Empty Hands

It's difficult to fathom how a person can become so attached to a child they've only known for three days.  But, when they came to get little guy yesterday, and take him away, I stood in the foyer, crying.  I felt so ridiculous.  I loved him, and it didn't make sense.  As I was berating my foolish heart, I heard the sobs of my daughter and knew I wasn't alone.  Maybe it wasn't so foolish after all.

The thing about my God is that He takes our fear and our doubt, our sadness and our disappointment, and cages it, fiercely guarding it with faith and hope. It's there, banging on the bars, but it will never be released to invade our minds and bring us down. 

Little guy is gone, my hands are empty.  But, I'm lifting them high, waiting for Him to fill them once again.  Whatever His will, I will trust in the wait.

I don't know where to go from here
It all used to seem so clear
I'm finding I can't do this on my own

I don't know where to go from here
As long as I know that You are near
I'm done fighting, I'm finally letting go

I will trust in You
You've never failed before
I will trust in You

If there's a road I should walk
Help me find it 

If I need to be still
Give me peace for the moment

Whatever Your will, whatever Your will

Can you help me find it?
Can you help me find it?

I'm giving You fear and You give faith
I giving you doubt, You give me grace
For every step I've never been alone

Even when it hurts, You'll have Your way
Even in the valley I will say
With every breath, You've never let me go

I will wait for You

I will wait for You

You've never failed before
I will wait for You

If there's a road I should walk
Help me find it

If I need to be still
Give me peace for the moment

Whatever Your will, whatever Your will

Can you help me find it?
Can you help me find it?

I lift my empty hands
(Come fill me up again)

Have Your way my King
(I give my all to You)

I lift my eyes again
(Was blind but now I see)

'Cause You are all I need

If there's a road I should walk
Help me find it

If I need to be still
Give me peace for the moment

Whatever Your will, whatever Your will

Can you help me find it?

Can you help me find it?


--Sidewalk Prophets

Father of the fatherless

We approached the house after a walk when we saw that Matt was home early from work.  The girls yelled, “Daddy‘s home!” and ran ahead.  Punkin rocked back and forth in his stroller 

“Da, da, da.” 

By the time we got inside, Punkin was struggling to break free and get down.  He toddled as fast as he could into the open arms of the only daddy he knows.  Matt scooped him up, held him tight, and kissed his cheek. 

Many of us didn’t have the perfect daddy as children.  There were no arms to run to - they either held too much, were too cold, too brutal, or weren’t there at all.   Our idea of what a father should be was skewed, complicated, and painful. 

“A Father of the fatherless, and a defender of the widows, is God in His holy habitation.  God sets the only child in a house and He sends out prisoners into prosperity, and the rebels will dwell in the tombs.”
Psalm 68:5-6

Whether we had an earthly father to love us or not, God has proven since the beginning of time that He is, and has always been, the only Father we need.  We can look back over any point in our lives and find Him.  We can see Him holding us in our sorrow, protecting us when we thought we were alone, whispering for us to go on when we thought we couldn’t.  We had a Father all along. 

I watch my husband as he chases Punkin around the kitchen and grab him up while Punkin laughs uncontrollably.  I watch him grab that little hand as he starts to fall.  I watch as he takes him outside to find lizards.  I watch him follow the Lord’s example, and I‘m so grateful for what an amazing man he is in his willingness to love.  But, whether Punkin finds a forever daddy or not, I pray that he knows one day that he’s always had a Father.

God is the first and ultimate Father of the fatherless.  He is the first and ultimate Father of Punkin.  He is the first and ultimate Father of you.

Honesty

It’s been close to a month since Punkin’s come to live with our family.  It’s been one of the most difficult months of my life. 

I’ve come face-to-face with the ugly side of fostering.  Of course, it’s never pretty.  But, I know too much now.  I know there are really good people out there that are trying to fix a system that will probably stay broken.  Happy endings are rare.  Babies are beaten, toddlers are sexually abused.  Ugly.

I miss Beau and Baby.  I was never happier than when I was caring for them.  They were so easy to love.  They were too young to understand anything other than that I loved them completely.  Punkin didn’t have that luxury.  Raised in foster homes his entire life, even at his young age, he has grown to distrust and fear.  The first days he was with us were filled with constant crying.  He was separated from the only siblings he’d ever known, siblings he grew up with.  Everyone was gone.  Except us.  Strangers. 

For the first few weeks we had him, I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning.  I would lie there, praying.  Begging God to please take this child from my house.  I don’t want this.  I want Beau back, I want Punkin to be with his forever family with his sisters.  And I feel so guilty.  I’m supposed to be there for these children, but now I’m praying for the happy ending that won’t happen.  I’m jaded and I want to quit.  So, what now?

I don’t know.  I wish I did.  I trust that God is in this.  I do.  But, I have no answers. 

So, maybe I wait.  I suck it up and love this child that looks at me like he wants nothing to do with me.  This child that hits and kicks and spits and does the exact opposite of what he knows he should. I love him in spite of how hard my life has become.  I love him because no one else does. 

And hope it’s enough.

Courage

I still miss my Beau.  It’s been over a month now.  More than a month since he smiled at me as I buckled him into his car seat.  More than a month since we watched from our window as he left our lives forever.  

I still display his picture for anyone that will look at it.  I still cry over him.  I still wish things would have been different.  So many of us don’t want to do anything that might hurt us or break out hearts.  It’s a common fear, a valid fear. 

But, in our Bible study on Saturday, our teacher spoke of how our pain and heartache are reminders that we’ve had the courage to love.  I don’t feel so courageous.  But as I wait by the phone for the next call, I do know that it's always worth it. 

And when my heart hurts to think about my little love, I'm reminded that I loved him well.

A Better Story

A phantom cry, the indentation where he used to sleep in his bed, my favorite onesie, a random bottle in the dishwasher.  I miss him.  Every day.

Beau is gone.   He had a tragic, lonely, sad story from his very beginning and I wanted to change his ending.  What’s so hard is that I didn’t want to be a part of his story for three and a half months, I wanted to see his life played out all the way through.  I want to see his happy ending, not just play a part in it. 

As it is, we aren’t just a part of his story, he’s a part of ours.  My mistake was thinking that I had anything at all to do with the script.  It turns out that as much as I want to write this book, I’m not the Author.  And the bigger picture, through the pain, will always be that there’s a better story to be told.  We just haven't glimpsed those pages.

“Have the courage to live under strain and pain to be part of a better story.  A larger story.  Don’t wimp out.”  Beth Moore.

As weak as I feel right now, I don’t plan on ever wimping out.   There’s a larger story to be told.  Keep reading…

Impossible

As I was lying in bed last night, my heart was pained and racing.  Panic and sadness were taking over.  My fears had set in and the tears falling over the bridge of my nose onto my pillow were screaming that my faith has not been perfected. 

We’re meeting with Beau’s attorney today.  In the middle of the night, the words I would say to him kept rolling through my mind.  I was making the argument that the best thing for this child is to stay with us.  Forever.  He’s bonded to me, to the girls, to Matt.  We would make sure he would have the very best his whole life long.  Jesus, love, faith, stability, comfort, character, strength.  We’d provide him with a wonderful education.  Matt would teach him to play football.  We’d all teach him to laugh.  And at 2:00 am, I begged God to let us find out today that there really is hope that we’ll get to keep him, in the face of everyone that has said that it’s hopeless, impossible.

I started thinking about that word.  “Impossible.”  It means, “beyond the bounds of possibility.”  I began to wonder if maybe, “impossible” isn’t one of God’s favorite words because it gives Him the opportunity to show His power and might.  As I look over my life and who I once was, my salvation seemed impossible.  Rhyan being able to hear and speak after the doctors told us she was profoundly deaf, seemed impossible.  Keeping our first house after Matt lost his job twice in one year, seemed impossible.  My niece living after arriving three months early, seemed impossible.  Yet, I’m saved, Rhyan hears, we have our house, Lily’s alive.  “Impossible” is meaningless to my God.

This morning, I’m feeling stronger.  My heart isn’t quite so twisted and squeezed.  I’m not crying.  I’m praying that Beau’s attorney says the words I want to hear.  And I’m thanking Him for the privilege of ever knowing Beau at all. 

I love this baby boy like he’s my own.  I’ve known him for a lifetime.  And I’ll follow Christ today, like I have from the beginning.  But, today, I’m not just walking behind Him.  I’m holding onto Him with all I have.

I have set the Lord always before me.  Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. Psalm 16:8

La’akov.

Silence

I’m walking in His footsteps so closely now that I can’t see anything in front of me, nothing on the side.  All I see is Him, protecting me as He walks before me. 

Beau is still here.  That’s a miracle in itself.  It’s one of the most blatant miracles I’ve witnessed in my life.  I was getting phone calls nearly every other day regarding his leaving.  Visitations were constantly being set up with the stranger, visitations with his mother, visitations with his father.  It’s been more than three weeks now and I haven’t heard a word.  Not an email, not a phone call.  Nothing. 

The silence has lulled me into the belief that Beau is staying with us forever.  Two year ago in November, I felt that God was promising me a son.  I told him I wanted another girl, but that’s not what I heard.  Through His Word, through prayer, through the prayers of my children.  I heard a promise.  I’ve lived on faith since that time that His promise would come true.  

When Baby left, I questioned whether I heard correctly.  In my mind, Baby was the one for us   My faith was rattled the day I put him in his car seat and watched his case worker drive away.  But, Beau was born the day I said good-bye to Baby.  One hope is gone, one is born. 

I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future.  Even tomorrow is a question mark.  It’s a difficult way to live, but what better way to completely and fully trust in Jesus with all my heart, soul, mind and strength.  I literally have no other choice.  

These past three weeks have made me stronger.  I’m following with sure steps, solid footing.  And one thing about following so closely to my Lord - if I do hear the news I never want to hear and I stumble in my pain, I know I'll never fall.