Here's a Story.....

Faith journeys are hard. 

I do love the ones that are relatively neat and tidy.  Maybe a red ribbon tied around it just for kicks.  Yah..those are the good ones.

But I don't like the hard ones.  The ones that are so difficult of a road to even step out on, and the process is painful and achy and just all-around a miserable experience.  And those are just the ones that have an ending that my pea-sized brain can fathom.  I really don't like the ones that are just hard and painful, and that leave me wallowing in a puddle of confusion.

Don't get me wrong.  I love the sovereignty of our Maker.  It's actually one of the things I love most about Him (if we're even allowed to "pick favorites").  I love that His plan is bigger than me and bigger than my circle of friends and bigger than my flesh and bones can comprehend.  I really do.  I love it.

But it drives me just a little bit crazy. 
Okay...a lot crazy.

Because I'm a visual kinda gal.  I gotta see it to believe it.  Or to stick with it.  Or to keep on keepin' on.

And God doesn't usually do things my way.  Okay...God rarely does things my way.... Which usually means that I end up on the backside of crazy more days than I'm not.

And backside of crazy is where I sit today.

Because I'm walking a road right now that didn't come with GPS.  And to make things even more interesting, God heaped on blinders, eye patches, ear muffs, and made me leave my seeing-eye-dog at the house.  I'm blind.  Totally walking blind....

And I'm ready to just quit.

To Cliff's Notes an intensely long story, I'll just tell you that for a very long time now (exactly 6 years...but who's counting?) I've felt like my family wasn't complete.  I felt like someone was missing out of our picture.  That there was room for somebody else.  But, the husband was adamant that we were closed for business, and we took measures to close up shop....if you catch my G-rated drift.  And I had to agree with him...somewhat.  My cup was running over.  My blessings were abounding.  But yet....unsettling in my spirit remained. 

Someone was missing.

I sat on my thoughts and masked them behind endless hours at ballfields, homeschooling, and just the upkeep of my sanity.  My cup is running over.  Three is enough. 

Someone was missing.

Then the Lord decided to step in and do His thing.  He used a dear precious friend of mine to shake me into reality and show me the answer for my missing someone. 

It wasn't that we were to have another biological child.  It wasn't even that we were to adopt.

The someone missing was actually a lot of someones.....

After falling on my face before my Jesus in sweet relief, I began the process.  I studied everything I could get my hands on, talked to everyone that knew anything about the matter, and made endless phone calls to begin the process of...

FOSTER PARENTING.

Yes.  This was the stirring in my soul.  I knew with everything in me that I was being called to not only fill my home with that missing someone, but I was being asked by Jesus to take care of His precious children.  I knew that our family could provide love and security and attention to a sweet child that didn't know it could exist.  I knew that we could be Jesus' hands and feet.  And I was elated. 

Sure, I knew it would be hard.  I would have to figure out how to homeschool and deal with a new baby or toddler.  I would have to juggle 4 kids now...not just the 3 that were already causing me to prematurely gray.  And, I would have to be able to handle the horrid task of letting them go when the time was up.  But, I knew that I could do it.  I would have the strength of the Lord behind me, and He would provide the resources that I would need, and the salve for my broken heart.

Another answer to prayer was that the husband and the kids were all for it.  Everyone seemed excited to walk this journey of reaching outside of ourselves to help those in need. 

And then it happened.

The rug was ripped totally and completely out from under me.  I landed hard on my back, and I'm still trying to find a way to hoist myself up.

Kirk and I can't be foster parents.  That's right.  I said "can't."

Because we live in a 3 bedroom home and there isn't adequate square footage in one of the bedrooms to meet state regulations.

Square footage.

We aren't going to get the chance to love on these kids because of square footage.

Square footage.

I keep saying it over and over to myself because it seems so bizarre to me.  Square footage.

So our process has been totally halted.  Our paperwork has been shoved to the bottom pile on a desk somewhere.  And we aren't becoming foster parents.

And I just want to scream.

I know that God is sovereign.  I know that His picture is infinitely massive, and that mine is ridiculously minute.  I get all of that.  But it doesn't take away the confusion and frustration that has come.

Because I feel totally safe and secure in my relationship with Jesus, I've told Him just how frustrated I am.  I've told Him that it's not fair.  I've told Him that I would have rather He had never laid fostering on my heart.  I've told Him that I'd rather go back to feeling the way I was feeling just a few weeks ago....like someone was missing...but that I didn't know who/how/why.  I've told Him that ignorance, in this case, would have been bliss.

Is He preparing our family for the future?
Was He testing our willingness to be obedient?
Is He laying groundwork for something that is just over the horizon?

I.Have.No.Idea.

But I'm tired.  And I'm hurt.  And I'm confused.
And now I find myself grieving for all of those precious babies that I'm supposed to be rocking and loving on.

I love the Sovereignty of God.  My God that will not be bound by regulations or contained by checklists or...

squashed by square footage.