Why we aren’t counting the days our son was in foster care…

I understand why people do. And I understand it marks redemption for some. I appreciate the pictures of both children adopted and children returning to their birth homes.

Redemption.

We are coming upon the adoption of a certain vandal. But we won’t be posting how many days he was  in foster care… here is why:

 

Every foster to adopt story begins with a horrific tragedy.

 

Actually, I stand by this; every birth into this fallen world began with a horrific tragedy. The tragedy continues. Just as it was in the Garden, the enemy slithers about telling lies and devouring. His primary goal? To separate me from my God.

 

I confess, the boy we are adopting was our first foster placement, and my first question about him was, “is he adoptable?” His case worker answered, “I don’t know Jami, but he’s alone.”

 

I am a coward.

I was afraid.

I was afraid I would get hurt.

I am no hero. I am not perfect. However, I am not a sociopath. If you cut me  I will bleed. I prefer a pedicure, champagne, and Khol’s cash to heartbreak.

I didn’t get into foster care to be martyred or praised, and I don’t want the focus to be lost. It’s not the number of days we loved him or the days we thought he might go.  It is the eternity I thought I had to earn. And it is about the boy who taught me about fearless and perfected love.

 

It doesn’t take a special kind of person to be a foster parent, I know this because I know me.

Somewhere, a clock may have begun to tick as he entered through our front door and another clock ticked away from the moments since he exited from another.

Doors were opened and closed.

Prayers were lifted on his behalf.

Hearts broke.

Loved ones worried.

 

I am grateful to be named his mommy. However, I won’t forget the clock that began to tick as he was knit together by His Heavenly Father in secret in someone else’s womb. Long before any of us among the fallen knew of him his name was written in the Book of Life.

He was created for worship. And of all of those who love him, this boy is loved most by the God of Israel, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. 

Because of this towheaded boy, we have learned about a fearless love, sacrifice, patience and trust. He has increased our borders and expanded our family. We have laughed. We have cried. Our tears are kept safe somewhere in a bottle, time marches on, yet by the blood, no record is kept of our wanderings. Here among the lost and lonely I look for ways to keep track, race ahead, and be more, long after my God assured me He was all I needed and it was finished.

If it is finished why do I continue to mark time?

If He is all I need why do I still profess a fear?

Fear of the future kept us from pursuing foster care sooner.

Fear of the past keeps me in a profound cycle of worry, keeping a tally of things that were less than instead worshipping through it all.

There are many dates we will remember; the first time each of us held him, his birthday, first Christmas, and first steps. Yet of the days he was in foster care we care not to designate. There was no beginning and there will be no end to the days this boy has been planned for, loved, and wanted by the One who calls him son.

No matter what family he legally became a part of he was created by the King of Glory, alas he was born into royalty. Months where he was in utero, morphed into days he was welcomed with joy, celebrated through heartache and prayed over constantly, fervently dedicated to a life in Christ. There will be triumphs in his journey and stumbles and hurts along the way – however, he will be raised knowing Jesus is on the throne.

Of all the days I hope to witness, the only calendar I wish to keep for him is the one where he calls Jesus as his own.

The keeper of the stars, the creator of time, earth and sky; He who keeps no record – knows the plans He has for this boy. His mercies are new, His love unending, and He can name each blonde hair on this baby boy’s head.

 

Age to age He reigns.

I know it is tempting and people are curious, but I will not ask, nor will I  divulge the number of days this boy appeared in earthly  transition, or when his human future was not known.  For my God knows and the people that will champion this boy, both in blood and in name, pray He makes Jesus known – that we each will be reunited for an eternity.

 

Sinless.

Blameless.

Sons and daughters adopted on Calvary.

How much time you ask? Oh, just an eternity in the fostering love and care of the Great I Am.

May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Grace upon Grace, Jami

Ephesians 2:10 (NLT) “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”

You might also like: Real Mom: A Heart Story and Foster Care: Hoping for the Hurt