Fiction Archives - Kristen Anne Glover

(why) I Don’t Want More Kids

“Why do you want more kids?” people ask me when they find out we’re planning to adopt. “Don’t you think you have enough already?”

I don’t know how to answer this question because I don’t know how many kids is enough.

Do I have enough kids to drink all the milk before it goes bad? Yes.

Do I have enough kids to make our own basketball team? Yes.

Do I have enough kids to finance our orthodontist’s dream trip to the Caribbean? Yes.

So…is that enough?

I find myself stumbling over answers because the question is all wrong. It infers that the reason for having children is to fulfill something in us, and people should only have the minimum number it takes to be personally satisfied.

When people say to me, “Don’t you have enough kids already?” the assumption is that I am somehow unfulfilled by the number of children in my home now. I need more children in order to be happy, and isn’t that selfish and irresponsible of me?

Why on earth would I want more?

The simple answer is, I don’t want more kids.

I do not want to add broken children to my manageable home. I do not want to risk my own children’s emotional or physical safety in order to take on someone else’s “problem.” I don’t want to pour my heart into a child who might hate me in return. I don’t want the lice. I don’t want the attachment disorders. I don’t want the sexual aggression, the lying, stealing, manipulating—any of it.

I am not lonely, or bored, or in need of affirmation. I don’t want more kids because I have some kind of superhero complex, or because I’m such a great mother. I don’t want more kids because somehow, five kids is not enough. Oh, no. Five kids is enough, and some days, I am not sure I can handle one more.

(Of course, I said that when I had one. And I said it when I had three. And now I have five and I really, really think it’s true this time.)

I don’t want more kids because I think I can handle more. I know the truth: in my own humanity, in my own weakness, I can’t.

I cannot love more than enough children. I cannot have Christ-like compassion for the child who shreds me with her brokenness. None of us can.

What wrecks me is this: God doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in what I can handle. He seems to care more about what He can handle.

And that just blows the question out of the water. At the end of the day, fostering is not about me. It’s never been about me. It’s not about my ability as a mother, my desires as a human being, or even my comfort level as an American.

It’s about what God has called me to do through His power working in me to love my Savior by loving His children. It is the thing that makes the “wanting to” irrelevant and the “able to” inconsequential. God wants, and God is able. That is enough.

Enough kids

Do I want more children?

The only people who ask that question are clearly not God because that is not a question God ever asks.

God does not ask if we want to love unwanted children (James 1:27). He doesn’t even have the consideration to ask us if we’re able to. With all the audacity of the Lord of the Universe, He assumes that if we’re breathing, we can do better than just think of ourselves and do for ourselves because He did better, and it is His power at work in us equipping us to be and do like Him. Not our strength. Not our ability (Ephesians 3:20).

It’s scary to believe it. I do not like to jump into the unknown and hope to heaven I land on supernatural wings. I am afraid, and that fear would make me turn tail and run if not for this: my fears do not excuse my obedience to God.

Fears are the stuff of shadows anyway. Worst-case scenarios rarely happen. The worries I toss about in my head are minor in comparison to the actual, horrific suffering of real children, right now.

I look at my home, my godly, patient husband and my compassionate, loving children, and I know that I cannot allow imaginary hurts to keep us from infusing living hope into a child’s present, perpetual, real-life.

That doesn’t mean hurts won’t happen. We will do everything we can to prevent them, but love doesn’t always come out clean. Our five kids might feel the sting of it

But for our sixth child, it will hurt much, much less. Infinitely, eternally, less than life hurts now.

That is the thing that keeps me pressing forward when my heart fails. Do I want more kids? No.

What I want is to get to the end of my wants. I want to get to the end of controlling and taking on only what I can do. I want the immense privilege of seeing what God can do through me. That fills me with unspeakable, illogical joy at the prospect of being used as He wills. I have a Christ-like love for a child who is not my own and all the anticipation of Christmas at the gift—the privilege—of being his mother, no matter the cost.

Why do I want more kids?

That is why.

Words Worth Tasting

One of the wonderful things about being in community is the support you get when you’re not good yet. They are the encouragers who are not scared off by your mistakes but who are able to look beyond your imperfections to the good things God is doing in and through you.

Do you have someone like that in your life?

I am blessed to be a contributing writer at Allume, and those girls are some fierce advocates of mine. They encourage, bless, pray for me, forgive, and extend a lot of grace.

Before I was a part of the Allume community, I had Miss Williams, a college professor of mine who loved words like she loved good food. I thought it would be appropriate to tell her story for the stumblers and the storytellers today.

If you have a moment, please hop over to Allume. You’ll be glad to meet Miss Williams. Then, I’ll be back with Day 9 of my 31 Days story a bit later today. If you haven’t had a chance to read Day 8 (which I mistakenly called Day 9 yesterday because I have too much of the flu and not enough of the coffee) you can read it here.

Surrounded by Savages: 100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood {25}

A young and innocent Kristen Glover, banished to the Outside while her mother makes quiche

First published in August, 2012

In the beginning, the first man and the first woman had two children. But the children were both boys so their mother felt like she had a dozen.

The earth was young and the boys were wild since they didn’t have any girls but their mother to tame them. They made weapons out of sticks and stale bread and pomegranate seeds. They chased the sheep and ambushed the chickens and managed to find mud in the desert.

They punched and wrestled and ran so much, some days their mother thought she might go deaf. Other days, she wished she already was deaf.

“That’s it!” the first mother shouted. “I’ve had enough!”

The boys stopped dead in their tracks and wondered if this might be the end of the human population increase.

But God looked down on the earth and had compassion on the first mother because she was the only woman in the entire world, which pretty much meant she was surrounded by savages.

So God looked out over the great expanse of all that He had made, but He couldn’t find any place in all that wild world that was soft and beautiful where a mother could rest. So He said, “Let there be an oasis in the middle of this great expanse, and let it be called ‘Inside,’ and let Us separate the ‘Inside’ from the ‘Outside.’”

So God put up four walls and a lovely flat roof and separated the Inside from the Outside. And God saw that it was good.

Then He told the mother, “You shall have dominion over all the Inside. You will put flowers on the table and crochet afghans for the bed and tame a cat to sit in the window.

“And you will lure the man Inside by baking things that smell good and occasionally undressing. Once the Man comes Inside, you will make him take off his dirty shoes and talk about his feelings.

“But if the Man leaves his greasy tools on your counter or uses your best knife to trim his toenails, you will send the Man Outside.

“And you will lure your children inside with bedtime stories and cozy blankets and sugar. You will teach them to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and not to put their fingers in their noses.

“But if the Children shave the cat and turn your best tablecloth into a slingshot and release something scaly onto your bed, you will send the Children Outside.

“Then, you will sip a cup of tea, make quiche for dinner, and paint something.”

The woman smiled.

So it came about, after a surprisingly short period, that the Children spent a lot of time Outside.

And the Man built himself a garage.

Kya Outside, making weapons