A month ago, I wrote about accepting my limitations. I began understanding on a completely new level the desperation of my weakness and need for Jesus in the context of our first experience on our foster care journey. Little did I know that 10 days later, our children would be ripped from our home with an hour's notice. I won't go into the details of everything here, because it's not appropriate or honoring to everyone who is involved. But I will say that day and those that followed were the darkest we have walked through together thus far, and the turbulence of the last few months has been extremely difficult.
It's interesting, because when you're called by God to do something, you're undergirded by a strength not your own. You are given supernatural ability to do things you wouldn't normally do and say things you wouldn't normally say. That's what this summer was for us. Nothing was magical or mystical. Most of the time it wasn't fun at all. It was actually hard work and mostly unseen. But our Heavenly Father, who knows and sees everything, simply guided, held, protected, and loved us as we woke up each morning and chose to do the next right thing.
Looking back, I can see God's merciful hand in every little detail of our situation. I can see how He protected us and our kids and ordained every step. All through the summer, we held on to the truth of seasons. We asked that He help us to do what we could for as long as we could with our kids and to open and close doors as He saw fit. And He did.
So now what? How do we process the intensity of a tumultuous season? Personally, I feel like the last three months are now just beginning to register and manifest in my physiological makeup. When you're in survival mode for a sustained period of time, you don't even realize it. And when the desperate need to just make it through each minute, hour, and day is gone, your body is released to deal with all that just happened. Practically, that means I have been really tired, friends. Like pajamas on when I get home from work and lights out at 9:30 tired. And that's ok. I've also really wanted to eat a lot of chips and salsa/guac and chocolate, but that's not entirely out of the ordinary.
The temptation is for me to think "I just wasn't enough." That's the lie my heart prefers whenever things in life get too difficult for me to endure - "I'm not enough." And while there is some truth to that - I am not enough for anyone because I am not Jesus - it quickly and easily sinks into a shame fest for me. I begin to mentally covet and compare and compete, and we all know that doesn't lead anywhere that is life-giving.
So here's what I'm trying to do - embrace the fact that I'm not enough. Because while my enemy likes to taunt me with the thought and make me think I am less than, my Savior invites me to rest in Him and boast in my weakness. I read somewhere on Instagram from a fellow foster mama that this thought is kind of the crux of foster care, at least within a Christian context. I am absolutely never going to be enough for any child God decides to place within my home - through childbirth, foster care, or adoption. I will never be enough for my littles who have walked through trauma and have deep wounds. I will never be enough for the biological kiddos I know God is going to give us one day. I will never be enough. And that is ok. Because my Jesus? He is enough.
His outstretched arms on the cross are enough to embrace each one of us, right where we are. His nail-pierced hands are enough to wipe every tear from our eyes. And His resurrection proves that there is absolutely nothing and no one that is too hard, too far gone, or too messed up for Him. Because His love literally brings the dead to life. And knowing that is enough for me to keep saying yes to each step of this crazy wonderful adventure He allows me to live with Him.