Loving the Hurt Child... Part Four

 The game of push/pull & control

Moments like this have been few.  Moments like this are precious.  Moments like this are very much needed.
Moments like this have been rejected all too often.  Moments like this are returning.

The understanding of a two year old is very limited to say the least.  Abby had very "difficult" veins.  They disappeared, rolled, and simply would not take an iv.  On several occasions, Abby was poked numerous times... starting in her arm, then her other arm, then her foot, then her other foot, and then her legs.  There was one episode where there were probably six to seven people standing over her as she lied on a table.  They were trying to find a vein with lights and poked her for over 30 minutes.  She was horrified.  It was one of the most tragic and helpless moments for all of us.  Her seizures were increasing like crazy.  Tests were all coming back normal.  Nothing could be found yet something was so wrong.

Having an iv for an emergency was necessary.  It was not an option at this point.  But all Abby knew was this: Her parents stood there and were letting it happen.  She was reaching for me with panic in her eyes, screaming and crying and I could not stop it.  I tried to soothe her which was probably all the more confusing for her.  It makes me physically sick to remember it.  I could not take anymore, and I did the worse thing for her... I left her.  I was about to explode into a million pieces and I knew my lack of calm was good for no one.  So I left the room and lost it in the hall... beating and kicking the wall, screaming into my hands and letting it out.  But all she knew was... I left.

I believe this... her abandonment by her birth mother... and her time in the hospital and orphanage in Kazakhstan has everything to do with her push/pull relationship with me.  Abby wants to connect with me... she wants to cuddle with me... wants to need me... yet when she gets close... she stiffens and pulls away.  Her hugs are normally cautious.  There is most always space left between us.  And a stiff arm is always ready to push me away at the needed moment.  She often rejects affection.  If I accept her rejection with ease, then she asks for the affection again.  If I engage her in conversation about why she is rejecting the affection, she seems more pleased.  Conflict is peeking around the corner.  She thrives on it.  Oddly, it satisfies one of her deepest needs... the need to be in control.

I think it is very normal for every person to like control.  It is one of the hardest things to give up.  It requires trust and the ability to be vulnerable.  But for a wounded child, control is something they grasp for with all ten fingers.  

Control is one of the biggest issues with my daughter.  Her contrary attitude has taken a toll on us for years.  We say "juice", she says "milk".  We say "apple" and she says "orange".  We say "bed" and she says "bathroom".  We say "no" and she says "yes".  We give a choice, she won't make it.  We make it for her, she then demands for the opposite.  We offer a hug, she says "no."  We say "O.K." and she then asks for the hug.

It has caused great damage in our relationship as it has gone on for years... years.  I have tried so many different parenting techniques and none of them have worked.  I knew it was a control "game" but I did not understand the deep need behind it and I didn't have the "tools" to help her.  I was at the end of my rope.  Really.

"Parenting the Hurt Child," by Gregory C. Keck & Regina M. Kupecky, describes this battle to the tiniest detail.  I was again floored when I read it.  And then it gave me two gifts... perspective and tools.  TOOLS are the most important thing needed when you are loving a hurt child.  Love has got to be there... but TOOLS ARE CRUCIAL!

Perspective: "There are some simple rules to remember with children who are overly controlling.  First, they learned to control adults early on--  when abuse, neglect, or the limitations of the orphanage taught them adults could not be trusted.  To quote Kay Donley Ziegler, an early pioneer in the world of older adopted children, "We live in a world where big people take care of little people.  They live in a world where big people hurt little people."  Asking these kids to give up control and hand it over is very difficult, because to them, it is a matter of life and death.  ... Because control is directly linked to the child's concept of survival, he will often initiate control battles unnecessarily.  Don't worry about the battles you can't win or the ones you don't know about.  After all, if you try to control everything, you'll end up the loser.  The child needs some control, and you can decide how much and how it is to be experienced.  The more control battles you give up, the more likely is is that you'll win the ones you take on." (63)

This page alone has been so helpful.  I had come to just see my daughter's need to control as a bad behavior grounded in manipulation and conflict.  Every time she invited a battle I was livid she could not be content without disruption and conflict.  The more she invited conflict into our life, the more I pushed her out.  I started wanting to simply avoid her or at least interaction with her.  And the more I avoided her and pushed her away... the more she dug up ways to have conflict... wanting that interaction.  It had become this horrible cycle that was simply destroying us.  Being offered the idea of it being "life and death" to Abby changed my entire perspective.  My heart... that was growing so hard... softened and my eyes saw her in a new way.  Instead of this disruptive little girl causing so much turmoil in our family... in our life... I saw her as a choking little girl gasping for air... grasping for survival in her world that was very much different from my world.  It was a huge turning point for me as an exhausted and almost hopeless mother.  I am forever thankful.

Tools: One of the most powerful statements in this book, for me, is found in an example on page 64.  "Whenever seven-year-old Alex was asked by her mom to tie her shoes, comb her hair, and put on her jacket, she would alter the order-- first combing her hair, putting on a jacket, and then tying her shoes.  Although her mom didn't care, Alex thought she was scoring an enormous control coup.  However, when mom started restating her directions-- "Honey, get ready by tying your shoes, combing your hair, and putting on your jacket... in any order you want."-- she took the child completely by surprise.  While Alex had been convinced that she was powerful by doing it "her way," she was knocked down a peg or two when she realized her mom had taken control by not caring.  In this case, the parent completely avoided the battle by eliminating the choice of doing things "mom's way." 

Now I must clarify that if I asked Abby to do three things and she did it in any order... I would be thrilled!  The example seemed a bit much at first but I can clearly see that for a child grasping for control in all situations, it makes total sense.  In my case, if I asked Abby to comb her hair, put on a jacket, and tie her shoes... it would have looked more like this: Abby moaning about having to comb her hair... stating she hates combing her hair... asking not to comb her hair... asking why she has to comb her hair... followed by asking me to comb her hair.  I would be in there telling her that personal hygiene is important, yes she has to comb her hair, because it looks wild and because I said to comb it.  I would answer her last question with a "no"... she would have to do it herself (or give in and do it for her...depending on the amount of "battles" that morning).  Notice this is still the first request!  

Then when it would come to the jacket... Abby would state she doesn't want to wear a jacket and ask why she had to wear one.  I would tell her it is cold and I don't want her to be cold and she needs to obey and get her jacket.  Now on to tying her shoes... Abby would huff in annoyance that she has to tie her shoes... state that it is hard to tie her shoes... state that she hates her shoes... and ask me to tie her shoes.  I would tell her she is blessed to have shoes... blessed that she has learned how to tie them... and insist she tie them. In one morning, this sort of interaction could also take place over brushing teeth, clothing, breakfast food, breakfast beverage, taking vitamins, and getting to the car for school.

There would be days where I would think I was going to slam my head in the floor 20 times before I got her to school.  I would be completely drained and frazzled from trying to remain patient, consistent, and firm... yet loving!  LOL

So where was my "aha" moment on the above quoted page?  "...her mom had taken control by not caring."  Abby's behavior is all an effort to engage me and wrestle for control.  What would it look like if I started "acting" like I didn't care?  From other examples in this same chapter, I saw a "game" that I could play that might help diffuse the wrestling matches.  I just recently tried this out.  And I am amazed, filled with hope, and highly encouraged by what happened.  It is the very reason I felt so prompted to write this series.

It was a very difficult morning... pretty typical.  I started to enter the wrestling ring and then it hit me... play the game.  So I went for it.  Abby was being controlling and ugly to her brother and so I asked her for a hug.  She turned her back to me, frowned and said, "No."  I started laughing and replied, "High five Abs (with my hand raised for a high five slap), I knew you were going to say "no."  You rock!  You did exactly what I had hoped you'd do!"  

I wish I had her facial response on camera.  It was a blank look of disbelief sprinkled with hints of massive confusion.  I turned and went about my business making her brother's breakfast.  In her panic and realization that she had lost that match, she started round two.  She announced, "I don't want breakfast.  I am not hungry."  "O.K.  You don't have to eat," I replied.  Stunned.  She was stunned.  I had not insisted she needed breakfast.  We did not argue about her health and her need for food and what that food would be.  I had not entered the ring!  She actually started darting her eyes around the room... looking for a way to enter the ring for round three.  And she found it... pretty quickly.

"I'll eat this for breakfast," she exclaimed... in a high octave shrill as she picked up three peppermints off the counter. "Go for it Abby... that is a great idea... and I won't have to make it or clean it up... awesome," was my quick response.  She suddenly just stopped in her tracks.  She just stood there in silence... the wheels turning in her little head... with nothing for round four.  I had to find a way to leave the room as I was about to start laughing.  I told her I was going upstairs to get dressed and went upstairs.  

As I walked upstairs, I was smacked with how easy it was and how it had worked.  It had totally worked. There had not been one fight.  There was no conflict. She had lost all three attempts at wrestling.  I was almost laughing with delight.  I had no idea what was coming next but I had just witnessed something amazing.  I had won all the control battles of the morning by not caring.  It was SO contrary to anything I had thought, believed, or tried before.  I was amazed.  Would she eat the peppermints?  I didn't know.  But I didn't care.  I had "seen" her thrown off kilter by the "tool" I had used and I was FILLED WITH HOPE.  And I felt great!  Very odd for me to feel GREAT on a school morning!

Then something incredible happened.  Just minutes later, she entered my room and said, "Hug?"  And she embraced me.  It was a real hug... no tense arms... no safe space between us... just a real hug.  She had gone back to the very thing that started the whole "game" and was giving it to me.  I had to hold back tears.  Then she actually high-fived me.  Again, I wasn't sure what was happening in that moment, but she was pleasant.  Her entire attitude had changed from combative to loving.  She was amazing the rest of the day!

We went downstairs to leave for school.  There sat the three peppermints on the counter.  She had in fact not eaten them.  She had not eaten anything.  And we have not had a battle about breakfast since.  She simply eats.

This was a huge breakthrough for me... for her... for us.  I asked my husband to read the book and he did.  We are amazed at how much it mirrors our struggle.  I am so thankful for the tools it offers.  I am about to read it again.  And I do recommend it HIGHLY to any parent who is loving a wounded child.

Everything is not perfect now.  But we are making steps in the right direction.  And we have TOOLS!
Now that some of the conflict is missing, there is more room for positive interaction and nurturing.  It is sometimes hard to remember to "play the game" but I am trying more and more and I see results every time.  She is letting go of some battles and she is letting me nurture her more.  The bonus is that my attitude doesn't get so "up there" when I play the game and I am able to stay more calm.  That is a bonus for everyone! 

But the prize is Abby is healing.  The prize is something is working.  She is trusting me/us more.  And my heart soars with hope.  My strength has been renewed to keep walking forward in hope.

And I can't wait to see what the next year holds.  And of course... I will share it with you!

If you have not read the first three parts of this series, you can read them at the links below!  And please feel free to share them!  That is the very reason I write them...

Loving the Hurt Child... Part One

Loving the Hurt Child... Part Two

Loving the Hurt Child... Part Three

Loving the Hurt Child... Part Two

 Playing Baby

In my attempt to get it so right... I got it so wrong.


I was so bent on helping Abby grow up... catch up... progress developmentally... that I never considered she needed to step backwards.

After Abby spent three months in the hospital, she was taken to an orphanage.  Her crib was the last one on the left side of the room, against the wall and by a window.  The walls of this large room were lined with cribs.  She was one of many.  She would be here for one year before we got to her.

I have to add here... something amazing.  In my infertility post, HERE, I mention stomping my foot and crying out to God why my pregnancy test was negative AGAIN.  On that very day, Abby was in this orphanage... waiting for me.  Waiting for us.  As I think about God looking down at her, having His hand on her, and guiding us on our path to her... I am amazed and greatly humbled.  I can see Him answering me gently, "Because she is waiting for you."

The caregivers at the orphanage held the children backwards.  Their thought process was well intended.  They thought that by denying the children attachment with them, they would more easily attach to their adoptive mommies and daddies since they wanted attachment so badly.  Well intended... but oh, so wrong.  It teaches them at a young age that attachment is not coming.  They learn/adjust/adapt to not needing it.  This actually makes attaching to parents even harder.

Abby had birth parent/s (caregivers) who abandoned her in a cafe in her car seat on top of a table.  We have NO idea if that environment was healthy or not.  But they/she left her.  Everything she knew to be true was gone.

She was in the hospital for three months (caregivers #2).  Physical contact and nurturing was likely minimal.  She lay on her back in a baby bed all day... for three months.  These caregivers "taught" her she was alone.  They taught her that caregivers don't meet her needs.

She was then taken to the orphanage (caregivers #3) where she was still alone, yet one of many.  Nurturing, movement and physical contact increased... but was still not healthy.  These caregivers taught her not to attach (without intending to).   

Enter in her hopeful... eager... and loving adoptive parents.  She was 21 months old and we were caregivers #4.  And we would be the very opposite of what she now knew to be true. 

I will never, ever forget the moment Abby came around the corner and I saw her for the first time.  The caregivers were telling her "mama... mama" and pointing to me.  I was down on my knees on the ground with open arms.  She bravely walked over... clutching a cookie in each of her hands with huge bow on top of her head... turned around (facing outward) and sat in my lap.  That moment is so telling.  Actually, many of those moments are now so telling.

I can still feel the weight of her sitting in my lap for the first time.  I can feel the warmth of her little head as I leaned down and kissed it for the first time... the softness of her hair.  I started talking to her... but she wouldn't look at me.  On our video, I can hear myself saying, "She won't look at me."

If this picture was not so heartbreaking... it would be pretty funny.  After holding her "outward" for a while... I had to embrace her.  I had been praying for this child for over a year.  She was now in my arms.  My. child. was. now. in. my. arms!  But this precious one had not been held like this in over a year.  The fear and panic in her eyes stab me deep in the soul.  Horror.  I was there... representing love and hope and a forever mommy... and she was scared out of her mind.

She totally was afraid to look at my husband.  One of my favorite pictures is of her in his lap... with her body and head tilted out... yet looking at him ever so slightly.  (Boo, I can't find it right now!)  She'd make a great big sigh and then quickly look away... with her little lip pouted out.  Then she would look back... for just about two seconds... sigh again... and look away.  Wanting to look... yet she just couldn't.  Wanting to let us "in"... yet so afraid.

My precious baby girl... oh so trying to be brave with cookies clutched tightly...

The orphanage allowed us to visit her twice a day for two hours in the morning and one hour in the afternoon.  This time was meant for bonding before we took her from the orphanage.  I loved they had this policy.  Instead of walking in... getting her... and walking out... she got to know us before she was taken by us from her "home."

Many of those moments were spent with her in my arms... crying the saddest cries.

She would hold onto me so tightly and just cry... for hours.

 two weary girls...

She would stop... look at me for about six or seven seconds... and start crying again.  She would not let me sit down or let her go.  I would stand and walk and bounce and sing and coo and pray... and worry.  My arms felt like jello.  I would prop my leg up on a chair and "sit" her on my leg without her knowing she was "sitting".  Knowing the inward battle she was having... the confusion... the pain... just killed me.  And we didn't even speak the same language!  I so wanted to fix it.  My desire to "fix it" has lasted to this day.

The worst part was having to leave her each day.  Even though I knew it was best... thought it was best... we kept leaving.  Just. like. everyone. else. in. her. life.  Finally, she realized we kept coming back and things started to turn.  PRAISE GOD.

It took three days until she smiled.  She was SO serious.  Her face was void of expression unless she was crying. I remember leaving after the second day of visiting and crying in the car.  I was thinking reactive attachment disorder.  I had read about it in one of the many adoption books.  And I was scared... heartbroken.

But on the third day, she fed me goldfish crackers (our biggest bonding tool!) and she smiled.  Hope flooded through me like a rushing river!  She smiled.  Amazing.  Beautiful.  Precious.

The fourth day she laughed.  We have it on video.  How I wish I was all video techno-savvy and could download it here for you.  It was one of the most precious sounds ever.  But the picture will have to do.  It is one of my favorites.  I had her in my arms, leaned her out from me, buried my face in her chest and acted like I was eating her up.  And she laughed.  And of course, I did it 20 times... kissing and gobbling up her chest, face, and neck!  And she laughed 20 times.  And there is where one of my biggest false ideas would enter into my mind and stay.  "She is fine."  "My love will heal her and we'll all just be fine."  I accepted that idea way too early.  It was what I SO wanted to believe.

During our exit interview with the lawyer, who spent a lot of time at Abby's orphanage, I mentioned the beauty of Abby's first laugh.  Her words still ring in my ears and her facial expression has never been forgotten.  "I have never seen her laugh."  She was in total disbelief.  I found it odd.  I asked her if she wanted to see this display of joy.  She seriously answered, "Yes."  I did "my thing" and Abby laughed.  The lawyers face lit up like a light bulb and the sweetest smile came over her face.  She laughed... looked at Abby... looked at me... and gave me a nod of approval.

One of the things Abby would do for years is act like a baby.  She would crawl into the kitchen while I was cooking and say, "I'm a baby... feed me."  It would make my skin crawl... irritate me... because she was eight... nine... 10... even 11 years old.  My response would be, "No, you are not a baby.  You are a big girl.   You are eight years old.  You are nine years old.  You are 10 years old for crying out loud.  You are 11!  Get up off the floor and act like an 8 year old... 9 year old... 10 year old... 11 year old!"

Abby acted like a baby because certain milestones of development were not met while she was a baby.  Go figure.  Who knew?  I had NO idea.  "Parenting a Hurt Child," informed me of this and gave several examples of children wanting to "play baby"... even teenagers!   But what this book did was offer a TOOL for parents with children who are not acting age appropriately and want to "play baby".

The answer... drum roll... PLAY BABY WITH THEM.

I was a skeptic.  Really?  How is letting my 11 year old play like she is a baby going to help her?  Is it not reinforcing behavior that isn't age-appropriate?  I kept reading.  The book gives several examples of parents who used this technique with great success.  One mother of a teenager turned her daughter's day bed around to make it a "baby bed-like" space.  She climbed into the "baby bed" with her teenage daughter and played baby with her using baby toys she had bought at the store.  This mother only had to do this on a few occasions before her daughter never wanted to play baby again.  Whatever deep need had not been met before... had now been met... and she didn't "NEED" it anymore.

THIS seemed too good to be true.  I read it at least three times.  My mouth actually may have been hanging open as I thought about this concept... this technique... this therapy... this hope.  I found myself actually looking forward to the next time Abby wanted to be a baby.  And it came.

Abby had just been disciplined for misbehavior.  It had been a BAD episode of defiance and control battles and disrespect.  It was a bad one.  After she/we cooled down, I went into her room to talk to her about it.  We were both sitting on her floor.  After just moments of talking... "I'm a baby," she said, and she crawled towards me.  This was it.  This was my moment to play baby with her.  Filled with HOPE and eagerness, I replied, "Are you my baby... my sweet baby girl... my Abby?"  To this she replied with a baby noise of "Uh huh," and put her hand up on my face.

"Do you want to lay in my lap little baby?" I asked.  Another "Uh huh," and she was in my lap.  As I stroked her face, I told her what a precious and beautiful baby she was.  She soaked it up like a dry sponge dropped in an endless ocean.  "I am so blessed to be your mommy.  You are my precious baby and you are so cute and smart," I added.

Then I noticed.  Even though she was soaking it up... she wasn't looking at me.  Eye contact is another area of struggle with  Abby.  The book had also made suggestions about this and so I went for it.  "Can I see your beautiful brown eyes, little baby?"  She slowly gave me her eyes.  "There they are, I love seeing those brown eyes... they are so beautiful," I cooed to her.  As I gazed into her eyes cooing words of baby affirmation, she gazed back at me like never before.  There she was... I could see her... the real Abby inside... deep inside... desiring and allowing love, nurturing, affirmation, and attachment!

In the past, I had demanded eye contact.  "Look at me with your eyes," I would say.  She felt threatened when I did that.  And she would never look longer than two to three seconds before looking away again. Now, by asking her in a cooing voice and playing baby, she did not feel threatened... but nurtured.

After about 5 minutes of this interaction, she jumped up and asked if we could play a game.  I was shocked and tried to roll with it.  I asked if we could play beauty shop and she giggled with delight and put about 15 hair bows in my hair.  I was almost in a daze. 

I kid you not... I did this sort of thing with Abby three times and she has not "been a baby" since.

BLOWN AWAY.  SMACKED.  THANKFUL.

I would have NEVER played baby like that with an 8 year old... 9 year old... 10 year old... 11 year old... had I not read that book.  Reading other examples of almost the exact behavior of my child and reading how playing baby worked with them is what convinced me to try.  And it worked.  I ACHE inside with the wish I had only known this earlier... when she was eight... when she was three!

I know Satan wants to steal my joy in what has happened now with that regret.  But you know what?  It has happened now... this year... and I am here... with you... and God will use it... someway...for at least ONE PERSON/ONE CHILD reading this NOW.  If more than ONE is helped, encouraged, or given hope... THEN I DANCE ON MY ROOF TOP AND GIVE HIM ALL THE GLORY I CAN EXPRESS TODAY!

God's GRACE... to get us here... UNENDING & ABUNDANT!  Her name is... Abigail (Her Father's Joy) Grace.  Love that.

Now I have to follow this up with a warning.  Be careful of what books you read!  I read at least three to four books on adoption before we adopted Abby and one book, in particular, told me MAJOR BAD MOJO... advice that I followed with all good intention and it caused more damage.  Mercy.  Makes me want to sob just thinking about it. 

But God is walking us through some healing now.  And I get the bonus of getting to share it with you.  What a gift!  I am so glad you are here.  Deeply glad. 

Part three will be coming soon...

Loving the Hurt Child... Part One

source

Deep pain amidst great hope 

I read a book this year, "Parenting the Hurt Child," by Gregory Keck and Regina Kupecky.  I could not put it down.  It was written for my daughter.  I was written for us.  It was written for so many.

I have sometimes shared the heartbreak, challenges, and joys of parenting, loving, and fighting for Abby.  It is the single most thing in my life that has aged me, stretched me, depleted me... and strengthened me.  It is the very single most thing in my life that has driven to and kept me going to the foot of the cross.

As I have been thinking about "Abide" lately and walking with and resting with her... I have come to see that my walk with Abby has been the first thing to pull me away from "Abide".  It should have been the first thing to keep me there.  I think the timing of things God reveals to us is simply fabulous... purposeful... sovereign.

"Parenting the Hurt Child" not only drew an almost identical picture of my child and her struggles, it offered ways to help her... real ways that are effective.  It offered hope.  It offered tools.  I have been begging the Lord for the right tools for years.  My tool box arrived in this little book.  And I am now attempting to use some of them... even though they rub against the grain of my soul sometimes.

You see, parenting a child with deep rooted pain, fear, and insecurity is not like parenting a child without those things.  Some people wonder why we don't just do this... or this... or that.  They see it work on other children.  It worked on their children.

The answer is what works for one... many... does not work for all... especially a wounded child.  In our effort to discipline and love them... so often we reinforce the pain already there... instead of "changing" them or their behavior.

For years my effort has been to get to her heart.  I felt if I could get to her heart, I could get to her... the real her.  But Abby has a high wall around her heart... and she often guards it at any cost.  We have tried so many parenting techniques, reward systems, natural consequences, and even spanking.  Nothing has penetrated that wall if she didn't want it to.

It has exhausted me... caused me to doubt and blame myself... and damaged our relationship.  

One of the things Abby would do for years is act like a baby.  She would crawl into the kitchen while I was cooking and say, "I'm a baby... feed me."  It would make my skin crawl... irritate me... because she was eight... nine... 10... even 11 years old.  My response would be, "No, you are not a baby.  You are a big girl.   You are eight years old.  You are nine years old.  You are 10 years old for crying out loud.  You are 11!  Get up off the floor and act like an eight year old... a nine year old... and 10 year old... 11 year old!"

You see... my response was out of fear and lack of knowledge.  Oh... it saddens me deeply... that lack of knowledge.  And fear... Abby lost all abilities at three years old.  She could not walk... could not talk... could not eat... could not hold her head up.  She was in a vegetative state and often having 30+ seizures a day.  When God so generously restored her, healed her from THAT... I worked so hard to teach her to walk again, to talk again, to dress herself again, and to learn.  This FIGHT instinct became engraved on my spirit and I spurred her forward... always forward.  "You can do it... you can do it... you can do it."

But I was missing something so crucial.  It brings my spirit deep sorrow to know I had it so wrong in my effort to have it so right.

Abby was abandoned on a table in a cafe in Kazakhstan at the approximate age of 9 months.  Then she was taken by the police to a hospital.  A nurse measured her head... took that measurement and gave her the age of nine months.  She was a "foundling."  "Foundling" is a term for abandoned children.  They found her on March 18 and gave her the birth date of July 18.  Breaks my heart we don't have her real birthday.

Abby stayed in that hospital, on her back, alone, barely touched, barely nurtured... for three months.  This is what is done in her birth country so the child can be found if family members come looking for them.  No one came looking.  Think of a baby you know who is nine months old.  Imagine them being left in their car seat on a table... in a cafe... and then taken to a hospital where they lay for three months.  The development stage here for attachment is crucial at nine to twelve months old.

Devastating.  Tragic.  Deeply damaging.  

We have no idea what her life was like before she was abandoned.  But for those three months... her little baby brain, heart, and spirit were broken.  She found out way too early that people leave.  She found out way too early that people would not meet her needs.  She found out way too early that she was all she had.  She had to find a way to survive.  And she did.  Without even knowing it... she started building a tiny little wall... around her tiny little heart.  She would protect herself since no one else would.

She was giving me the "signs" for so long.  And I just didn't see them.  I just didn't know.

But we have had break through.  And I praise the Lord God on high for His mercy... His patience... His faithfulness... and His love.
 
I know what I have learned is helping us... helping her.  And I know it will be helpful to other parents out there.  I hope you come back... for part two of this beautiful story... as it unfolds.  I am so glad you are here.

More on Abby and her struggle HERE.

Psalm 91~ "He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say of the LORD, 'He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust."  

"For He shall give angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways.  In their hands they shall bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone."
 
"He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honor him.  With long life I will satisfy him, and show him My salvation."