Waiting for the Promise

Can I be honest for a second, friends?  I really want to be done with foster care.

Like really, really.

It is, hands down, the most exhausting work I’ve ever done.

It’s frustrating and all-consuming and—yes, I’m just gonna say it: expensive.

It’s all of the responsibilities of parenthood (and then some—hello CASA worker who doesn’t show up and neglects to call and let me know) and none of the rights (hello running all around the city to get the signatures required for the medical equipment that a child needed hours ago).

It’s thankless.  I know I am not a hero, but I deserve to be treated with a bit of professionalism.  Even when I am bothering you for the hundredth time.

Because, I promise, I am not bothering you for the fun of it.

Last year, I asked Jesus to be done with foster care.

The answer was “one thing.”

And, sitting at his feet, I answered a call and let another Little One into my heart—and my home.

This year, I don’t even have to ask.

There is one reason that I will jump through all of the hoops to stay licensed.


One little bundle asleep in the other room.

Do not leave Jerusalem,

he told them.

Stay here.  Wait here.         

For the gift my Father promised.

I am exhausted and frustrated and overwhelmed.

I hate waiting.

But I know this word is for me too.

I will stay.  I will wait.

The promise is not that this story will end the way I hope,

But that the Holy Spirit will come in power.

Supernatural, undeniable power.

I know I am not done yet.

And so I will sit my stubborn self down at his feet again.

And I will wait.

My hope in the system fades.

But my hope in the promise?

That is as bright as ever.

6 thoughts on “Waiting for the Promise

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