Broken

In my very limited experience thus far, when we tell people we are foster parents, the responses can typically be categorized into two groups. 

1- “Wow, good for you.” These are the responses that give us great credit for being amazing people, and I try to keep a straight face.  There is nothing amazing about us, save the grace of God.  In fact, at no other time in my life have I been more convinced of my own depravity, brokenness, and ugliness than in this season.  It seems like I felt just barely “good enough” to sneak by in everyday life, but my own devices have truly failed me in these unchartered waters.  Loving someone else’s child, and constantly being reminded that she is not mine, and I am voiceless n the matter…  None of it is by my own strength.  I do this not because I have anything beautiful or good to offer of my own devices.  I am flat on my face and using my own hot mess to live out a tiny piece of the gospel.  And it feels hard and dirty…  I am grateful to be learning more of my need for grace, but let’s not deceive ourselves that it has anything to do with me.

2- “The system is broken.”  These are the responses that reference how ‘”messed up” the kids are, how we are going to get our hearts broken, and how there are always terrible outcomes.  Actually, I’m sure I have used the “the system is broken” phrase myself at one point in time.  I’m finding, though, that no one on the inside uses these words.  It’s a critique at best, an excuse at worst.  A way to keep it all at arms length.  To keep our hands clean.  Trouble is, the gospel is dirty.  Why is it surprising that it’s an imperfect system???  OF COURSE it is.  We are dealing with families, with hearts, with relationships.  These are the most vulnerable, and yet the most important, pieces of our society.  It’s not the system that’s broken, IT’S US.  We are broken, imperfect people.  ALL OF US.  If I am honest with myself, it is only by grace that I am in the role of foster mom and not birth mom.  My flesh wants to keep a distinction, to tell myself that I’m on the other side, that there is something about me that is different or better than “those people.”  But my heart is just as messy as hers.  We have equal need for grace and salvation.  Faced with this, my own depravity, I can’t keep all the messy, difficult parts of life at arms length by discounting them as broken.  The broken places are where we should be, because without Jesus, that is who we are. 

I don’t think it’ a coincidence at all that this week, the week of Easter, we have a really big court date.  In my heart I fear the outcome.  I fear little T going back and what that means for her life.  I see darkness and brokenness.  But no matter which way things go, our God wins.  We know the end of the story.