twice upon a time

we think we know how stories go, or at least how they are supposed to go. I certainly do. there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. there is rising action and a climax and then some sort of finality. this formula works beautifully for fairy tales and most novels; it works so well in fact that I've assumed my life should look the same way. a bunch of stories tacked together somehow, but really all one big long formulaic tale. and the end is the end and the middle is messy and that is just the way it goes. we want our lives to be beautiful stories of reconciliation and hope, but we forget that reconciliation requires conflict and heartbreak to come first, all the gnashing and weeping and wallowing we all dread. we wish for happy endings, but would we be better served by happy middles instead?

our stories are full of second chances. the stories we thought we were finished living, the doors we thought we so firmly closed have an uncanny way of reincorporating themselves back into out plot lines. and our stories never really end. we give them endings because that is the way our brains work. we like endings. endings make sense and tidy up the world nicely. I like a nice tidy world. that feels much safer than the unpredictable swarm I am actually living. but if I settle for tidy, I miss out on some pretty amazing chances.

two years ago I thought my story as a foster parent was over. my heart was broken, our family was in shock, and the system was just too terribly messy to overcome anymore. eric said never again. the world marched on. our girl went to live with another family, transferred schools, moved on just fine. all I could feel was failure. and that was how the story ended: my failure as a parent, as a world changer, as a relationship grower. because when stories don't end the way we think they should, they can hardly be considered happy. there were good things that came out of it. there was even some joy in the ending, horrible as it was. there was relief to having the stress of not knowing gone for good. there was a refocusing and a new direction as a family. but there was still the over-arching cloud of failure for me. it was sad and ugly and dark. it was like a bad break-up, only with a government agency involved telling you how you have to handle your heart. I could hardly bear it some days. I certainly couldn't handle bumping into our girl at the grocery store or looking at her photos on facebook. but times help, and perspective is a blessing, and life is changing all the time. so it goes and goes and goes.

failure can only happen if I have a vision for what life is supposed to look like. and that vision is only final in my own mind. I thought success with our girl would come because she lived in our house and called us her family. I thought success meant adoption and a name change. anything less than my own vision of a happy ending meant failure, my own failure, not hers.

it took two years for my heart to soften. it took two years to see maybe my vision of success is dead wrong. it took going away and coming back to realize my story is never really finished. it took a long grieving process and lots of talking it all out, lots of wallowing and being very mean to myself. it took a summer spent among kids in the same place in life as our girl, watching them figure it all out and realizing that I can be a part of their lives, a part of their stories without being their mama. and after all of that, when our girl called to say she was getting married, I could smile and offer to meet her for lunch. I can hug her hard and tell her how much I've missed her. I can listen to her story with tears in my eyes and know that this is all part of the happy, messy middle.

my word for 2014 is season. to remind myself to keep in the rhythm of it all. to be present for what it is, to appreciate the fullness of it all. to season my life and my relationships gently and remember that a little seasoning can go a long way. to stick it out even when it doesn't look the way I think it should. to be aware that I can never see the whole story all at once. my life does not look the way I thought it would when I looked ahead ten years ago, and I don't dare to think about what it may look like ten years from now. but if I can be here for this season right in this moment, to acknowledge that this is not my whole life, but just the season I am in, maybe I can enjoy it all the more.

photos by andrew manner, pictures with attitude

"some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. delicious ambiguity..."

~gilda radner