Risky Business

I can't talk openly about our first-born son.  By first-born, I mean the very first one I held in my arms, the first one I fed at 3am, the first one to sleep in our nursery. By son, I mean the one who carries our hearts, but still not our last name.  

He is still in the foster care system, his future yet to be determined. He has been with us since almost the very beginning of his life.  He must remain anonymous to you, but to us, he is known, and loved, and so very, very wanted. 

I long for the ability to show you his face, the animated expressions he makes, and sweet toddler smile. I pray to be able to just tell you his first name one day. 

There are so many variables, so many unknowns in this world of foster care. 

I thought by now, after many months of waiting, there would be a resolution to his permanency. But not just yet. 

It's been the ultimate lesson in waiting and trust for our whole family, but especially for me. 

Every single piece of his future is in someone else's hands.  We are at the mercy of social workers, judges, and lawyers to decide what is best for his future. 

Though we know him better than anyone, our opinion matters the least. 

There is nothing for me to control or manipulate.  I can't provide the solution or make things progress any faster.  

It's a beautifully freeing and terrifyingly unknown place to be. 

I am forced to completely cling to the promises of God. . . that He is Holy and Just and Merciful and Loving and Righteous. . . just to name a few. 

This foster care journey has deepened and stretched my theology.  I've wrestled with logic and reason and faith.  I've questioned motives and sovereignty and the goodness of God. 

I've come to this. 

If I truly believe that God is who He says He is. . .

Then. . .

I absolutely have to trust that God cares about our J-man more than I do. 

I have to trust the God is good.  No matter the outcome. 

I have to believe that J-man will be cared for well, even it's it not by our family. 

I have to believe that God is weaving a beautiful story for him.  Even if it's written differently than I would have imagined.  

These are not trite statements. They are the culmination of a heart that has wrestled tirelessly with God. I think about them EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. 

These are words that carry the weight of potential loss, shattered dreams, and unconditional love. It is the unclenching of my fists, releasing this child fully into the hands of the One who is writing his Story. 

I'm choosing to trust, to hand over all of my hopes and anxiety and doubt, because I've seen what God can do.

He's healed my broken heart. 

He's turned what was meant for evil, for good. 

He's mended relationships. 

He's protected and comforted. 

He's answered every single prayer.  In His way and in His timing. 

Friends, choosing to trust God with our unknowns, with our heartbreak, with our broken dreams, with our children, with our spouses, with our finances, and with everything is risky business. 

It's in the risk, where we have everything to lose, that God meets us.  It's in our tears, those heaving cries, where He comforts.  It's in the release, where we finally let go of every plan and every detail, that He becomes real. 

In the messy, the broken, and the painful parts of our lives, He can be trusted.  In the silence and the darkness, He is there.  

He is faithful in His promises and unchanging in His character. 

To those of you who are hurting, waiting, lonely, or tired. . . you aren't alone.  Let's cling to His promises together. 

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, because He who promised is faithful." 

 Hebrews 10:23