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Follow Chris, Project 1.27's Executive Director, and his wife Sarah as they adopt a child from foster care, too!
Part 5 (February 14, 2007)
Dear Friends of Project 1.27,
Jalaya was very disappointed today when she realized that her siblings would be coming home from school with bucket loads of Valentines and candy, and she wouldn’t. It was the first time in two weeks that I saw some regret for getting kicked out of school. She begged me to go to the store and buy her some candy and presents, which I obviously could not do or the lesson would lose its influence.
By the time she goes back to school (hopefully) next week, Jalaya will have been out of school longer than she was in (16 vs. 14 school days). But you know what? She can do it. Kinda like my ironing…
One day recently I spent hours ironing 22 shirts. You see for the first 14 years of our marriage Chris’ main work attire was a military pilot’s uniform affectionately called the “green bag”. You wash it, hang it up, and wear it. That’s it. Since becoming a civilian white-collar worker, neither of us has “owned” the responsibility of ironing that particular collar. So they hang on the office door frame, amassing week after week, until eventually the entire entrance is blocked. In time you just get used to them and forget they don’t really belong there…
Last fall I tried to quickly duck underneath the shirts – and missed. I smashed my face into the door jam. Chris finally ironed that pile, perhaps because he felt sorry for the black eye above the knot on my cheek.
But did we make a change? Not really. No real discussion happened. No plan was implemented. The shirts just piled up again. You know what? I don’t want to do that again – the black eye or the day-long chore.
Do you know this quote? “You will not change until it becomes more painful to remain as you are, than to change.” I believe that. It’s precisely because change requires pain that it is difficult to embrace. I’ve seen it in my own life, and I see it in little Jalaya.
From the outside, one might say Jalaya’s behaviors need to change. But it’s not about making her “be good” so that she’s worthy of our family. My goodness, if we all had to earn the right to a place in our families – who could survive?!
Jalaya needs to change her worldview. To her, the world is a scary place: Are the grown-ups around her truly in charge? Can they protect her? Do they love her? Will they abandon her? Why has God let her life be so hard? Does He have any power at all? So she kicks at the vision around her to determine if it’s real and strong, or just another facade.
She needs to know – no, she needs to believe – that she is loved and respected and prized and beautiful and wanted. To reach for these things, though, she must be willing to enter the pain of being loved, trading it for the pain of being neglected, rejected and unloved.
I saw a glimmer of hope the other day. In general, her behavior at home has dramatically improved over the weeks she’s been here. But one day last week it was just one battle after another, and by late afternoon I was just exhausted. As I dealt with yet another meltdown on her bedroom floor, I melted down myself.
“Why are you crying, Mommy?” she asked with alarm.
“Because I’m tired, Jalaya. And very confused.”
“Why are you confused?” she said.
“Because I don’t understand why you are fighting me so hard today, Jalaya. It’s been one battle after another and I try and try to show you my love, and you fight me so hard. Why are you fighting me, Jalaya?”
Her eyes changed from fury to fear in an instant. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I’m afraid you’re going to die, Mommy,” she choked.
We sat in silence. I closed my eyes and took a long, slow breath.
“What would happen if I died?” I whispered.
“Then I wouldn’t get to see you anymore,” she whispered back.
“And what would happen to you?”
“Then they would send me away to live with somebody else...”
I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my arms and legs around her, rocking her back and forth.
“I’m not going to die, Jalaya. God wants me to take care of you and our other 4 children. You will grow up right here in this room and I will be your Mommy. Then you will go to college and get married and have your own family. I’m not going to die. I’m not going to leave you.”
She burrowed as deep as she could into my lap. “Okay, Mommy. I have to tell my head that. Because my head tells me to fight you but my heart tells me not to.”
“Maybe your heart has to learn to talk louder than your head so you can listen to your heart.”
“Okay, Mommy. I want to live with you forever and ever and ever!”
Later I was reading some new paperwork from the caseworker. In it were details about Jalaya’s life prior to foster care. I wept again as I read how Jalaya’s mother would often not even acknowledge her presence in the room. If Jalaya needed something, she would scream at her, “I’m not your mama! You’re mama’s dead!”
Dear God, can she see the truth through that lie? It – and so many other lies – have been hanging in the doorway for so long, she doesn’t even know they don’t belong there. But if she can somehow see them for what they are, we can remove them and put them where they belong: back in the pit of hell. Satan has smirked for many years as he tried to destroy this little girl. By the love and power of Jesus Christ, those days are over!
“Let the little children come to Me and do not hinder them.
For the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
–Jesus
There are currently four shirts hanging in the office doorway. By tonight they will be in my husband’s closet – where they belong.
And maybe one day soon, Jalaya will believe she is loved and her mama is here to stay – and embrace it.
In Him,
Sarah Padbury
P.S. If you have read previous posts, you will notice that the spelling of Jalaya’s name has changed. It better reflects how to pronounce her name: Juh-LAY-uh. She is very excited about her entire new name: Jalaya Joy Padbury!
Read other parts of the Padbury's adoption story
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