Cutting Trees and Mending Hearts

Yesterday we went out and got our christmas tree. And by "got" I mean that we drove an hour outside of the city to a tree farm and cut one down. We cut a tree down every year. Is anyone else bothered by this? While I enjoy the tradition, and the fact that Eric loves hunting down "The Perfect Tree" with the shivering, teeth chattering kids, I can't help but cringe whenever the saw hits the trunk. Cutting down a tree and bringing it inside the house and putting lights and ornaments on it and then throwing it out three weeks later seems like something a crazy person would do.

Hello, United States of America.

Oh well. At least my house smells good now.

Also, I forgot the camera and my phone battery died. So we have no proof that we even went all that way to cut down that tree. I DID remember diapers though. And snacks. Both of which are more important to immediate survival than a camera is. So there's that.

And a guy dressed up like Santa Claus was there. Kia went right up to him and said to his face, "You're NOT Santa. You don't even look like him!" Ha!

After killing a perfectly good tree and strapping it onto the roof of our van, we drove to my parent's house and Eric made duck pho for all of us. Which is another name for an extremely delicious noodle soup that is cooked with the broth from one of our smoked ducks. So good.

Eric cooked in the kitchen and had a blast, my kids were entertained by the grandparents and aunties, my dad was laughing and singing silly songs, and my sister (who is currently in massage school) gave me a massage. On a heated massage table. It was glorious. And, who knew? She's actually getting really good!

I love being with my family. It always feels right and good and so so safe. Being with them is like having a warm fluffy blanket wrapped around me. Like nothing can go wrong. And if it does, it will be ok. Because we are all together. A family.

This morning, back at home, Kia was having a rough moment because it was Lexi's turn for me to color with her (yes, I set a timer and have to rotate my way through four little girls who all want me to color in their Dora coloring books with them...like three times a day. We need some more exciting coloring books before Mama starts pulling her brains out through her nose.). Anyway, Kia was angry and among other things said that she was leaving the house and going to go live with her Mom. I said, "Ok, have fun, but you can't open the door and leave the house without permission." And so it went.

But when she was calm, I gently explained to her again that it is not my decision if and when she can return to live with her mom. That the decision is up to the judge. I also assured her that the adults will make the decision about what is best for her, and that she just needs to be a kid and not worry about it. Because either way, she will still get to see her mom. And either way, she will be in a safe home (I may have been stretching a bit on this one).

And then something strange happened. She started crying and grabbed my arm and told me that she doesn't want to live with her mom and she wants to stay here. That she doesn't want to leave here, ever.

And here I am, still feeling all warm and snuggly from my time with my family, listening to a four-year-old tell me that her family isn't working. That her family has been broken apart. Wounded and bleeding. That some wounds might be too deep to heal.

How is this fair? Why should a four-year-old have to be dealing with so much confusion and grief and pain? And she is sitting there choosing me over her own birth mother because she was forced to, in a way, due to the circumstances. While I treasure the fact that she loves me, that she tells me she wants to live here, that she is thriving with us, my heart is also so broken over the 'whys' of how she even joined our family in the first place.

It didn't have to happen this way.

I know God can write a new story for her. And even for the rest of her family. But the pain and cold hard truth of what brought these girls to our doorstep can never be erased.

Sometimes this is hard for me to accept.

And I want our family, my family, to be enough. To wrap her up tight in our love and hold her there, safe.

And I am scared for her. Not knowing what's coming. Not knowing if her life will be happy or safe. Not knowing what choices will be made for her and what choices she will make herself.

So I hold her close. Tell her I love her no matter what happens. And I pray. Pray that God will mend her little broken heart.