Give me faith to trust what you say
That you’re good and your love is great.
I stroke Little One’s curls and drink in the lingering aroma of babyhood.
I may be weak, but your Spirit is strong in me.
My flesh may fail. My God you never will.
It’s not our normal lullaby.
That one is all about Love.
But these are the words that come on the harder nights.
When teeth are coming in or dreams are scary
Or who-knows-what-else makes sleep elusive.
I sing it for Little One.
Because, friends, even the “best” foster care stories come with loss.
Big, scary loss.
And, my eyes suddenly cloudy, my voice cracking,
I realize that I sing it for myself too.
I talk a good game.
And I am scared.
Scared of loving and losing.
Scared of not being enough to raise two little humans from hard places.
Let’s go over to the other side, Jesus says to his disciples after a long day of loving people well (Mark 4:35-41).
The disciples’ obedience is tangible.
Jesus invites them over. They hop onto the boat.
You know the rest of the story.
A furious squall.
A sleeping Jesus.
A word that calms the storm.
But I’m stopped in my tracks by the reality this morning that the disciples were right where Jesus asked them to be.
Their faith wasn’t tested because they were being disobedient.
If they had stayed on shore, they may well have missed the furious squall altogether.
But they didn’t.
Because they followed Jesus onto the boat.
My “call” to foster care was inescapable.
I pleaded to be done.
Jesus told me “one thing.”
And here I am holding another Little One who will only quiet to my song.
Let this be a heart exhale, friends.
If you too are scared.
If you are facing a furious squall.
It doesn’t mean you’re in the wrong place.
It may well be because you followed Jesus onto the boat.
Let’s go over together.