Too Much Information

I've been working on the annual Christmas letter, which is unduly difficult this year. I usually enjoy summarizing our life, and detailing the various accomplishments of our children. It's easy to intertwine humor with a few multisyllabic words for educational impact. The past year comes neatly into focus, and I sign my name at the bottom to put a tidy ending to the events. It's a therapeutic tradition for me. However, the events of this past year lack comedic material, and I am utterly devoid of a sense of humor. All I would say regarding Tim and Aaron and Faline is sunny and bright....but I must necessarily address the other family members as well, and the cheery holiday salutation goes straight to hell-in-a-hand-basket.
Naturally, I decided that the only course of action was to take to my blog, where I can vomit out all the words so that they can be dressed up and made presentable for my friends and family. Ironic that I would type such things here, rather than in a relatively circumspect publication; no?

Dear Everyone I Know,

We put the Christmas tree up in the living room last weekend because I needed to get all of the Christmas presents out of our bedroom, and I could hardly stack them on the couch; what would the neighbors say? I have avoided any other Christmas decorations (including anything which might hang upon the tree) because I fear that hanging up the boys' stockings will send me into uncontrollable sobs from which I shall not recover until the New Year.
I am an awesome parent who has diligently mothered these children to the best of my abilities, so please do not judge me too harshly as you continue to read.
Michael will be spending this Christmas away from his family for the first time ever. It is, perhaps not unusual for a 19-year-old to be away. It is, however, unusual to have him spending the holiday locked in a medium security section of the local jail. He has been locked up since the 8th of August when he was accused of a felony. The investigation and legal proceedings are ongoing, so it would be unwise for me to elaborate to any extent. Suffice it to say that he is in a completely bizarre set of circumstances which he would never have wanted. I am beside myself (which is the weirdest thing to say. What I mean is that I alternate among being grieved, angry, indignant, and perfectly ok...all often within a moment).
Don is back in the juvenile detention center, and will be transferred to adult jail after his 18th birthday this month. He overdosed on massive amounts of drugs last weekend, and so we were in the hospital with him for two days. It was a nightmare the likes of which I cannot hope to adequately describe. Although Don will stand before a judge before Christmas, I would guess that he has a snowball's-chance-in-hell of being released. ( Do you notice that Hell keeps popping up in my similes? I do hope you aren't offended. It's only that the reek of sulfuric flames are more appropriate to what I am going through here than, say, Pearly Gates and unicorns. I'm not bitter, it's just very unpleasant.)
Don was released in May from a 17 month stint of incarceration which was designed to equip him to handle life within the community as a recovered addict. He did well for a few weeks. Those of you who read this blog in the month of July know that he ran away from home and went on something of a bender. He was apprehended and held for a month before being re-released. The past four months have been a rollercoaster. Can you even imagine what it would be like to try and fight a monster addiction? I can't even keep away from French fries, despite knowing that they will leave me with a consequence of unwanted width. His craving is so much stronger, and he hates it. I admire his courage, and I hate that he's going through this. How do I sum that up in a Christmas letter?

People so frequently ask me if I am ok. I really am.
And I'm not.
This whole situation is shredding my heart. These boys are mine, and so I love them fiercely. I wish I could spare them these mountains they must climb. I'm lonely for them. I dread hanging their stockings because I don't want to go through Christmas without them.
But there is more to the story than that.
This Creator God to Whom I belong reassures me that I can trust Him. He loves these boys more than I do, and He knows them better than I do. He is at work in them doing things that need to be done. I am convinced that if I knew what He Knows, I would chose this for them, too. Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure that the boys' have a free will that is getting things done the hardest way possible. God says that He will have His way, though, and that He is Powerful enough to make real Good come out of apparently horrid stuff. I am just clinging to that. When I look at my boys, I see disaster, but I am working to look beyond what I see so that my gaze will rest unswerving upon the Goodness of my God.
I cry a lot, but I trust more. There is nothing like ongoing heartache to make a gal cling to Jesus. I am clinging for dear life.


Psalm 16

    Preserve me, O God: for in thee do I put my trust . O my soul, thou hast said unto the LORD, Thou art my Lord: my goodness extendeth not to thee...The LORD is the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup: thou maintainest my lot. The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage. I will bless the LORD, who hath given me counsel : my reins also instruct me in the night seasons. I have set the LORD always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved . Therefore my heart is glad , and my glory rejoiceth : my flesh also shall rest in hope.  For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell....

Amen