I waited with them, the little one on my lap, my nine year old in the chair, and Jalah with her nose to the door anxiously anticipating the arrival of her sisters and brothers who she hasn’t seen in weeks. They were separated from their family and taken one by one from her all day long before she got to me. She was so excited to see them! When they burst through the door the reunion joy exploded as they all hugged each other and talking at once began to attempt to fill each other in on their time apart. The baby lunged for his brother and just snuggled him in relief. It was clear, no matter their ages that they had worried about each other and their love was evident. The limited visit lasted just over an hour and a half before the time came to say goodbye. I have never witnessed anything ,in real life, that traumatic and heartbreaking. First, the hugging and sobbing and picture taking, followed by begging across the parking lot for just a little more time. When we finally were strapped into the car Jalah’s greaf had given way to anger and despair and she screamed for her mother and kicked and threw herself back against the seat. She didn’t even see her mother, but the trauma of being separated from her siblings again brings it all back to the surface.
Have you ever been in a situation that seemed absolutely hopeless and the only viable option you are given does not make sense, seems complety distainful, or just absolutely out of the question? This is where these kids are. This is where we, as foster parents, are. It seems ludacris to continue in this system where kids are separated from parents who have neglected, abused, or sat back and watched as someone else did this to them. Then for us to take them in against their will and begin to help, then rip the bandaide off with visits just when they are beginning to heal. We are pouring everything into these kids who don’t even want us. I don’t know how to reconcile this in my mind. It is an impossible situation.
I woke up this morning thinking about this and immediately my mind wandered to the story of Naman in the bible. He was wealthy, respected, married, and served. Then he was stricken with lepperousy. Everything he knew and loved was probably going to be taken from him. The only help that came his way was the advice from the prophet of God to dip into the dirty Jordan river seven times. Not the solution he was looking for.
This was not what I signed up for when the overwhelming desire to grow our family came upon us. When we began to follow the Lord on this journey, I didn’t see this coming. Now that it is here, so many times I look forward with fear to the future and what we are doing now just seems barbaric. What they have gone through, what we are doing for them, what we are doing to ourselves in order to be there for them seems insane. An aquaintence of mine, when she found out what we were doing, asked me why we would do that to ourselves. I didn’t know how to respond. Now I do.
We are bathing in the Jordan. It doesn’t make sense–unless you know God’s hand and call on your life. It is barbaric–unless you can see the value of rescuing these kids whether they see it as a rescue or not.
Bathing in the Jordan was not the solution to Naman’s problem. Overcoming the uncomfortable nature of someone of his “stature” getting into that water was not the point. The point was submission without understanding. The point was trusting God,not self, and acting against the fear and disgust. Choosing to move forward and trust God for the result. And look what happend–Naman’s health was restored. But it didn’t happen after the first dunk or the second or the third. It happened when his obedience was complete. Then came the miracle and the healing.
I don’t know how many times God has asked us to “dunk”. I feel like I spent a good deal under the water just today. But I am choosing to keep on “dunking” until the healing comes and we know the end result. For me, my husband, and children (how ever many God gives us or for how long)