We don’t always get a happy ending. Not in this life, anyway. As a matter of fact, sometimes it feels like I spend an awful lot of time kneeling on the floor, hands outstretched, tears pouring down my face, crying out to God:
It’s a combination of hurt and anger.
I am stubborn. So stubborn. I always have been. As a grownup, one of the things I’ve had to work on is to not be difficult just for the sake of being difficult. As a kid, I got in more trouble than I can even describe for the rebellion that tends to shoot right out of my eyes. I don’t like to be wrong. I will pound my fist on every closed door. And I don’t do things by halves. I am an all-or-nothing person. With that insight into my personality, I can now tell you something about the thoughts that are swirling through my head right now.
I’ve posted before about my youngest sister–how having her in my life has opened my heart to the idea of foster care and adoption. How I begged my parents not to pursue foster care and how my perspective radically changed. I posted just over a month ago about finalizing the adoption process for Gracie and the emotions that overflowed out of my heart.
And now the emotions are overflowing out of my heart again, but for a much less positive reason.
For the past seven months, we have fostered Gracie’s biological sister. And that’s only because God gave my mom (my seriously amazing mom) the courage to speak up for this baby girl’s life. And because my mom doesn’t do things by halves either, there was no stopping to think, no saying “Let me talk to my husband about this,” nothing like that. There was only “We will adopt the baby.” There was no time to do anything else. She told my dad later that day. And in that situation, there could not have been a more appropriate response.
“We will adopt the baby.”
And they took the baby straight from the hospital. But things did not play out the way we expected.
Who can blame a mother for fighting for her child? And yet, we worry. Babygirl leaves our care this week.
I find myself looking out the window at the Greenville rain–my goodness, what appropriate weather–and asking God why.
It is not a screaming, crying, angry why. I no longer have the energy for that. It is a why that feels weary and defeated. A why that is tired. Worn out. A why that feels like it has been over-used in the last year.
If there’s one thing that frustrates me most in this life, it’s the fact that we don’t always get to see why. We don’t always get to see the way the story ends. And all things are supposed to work out for our good, right? The trouble is, it doesn’t always feel good.
I want to know why God would put my mom in the position to advocate for this precious baby girl, place her into our care for seven months, and then have her taken away. I want to know why we have to watch Gracie try to process this before age two when it’s something that we grownups can’t even process–and it’s clear that Gracie is going to miss her baby sister. That’s what hurts me the most. That’s what makes me the most angry.
I hate that we live in a fallen world where kids have to suffer because of the choices that adults make. I hate that the foster care system is so broken. I know I act like I don’t care about anything, but I actually care about…everything. Especially when it comes to my family. I would move mountains for the people I care about. I hate being in a situation where I can do literally nothing that will help.
So here I am, hands outstretched, begging God for answers. I know He has them, whether He chooses to reveal them in my lifetime or not. He has a plan for this darling baby girl. I believe that. I really do. I have to.
And as much as it hurts, there’s something beautiful and wonderful about clinging to God’s sovereignty and love–not for myself, but for someone I love.