Her eyes were wide as I opened my trunk lid. The van was filled to the roof with Christmas presents – toys for the kids, new pillows and blankets, groceries, and a few nice things for mom too. She stood still, as if she was afraid to believe it was all for them – for her little family.
My mind flashed to the day in clinic when another family caught my attention. They were part of a small Bible study group and wanted to take on a family for Christmas. Wanted to provide for someone who didn’t have much. I agreed to watch out for the right opportunity, and within 24 hours I had found a match. A single mom who had arm-wrestled a meth addiction. Who had lost everything – her kids, her job, her home – but who along the way had found herself. Had scratched and clawed to become a mom again. But it wasn’t easy, and the full-time job she held barely paid the bills. There wasn’t much left over for Christmas.
Until she crashed headlong into a small Bible study group.
It took 18 trips up the apartment stairs to carry everything in. The little Christmas tree could barely be seen. The living room floor was half-covered. And in the middle of the mess, I held onto a sobbing, sweet, beautiful mom who experienced, maybe for the very first time in her life, grace and love that were extravagant.
Who will you love extravagantly?
“Mostly what God does is love you. Keep company with Him and learn a life of love. Observe how Christ loved us. His love was not cautious but extravagant…Love like that.” Ephesians 5:2 (MSG)
He was a big man, with a full beard and broad shoulders and calloused hands that looked like they knew a good day’s work. He didn’t say much, just listened to my questions and nodded as his wife supplied the answers. “We think he was born on time, and he seems pretty healthy, but we don’t know much else. We heard that his mom was very young, and that she wasn’t in a very good position to take care of him.” This baby was lucky, moving from the hospital straight to their home. I knew that a half dozen other newborns were laying in the foster shelter as we spoke, waiting for a place to go.
He edged closer to the table, watching my every move as I examined the infant, as if he was concerned I might miss something or be too rough. Only when the boy was wrapped snug in a blanket and back in the safety of his wife’s arms did he relax a little. “How long have you been foster parents?” I asked. “Four years,” he answered. “Seven kids. I miss them all. I wonder what they will grow up to be. If somehow I was able to have an impact on them. Never knew I could love someone else’s child like that.”
It is a special thing to be a dad. But it is a divine calling to be the dad of someone else’s child. A holy opportunity. Are you up for it?
…an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because He will save people from their sins” … when Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him. Matthew 1:20-24 (NIV)
It had been two years since our first encounter, when she came to foster care as a victim of years of sexual abuse by a close family member. My mind flashed back to that day, to that kid. To the anger, fear, and depression, the desire to leave this world far behind, with no hope at all that the next would be any better. Flashed back to the fresh carving on her stomach.
“Worthless”
The sound of a baby crying in the next room snapped my attention back to the present. To the confident, half-smiling young lady sitting on my exam table. “I remember you from when I was here before,” she said. She was so different. I was speechless, didn’t know what to say or how to even ask what the difference was, so I stalled. Listened to her heartbeat, looked in her ears, that sort of thing. Finally, the words came.
“How are you doing? Or maybe the real question I want answered is how are you doing so well?”
She smiled even wider, and told me about the family that had taken care of her after she left the shelter. How they had treated her like one of their own kids. Had taught her about family and trust and relationships and value. Her answer to my question?
“I have been with someone who loves me.” 
Simple. Powerful. Life-changing.
Will someone say that about you or me? That being in OUR presence meant that they were with someone who loved them? I hope so. With all my heart, I hope so.
She sat quietly, blinking away tears, as she read again the mother’s day poem. Next to her lay a stack of construction paper cards and colorful trinkets made by her kids to honor the day. But this gift - it was different. It was straight from the heart of her daughter.
Her mind drifted back four years to the day the girl came to live in their home. They had interacted at the occasional family gathering, but this was a whole new kind of relationship. The nearly 13 year-old brought very few physical possessions, but the emotional baggage that tagged along could have filled up the house.
Abuse. Brokenness. Anger. Sadness. Distrust. Rage.
There had been many good days, that was sure. But many struggles as well. Often the relationship between the two was like being beaten by the wind and rain of a hurricane. Yet somehow they struggled together against the storm – held on to each other.
Survived. Cared. Healed. Redeemed. Loved.
The storm isn’t over, but on Mother’s Day, they were able to rest for a little while. As words from a chosen daughter filled the heart of an adoptive mom.
You
You pulled me
Out of the
Dark
You saved me
From could’ve
Beens
You’ve been
Here with me
Through
Good and bad
Thick and thin
And
Haven’t given up
You’re strong
When I’m weak
You’re peaceful
When I’m out of
Control
You’re my mom
My role-model
And my hero
I love you and
I wanna be
Just like you!
I love you mom
So I have this friend. Actually we have only been friends for a few months. But it turns out that we have something unusual in common. We both love foster kids, but that isn’t the uncommon part. What sets my friend apart is that she loves the birth parent of her foster kids. In case you blew past that, let me say it again.
She loves the birth parent of her foster kids.
She believes that she is called to do that – to create opportunities for a mom that has never had anything. To offer relationship that doesn’t have strings attached. Her husband believes it too. And her friends are starting to. In fact, she is rounding up a whole army of people who are willing to go deep with her.
To get dirty. To work hard. To hurt. To get frustrated. To pray. To encourage. To support. To hope. And most of all? To love.
It’s really what we should be about.
For in Christ, neither our most conscientious religion nor disregard of religion amounts to anything. What matters is something far more interior: faith expressed in love. Galatians 5:6 (MSG)
I pulled a muscle in my back a few days ago. Wish I could say I was doing something exciting, but the truth is, I was just getting out of the car. That’s all. I spent much of the weekend taking handfuls of ibuprofen and trying to find a comfortable position, all the while dealing with the nagging, gnawing pain that was physically and mentally exhausting. While it was present most of the time, occasionally it would let up and for just a second I would forget about the injury. For a very short time. And then when I moved, the pain would come back, worse than ever.
She was 17, and counting the days until her birthday so she could be “out on her own”. She was going to move in with a friend, she told me, and try to get a job, although she had only completed the 9th grade so far, and thought that being employed at a fast food restaurant was her best option. She answered my questions in a somewhat robotic, monotonous voice, and she seemed almost able to predict what the question was before I had asked it. Until I asked about family. Then the robot vanished. Her voice shook, and her eyes filled with pain.
Lots of it.
First in foster care at age 2. Back and forth between the system and home until she was school-age. Parents rights terminated. In several foster homes. Then adopted. Until it got hard. Then back into foster care. Now, almost on her own. But with no hope, no future, no life. Just pain. Chronic, long-standing pain.
Ibuprofen won’t fix that. Only one thing will. Love. Massive, overwhelming, unconditional love. And she hasn’t found that yet.