Visit days are horrible. I’m just going to get that out right in the open. This weekend my husband and I had to drop our little guy (who has now been in our home for over a year.) two hours one way for a two night overnight visit. Needless to say our hearts break more and more with every mile and every time our little guy says “Are we going home together?” or “I don’t want to leave.”
What’s that saying about living in a glass house? Basically don’t throw rocks. God has called my husband and I to glass house living.
“But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him?” 1 John 3:17
It’s easy to pull our car into the garage at the end of a long day, close up the doors of our houses and the windows of our souls to see the plight and the pain of children in need. But you can’t hide inside a glass house.
That’s why my marriage needs foster care. Because every time I watch my husband pick up a stone without fear, only perfect love, and willingly smash his already broken heart for the sake of a child not his own I fall deeper in love with him.
“…God is greater than our heart, and he knows everything.” 1 John 3:20b
When we were dating my husband-to-be’s simple and seemingly passive “If it’s God’s will we will then that’s what we’ll do” statement used to make me crazy! I am fiery and impulsive and emotional. I love big and fall hard suddenly unable to bear the weight of what we’ve been called to do. My husband models a much more perfected love when he comes alongside me and helps me lift yet another stone, smashing the transparent home of obedience. Together, because of foster care, our love is more perfected.
I won’t ever forget the first moment Husband and I wondered if we had gotten in over our heads. We were trying to get our little guy out the door for a parent visit and he was NOT having any of it. All 30 pounds of neglect, trauma, and abandonment were aimed at me and it was quite the battle. He was still in his pj’s, and refused to wear shoes either. Thirteen stairs from the apartment to the ground, I carried his angry self, legs kicking and arms flying. Finally buckled in his seat I closed the door hoping he would wear himself out and stop screaming by time we had to get in the car. Husband and I exchanged somber glances that said: “Did we volunteer for this?”
No we didn’t. We were called to this. You learn to live with a glass-shard heart. Because that kind of heart can love like Jesus loves.