About This Blog: By Heather's Mom

For many years, friends and acquantances have asked me when I am going to write a book about our unusual family.  I usually just laugh. I like to write.  In fact, I need to write. And I do occasionally find time to write humorous essays about our lives for myself and a few others. But the thought that I am qualified to write a parenting book because we have 20 children, and have fostered a total of 50 children - just makes me laugh.

It is funny because the only thing I’m absolutely clear about is that I don’t have it all figured out.  Each child presents new situations and new challenges.  We have a few basic principles that guide us and the rest is all a combination of intuition and experience.  And not all of what we do is good.  We make mistakes.  We take on too much.  We get tired. And angry and frustrated. I’m not even sure how to describe most of it.  And everything happens so fast.  Not the stuff of best sellers.

So, when people ask me about a book, I usually just answer, “People don’t buy books without answers and the older I get the more I realize I don’t have them!”  

The morning that we learned of Heather’s death, a friend rushed over to the house after church to see what she could do to help. I probably hadn’t seen Missy in over a year. She isn’t someone I am in touch with regularly. As she told me the story of how she found out about Heather, she mentioned that she had been in church that morning and found herself randomly saying to herself, “I wonder when Anna is going to write a book.” She hadn’t heard about Heather yet. 

Anyway, she found it weird that she thought about me at such an odd time, but that was all.  After the service, she heard about Heather from some of Heather’s friends.  That’s why she rushed over so quickly.  The coincidance was too peculiar.  

So when Missy told me this story that morning, she said again, “You really should write a book.”  And I gave the same answer I always do, “Missy, I’ll write the book when I have all the answers!”

Two days later, while we were still waiting on Heather’s body to be released from Texas so that we could bring her home – one of her good friends was going through her room and found a special journal. She couldn’t wait to show it to me. 

Handwritten on loose-leaf paper and carefully organized in a 3-ring binder were over 200 letters Heather had written to herself and to God. 

I read the first entry.  And the last.  I already knew how the story ended.  I realized that I had uncovered a treasure.  These letters, which began when she was 14-years-old, contained her deepest thoughts and feelings.  They were in order (or mostly so) and told the story of her life.  I randomly read through a few more of her letters. They answered questions that I might have pondered for years in grief.  I didn’t have to wonder.  Even after her death, she was revealing herself to me. 

That same day, Missy dropped by the house again to organize all the food that had been brought to us.  I rushed to her.  Showing her the journal I said, “Missy, I don’t have to write the book.  Heather wrote the book!”  I told her a little about it. 

She took me by the shoulders and looked at me earnestly saying, “No, Heather only wrote half the book.  You have to write the other half.” 

Instantly, I knew that she was right.  Within minutes I knew what it would look like.  I would read Heather’s journal, in order, and write a letter back to her as if we were writing back and forth.  I would tell her what I told her during our many conversations or what I would have told her if I had read them in real time.  Except for the few entries I had already seen, I wouldn’t read ahead, so that I could go on the journey with her. 

What happened when I began writing was nothing short of a miracle.  Letter after letter, I found that we mirrored each other’s words and thoughts.  I would give advice, or tell a story or ask a question.  And one of the next few letters would read as though she had personally read my letters to her.  What I wrote after her death was nothing new.  We talked about most of this while she was living. But writing made me feel as though I was still able to talk to her.  More importantly, it showed me that she had heard and absorbed so much of what we had poured into her – even though it didn’t always seem apparent from her conduct. 

As I wrote, I realized that I needed to tell the back story.  They story before Heather that was part of our journey together.  I needed to tell it for myself – so that I could see the connections.  And I needed to tell it for my other children.  Story is powerful. And I want to be sure my kids know my story like I know the story of my past.

Ultimately, writing helped me to sort out our short time together.  It was a journey of grief and it was healing for me. And as I read, I realized that her journal was also – in part – a journey of grief for Heather.

Although Heather was a prolific writer, this was a journal that she kept secret and hidden from almost every important person in her life – except one.  This important person was an adult friend of mine who reached out and touched Heather in a way that I could not.  They connected because they had similar stories and Heather completely trusted our friend. She became Heather’s mentor.  And she has a very important role in Heather’s story – although I know very little of what they said to each other over the years.

Except for the sticky notes.  As I read Heather’s journal I found multiple sticky notes written in our friend’s handwriting – indicating that Heather had trusted this friend with her heart.  The sticky note messages contained words of love and mercy and encouragement and hope. 

As for everyone else – Heather closely guarded this journal.  Somewhere she wrote that she hid the depth of her faith in Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior in the same way she tried to hide the fact that she wasn’t the good little girl she tried to present to the world.  She didn’t want to be known as a Jesus Freak any more than she wanted to be labeled a tramp. 

She was a chameleon – able to change to fit her circumstances.  One second, she was a sweet, innocent home-schooled girl.  The next second she was wearing a skimpy cocktail dress, sneaking out in the middle of the night to hang out at a bar.  One minute, she was dancing freely in the rain with her friends.  The next minute she was alone in her bedroom cutting herself to release some of her pain.  Some days, she was the cute, blue-eyed girl with a million freckles who could make everyone laugh and have fun.  The next night, she was holed up in her room late at night drinking herself to sleep to numb the pain.  One week, she was preaching her faith in God and writing verses all over her desk and chair and bed and wall.  The next week, she questioned the very God she professed to believe – doubting that she deserved to be loved by anyone, let alone God.

I believe she acted out who she thought others wanted her to be as a way to survive.  Eventually, it became so ingrained into her personality that even she had trouble figuring out who she really was.

Ironically, her entire life, we thought we were teaching Heather about God.  About Jesus. About what it meant to be a Christian.  After reading her journals, I realize that she not only listened, but had far surpassed me.  Her relationship with Christ was so intimate. So in-depth.  So honest.  So real.  She made me look like a baby.

The few entries I was able to read before Heather’s funeral clearly revealed to me that I need not worry about my child.  As much as her life looked like it was a mess, her relationship with Jesus was so strong that I knew that she was with Him celebrating all that she never accomplished on earth.

At the time of her death, Heather was in a downward spiral.  I don’t believe that Jesus took her.  Rather, he loved her enough to allow her to choose her path.  Although there were many days when she was on the path God planned for her – there were an equal number where she chose her own path. 

Ultimately, she chose a path that led to death.  And although her life on earth was far shorter than it should have been.  Although the world is going to miss her incredible artistic gifts. Although God had so much more in store for her.  All of her earthly sins are accounted for and she still gets the grand prize – eternity with her Savior.

 

What follows is the story of a mother and a daughter and their journey through life together.  The story is one fraught with challenges and difficulties.  A life filled with commitment and tests of endurance. It’s the story of a mother and daughter who loved each other, but who didn’t always like each other. Of a mother that loved her daughter, but didn’t always know what to say or how to help her.  Of a daughter that desperately wanted a mother, but couldn’t always find her in me. 

It is also a story of struggle and independence.  Of abandonment and release.  Of loss and gain.

At the center of our story is a loving God.  Not the in-your-face God that preached what should and what must. Not a legalistic God. Rather, a God filled with Grace and Truth  and Compassion and Mercy, who was willing to walk two very imperfect people down a path toward Him. I like to think of our God journey as one filled with reality and Grace. A God who could work through the mess that we called our lives and love us anyway. 

This is not a self-help blog.  At least not in the traditional sense.  Our dialog is not meant to contain a list of do’s and don’t’s for parents or their children (of any age).  It will not solve all of your problems in life.

It is not even a book about Christianity, although both Heather and I are Believers. This Dialog is our words and thoughts and actions.  Because it is personal, it is filled with what we believe.

But it is a story that many can relate to.  If you are lost or hurting.  Or if you love someone who is.  If you feel abandoned or if you are worried.  If you love or want to be loved. 

This is messy story.  It is often not very neatly packaged.  It is a roller-coaster of emotion.  It is not told in any particular order – except for the order that is our life.  We go back and forth.  We repeat – because lots of life is a repeat. Her journal entries are raw and uncut – except for a few minor edits to grammar when necessary to keep the reader from being distracted.  My letters to her are written in the language that we speak.  She was a Christian and I had raised her with stories that we refer to in shorthand.  Unless she needed the explanation in full, it isn’t contained here.  That’s on purpose.

This is a window into our crazy life, but a window that you might be able to understand because you feel much the same way.

As I have been writing this, I have read some of our dialog to my other children because I see that my answers to their questions are contained within my letters to Heather.   I have discovered that the issues are different, but the answers are all the same.  That’s what makes this story universal. 

Your problems may not be identical to the issues we face, but to the extent that I have answers – they are all the same.   

Winding your way through our story you will see some recurring themes and topics. Adoption. Abandonment. Commitment. Love. Truth. God.  Cutting. Lying. Deceit. Hypocrisy.  Sneaking out.  Promiscuity (sex stuff).  Alcohol. Hurt. Death. Eternity. Family. Needs. 

As much as we talked during her lifetime, Heather never totally shared her heart with me.  As much as we talked about God, she never let on the depth of her relationship with Him.  I’m not sure I understand why – other than she might have felt like a hypocrite – believing one thing and living a totally different way.

But she left behind these letters to herself and to God.  Here, like no where else, she revealed her true self.  I am sad that I had to wait until she died to engage in this conversation in this way.  But I am coming to know both her and God better now than when she was living. I feel God’s presence teaching me through her words and insights.

In a Journal Entry on November 8, 2008, Heather wrote, “I hope I leave something behind that is worth it.” This journal is worth more to me than anything I’ve ever owned. I’m amazed. Thank you for this gift of your heart, honey. I’m anxious to see how this journey unfolds.