The first Thursday of every month we meet with a foster/adoptive parent support group. I have waited YEARS for a group like this. Child Bridge has been like a lifeline for not only us, but for families around our community and state. I’ve made friendships there that I could not make anywhere else, with others who get it. Who understand what it’s like to walk in this place.
Tonight we sat ate together then gathered in a circle and watched a short video clip about Hagar. I’m fascinated by her story. The loss. The heartache. The promise of a nation. The first division of the people. The anger that still resonates. And yet, El Roi. The God who sees. He saw her. He called her by name. He heard the cries of her son. He sanctified her story. He redeemed the places of hurt and heartache and loss. He opened her eyes to the well of living water.
We have walked in that wilderness that Hagar wept in. Where the ground is dry and cracked and barren. So often the foster care journey seems just like this. The parent without rights, on both sides of the line. The child crying out in rage, anger, fear or hurt.
“He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land…”
Sometimes it’s hard to let the redeemer redeem. Sometimes it’s hard to step out in faith and know that God’s got it. That we can’t save everyone, and that saving everyone isn’t our job. This week that has been a difficult pill to swallow. My knee-jerk reaction is to rescue. To save. To pull every one in and it is hard to say no when you know there are children who need a home. But sometimes saving is releasing.
I entered this journey hoping to find a family. I’ve found that and more. More joy and more sorrow than I had imagined. I’ve learned so much too and have been refined in ways I never knew possible. The God who sees has seen me, as he saw Hagar and Sarah. He’s heard my cries and the cries of my children. He has offered us a well and an opportunity to rebuild. He brings us people to come along side us. To laugh with us. To cry with us. To hold us when there are no words. He breaks our heart wide open, so that he can mend it with love. He sees. He calls. He redeems.