-old foster placement and I remember sitting in our neighbor’s garage when my mom called. The only thing I really clearly remember from the call is asking my mom, “Are you sure? Are you sure? There was nothing else they could do?” She was sure. Just the day before, our community had suffered another huge loss, the father of my twin best friends. I threw my stuff in a bag as fast as I could, our neighbors took our foster son for the night, and drove south towards Grand Rapids. I remember sobbing a majority of the way home. I’m not sure Austin and I even spoke to each other, but I remember thinking how vulnerable I felt. Austin didn't know me when my older brother passed away, and he rarely, if ever, saw grief fully unfold. We went straight from Evart to Michelle and Greg’s house (Courtney’s parents) to sit together, weep, and pray. I remember looking across the room, rubbing my 6-month pregnant belly, and seeing 6-month-old Analeigh, Courtney’s daughter being held. There was a moment I was genuinely worried if grief could harm, or even end my pregnancy. It physically hurt that bad. I was never the same after that night, because grief changes everything, every time. The way Courtney died is statistically so rare. But what I find more rare is that it happened to the very family that kept our family functioning after my brother died. Michelle was my second mom. She remembered every important date, wrote letters, pages long, to me, my mom, and my sister on a regular basis, created a grief "circle of friends" for me to meet with, and I even the occasionally cookie dough drop off in my locker. She listened to me and had the best hugs on a bad day. I've heard my mom say several times Michelle was basically her "lifeline" as she fulfilled a lot of the "mom role/responsibilities" my mom simply couldn't. So yes, it's as twisted as it sounds. The person who kept my mom and family afloat after we lost a son and brother, lost her daughter, who was a mother herself. I wish I had something better to say than What the actual F. That's not my style but that's what I think every time I let the reality of the situation sink in. 3 years later and it still doesn't feel real to me. Until it does, and then it's almost too much to handle. More often than I like to admit, I selfishly think about what it would be like if my kids grew up without me, or if I could make it if one of my kids died. Both scenarios obviously overwhelm me, but it's even more overwhelming to know people I love so much are living it. I'm living it. “Taste and see the Lord is good,” is what kept coming to mind when I was writing and processing what life has been like since Courtney died. If I’m honest, I absolutely hate that those are the words that surround my heart. Taste. And see. The Lord is good. It doesn't seem fitting, I want to reject that truth because if I accept it, it seems dishonoring to the horrific tragedy and trauma of Courtney and Nick's death. But I’d be lying if said I haven’t tasted or seen. Here is part of what I said at Courtney's funeral "I am confident of one thing: Courtney loved the Lord her God. I remember studying Bible verses with her for hours on end to compete in Teen Bible Challenge. Those words were forever ingrained on her heart and she could still quote large portions of scripture even as an adult. Courtney had no fear in boldly worshiping Jesus. It was evident that Christ ruled Courtney's heart and her faith never wavered and she continued to rely on God as she pursued all of life's adventures. Courtney is with her Heavenly Father today. Courtney, you will be fiercely missed. Thank you for living the gospel and pushing me heavenward during your time on earth. I believe the Michael W Smith phase came shortly after the Brittney Spears phase, and I will cling to God's promise of: Friends are friends forever If the Lord's the Lord of them And a friend will not say "Never" Cause the welcome will not end Though it's hard to let you go In the Father's hands we know That a lifetime's not too long To live as friends. I love you Courtney, and am grateful this is my last goodbye to you because our next hello is in eternity with you." I still taste and see God's goodness. I see it in Michelle and Greg, through their grief, are kick butt grandparents. Michelle remains a good listener with a gentle heart. I see it in Analeigh, who's a little lover and such a caring friend. I see it in my mom, who is walking this road, again, and is an example that you really can live through the loss of a child and experience moments of joy and hope. I see it in my dad and Greg, who have "manned-up" by letting their guard down and acknowledging grief through tears, lots of them. I see it in Courtney's brother and his wife, who have experienced more pain in their dating and first year of marriage than most people do in a lifetime, and still chose one another and seek adventure. I see it in me. Every Sunday when we sing in church, with Courtney's parents and grandma a few rows behind me, I'm hopeful for, and pointed towards Heaven. I'm aware of the gift every single day is with my kids and how important my time is with them. Courtney, tomorrow marks 3 years. Sometimes it feels like yesterday, sometimes it feels like an eternity ago, and sometimes it feels like it never even happened. I would have never guessed such a similar tragedy would fall on your family, but they are "doing it." Not only because they have to but more so because they are strong, brave, and rooted people. Partly because of you. You have changed us all, not just because of your death, but because of the life you lived. You are loved, and so missed. |
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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