Jesus Wins.

"Our family has problems”

That was his reason he gave to her for what brought him to the Emergency Department. “I have RAD, my brother has Autism and my parents have their own problems.” 

All true.  His perspective differs than mine. 

The assessor talked to him some more, talked to me, talked to both of us, made some notes, commented that it’s been a long time since his last inpatient stay and went on her way- ultimately determining that he did in fact, need to be admitted. 

The long- time span is good.  And it certainly gives us perspective that this is better than before.  But, for anyone parenting kids with mental illness, we know it is typically managed- not cured.  It comes in cycles and, like we were told four years ago, it is to be expected.  Especially now, during this time of his body changing and growing and hormones raging. 

I don’t think any parent ever gets “used to” having your child admitted for things that seem beyond his control- yet these things must be controlled to succeed in life.  Anger is normal, uncontrolled anger is scary and dangerous.  Sadness is normal, deep, unrelenting sadness is deadly.  The desire to control is normal, the belief that lack of control will kill you, is destructive and heartbreaking. 

It still blows my mind how the simplest of things, even doing what he asks of us, can send him down a path of no return. 

So here we are.  Now 30 plus hours in and we are still waiting in the Emergency Department for a bed.  He just turned 13 a few weeks ago, which makes him eligible for a third hospital in the area. 

While I sit in this locked, four bed unit and watch the kids come and go my heart is sad.  There have been five other kids share this space in the last 30 hours, kids also dealing with things bigger than they are.  The ages ranged from around 6- 15. 

There is an epidemic of our young kids who prefer to die than deal with the big things.

And it is easy to hear the details from these other families, because there is no privacy here, and quickly jump to a conclusion.  Like the youngest whose sibling kept cursing at everyone, and after several complaints the mom jerked her out of the area, banging her head on the wall, dragging her out screaming while she created a scene of “not going to sit there and be stared out” all while her young son watched without a peep.  He was released to go home; but preferred to stay.

Or, the young teen who came in and looked so innocent, so lost.  His mom searching for answers of why he was brought here and trying to grasp the process.  And the calm demeanor and held tears as that same young kid left in feet and hand shackles, escorted by deputies. 

And I sit here hour after hour and reflect on what I might be doing to make my own child’s trauma worse.  Is it me?  Can I do something more or less to ease his own mental anguish. 

The minutes tick by turning into hours, and eventually days.  With each hour, my own walls come down a bit.  The wall of self-preservation that gets higher and higher with every one of his outbursts, or wounding words, starts to crumble.  Because I see my baby. 

I see his anger and frustration and verbal attacks meld into sadness and fear.  He begs for us to take him home; and he erupts again with the thoughts and feelings he has both kept in and the ones that he has spewed out. 

I remind him that it’s okay to need help, he doesn’t have to carry this weight on his own.  And while we are thankful for professionals and medication and therapies that all have a place- it is his own Jesus who will be right here with him.  Jesus, who died not just for his sins but for his sadness, the trauma he has survived and the internal anguish he fights every single day.  And it is his Jesus who wins.   

But it sure doesn't feel like that these days.  

The daily survival sucks the life out of us. We get mired down in the fearful feeling that this is it, nothing will change and we are doomed to this hard forever.

During these days, we have been held up by prayers, calls and tangible acts. We appreciate ever word of encouragement and act of love .  

It’s now Thursday night.  After 4 days and 3 nights in the Emergency Department, Elijah got a bed and was admitted for care.  

That is a long time to sit in the ED.  And the waiting for psychiatric care is much different that waiting for medical care.  The nurses, "sitters", social workers and other staff was good to us, doing much to make our wait bearable.  But in their own words, "the system is broken".  

During the wait, the emotional roller coaster runs non-stop.  From anger, to sadness, to fear, to dread.  We've been here before so he knows what is coming.  He knows the process is hard. 

So we break the silence with his questions and fears, which include some good conversation; like the night we took this picture.  He told me to post it on Facebook, and he titled the post. 

Hard is easier when you do it together.  

I had just told him he wasn’t damaged goods.  Reminding him that God didn’t create him damaged but He is certainly taking all the trauma and neglect and hurt and using every bit of it to write his story. There is no shame in any of it like the enemy wants us to believe.  The hospital is to help our brains and not just our bodies.  

He, like so many of us feel alone when we are most vulnerable; we believe the lie that we are the only ones suffering.  And if we are the only ones, than it must be us.  We must be damaged and who wants to let that secret out, so we don't.  We keep it all bottled inside and hide thinking nobody will understand.  

And that’s why I share the details of what our adoption reality is.  I don't write to shame or embarrass my sons or to gain pity or attention.  

It is what it is.  God has a plan for all of it including us being able to comfort and encourage others with the same comfort we ourselves have received. If we keep our hard hidden, if we feel shame when we struggle and seek help- then we can't share the victory when we win.  

On Monday, a friend of mine shared the message from her church's ladies event that I was supposed to attend with her but couldn't.  The take-away is Jesus Wins.  Our great big God, all the plans and provision, persecution and pain, wherever you are in your faith, whatever the thorn in your flesh, however you are suffering- the end of the story has been written. 

It is God's perfect plan, one that at the time had to look hopeless but Jesus Wins. 

Our family has problems, yes it is true.  But, because He wins, so can we.

Happy Thursday Y'all!