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| Illustration by Jago |
I think some of that weariness is universal to parenthood, and we are caring for four very small kiddos at one time. Having stair-step siblings in this particular age bracket is an insane undertaking.
But adding two foster kids to our team didn't just mean two more small kids ... the slew of fostering logistics is overwhelming.
For example, our fostering schedule this week involves:
- Monday: a potential birthmom visit, which was up in the air until the last minute
- Today: a speech evaluation at the local school
- Wednesday: a home visit from our private agency
- Thursday: a home visit from CPS
- Friday: play therapy and a home visit from the girls' attorney
Throw in visits from CASA, speech therapy, occupational therapy, preschool and all the paperwork, and it becomes a full-time job.
And, not only does fostering dominate our schedule, but it also dominates my thought-life.
"Am I getting them the interventions they need?"
"Where is their mom? Should I start calling hospitals?"
"How much should I push for their best, and how much should I permit their worst?"
"How do I keep them healthy without constant food battles?"
"How can I help heal them when there is so much unknown?"
"Is this four-year-old behavior, or is this trauma behavior?"
"What is our life going to look like in three months?"
To be honest, I feel like I'm drowning -- I was a confident swimmer until I decided to land myself in the middle of a typhoon. And all arenas of my life are sinking too. I'm less available to my forever kiddos, I'm less prepared as a home school mom, I'm less stable as a wife (ha!), I'm less committed in my ministries, I'm less diligent in other responsibilities, I'm less present in my friendships and I have less bandwidth to love/serve outside our home.
I want to quit.
But God won't let me quit.
As much as I want to be frustrated at God for keeping me in a place that feels so hard and thankless and desperate, God keeps being near and kind.
I've been reading The Chronicles of Narnia out loud to Phoenix at night. A month ago, when we were still in 'The Magician's Nephew,' I could barely finish reading because my eyes and voice were brimming with tears. Digory, the main character, is standing before Aslan, the creator and leader of Narnia. A series of unwise mistakes have caused Digory to bring with him a person of great evil into the fledgling world. Aslan is giving Digory a task to help save/protect the land, but Digory is distracted with worry about his mother, who is dying at home.
"'But please, please -- won't you -- can't you give me something that will cure Mother?' Up till then he had been looking at the Lion's great feet and the huge claws upon them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion's eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself."
Aslan doesn't instantly heal Digory's mother, nor does he release him from the task at hand. Digory is expected to carry his own pain forward into obedience. But Aslan is fully present with him in his pain. While our two girlies surely carry the greatest sadness in this season, I have my own legitimate grief. But (wonder of wonders) my roaring lion of a God is bent near to me, shedding tears on my behalf.
Over breakfast, we read a Bible story to our kiddos, and then a page from Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing. The other morning, I read this (which references the illustration above):
"God's Spirit is called the 'Comforter.' Does it make you think of a nice comfy quilt - all cozy and warm? Oh dear.
In the Bayeux tapestry of 1066, there's a knight on a horse and the caption reads: 'Bishop Odo comforts his troops.'Is Bishop Odo giving them nice fluffy quilts? No. Look! He's prodding them from behind with a stick! NOT comfy.
But Odo is spurring them on, encouraging them, urging them to keep going and not give up. Because comfort in the Bible doesn't mean 'to make comfy.' It means 'to send help.'
When we want to give up, when we are afraid, God sends his spirit - the Comforter - to make us strong, to give us courage, to lift us up."
My latent desires for a predictable, comfortable life are being beaten out of me by the fostering process. God doesn't comfort me with retreat or rest, no matter how much I beg for relief. Instead, God is asking me to lean into the pain, to put aside self-preservation, to trust God with my family and to keep pushing Kingdom lines forward.
I have the wine of divine tears and the bread of divine encouragement as sustenance for the journey. Those traveling mercies are yours too, whether you happen to be on the same road or have your own path of exhausting obedience.
