I was not raised in a church-going home. My attendance at my hometown Baptist church was a result of accompanying my heartbroken grandmother, who was recovering from my grandfather's infidelity and abandonment after 39 years of marriage. I rode to church with her as she cried both directions and it was there in the midst of utter brokenness that I was introduced to Jesus.
Through middle school and high school, I was surrounded by adults whose fingerprints are all over my adult life and faith. My testimony led to decades of youth ministry involvement, ultimately leading to my becoming a foster parent and advocating not only for the children in the system and those caring for them, but also for their biological parents. I am deeply moved by redemptive stories.
In the last year, although we have backed off from consistent foster parenting due to travel, we have had one elementary-aged girl for respite care seven times as she has lived in five different foster homes. (It is easy to feel outraged when you read the headlines of her story but the details make it extremely complex.) Last week the agency called and asked if we were available for an 8th time.
As I processed the request and wept over her story, I "just so happened" to have an appointment at work with an older pastor who recently moved to our town and wanted to start a ministry for at-risk youth. I shared about my heartbreak over this child. He stopped and prayed. When he finished, he looked me in the eyes and said, "God keeps bringing this child back because in healing her, he is healing something in you—let Him do the work."
A few days later, I found myself at a church service I had never attended with a guest pastor who had grown up in foster care. As the young man shared his story I realized I knew him--our paths had briefly crossed when his sister was in a group home where I had served 16 years ago. He had my attention as he shared from Mark 4: 32-41 when Jesus calmed the storm.
It was then he realized that trusting Jesus must be about who He is, not just what He can do. The speaker used a metaphor I haven’t been able to shake since–Jesus is more of a midwife than an epidural and He calls us to do the same. The presence of a person is often more powerful than numbing the pain. We can confidently stand by someone enduring great hardship if we have the faith and hope that what it is producing is worth the suffering.
As I often do with passages that have grown familiar, I cross-referenced Eugene Peterson' Message translation and Jesus' words to the disciples on the boat in verse 40 struck me to my core: “The wind ran out of breath; the sea became smooth as glass. Jesus reprimanded the disciples: 'Why are you such cowards? Don’t you have any faith at all?'”
When life tempts us to pay more attention to the circumstances than the character of God, we must refocus on what we know to be true. My tendency is to use my life experience to predict an ending, but we serve a God Paul described in Ephesians 3:36 “able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” HOW? “By His power at work within us.”
While pondering all of this I opened Paul David Tripp's Everyday Gospel devotion for January 20 and read these words: "The Bible is essentially a grand origin-to-destiny narrative. It's God's story...one big theme holds together all the different parts of the Bible and all its different genres of literature...redemption."
Tripp goes on to remind us that in all the stories of Scripture--and all the ones we witness and experience in our lives--God is demonstrating His power of creation in a myriad of ways. We should be paying attention because these stories aren't just for the people who experience them, they are for us. All these stories are our stories.
And contrary to what 'common sense' would tell me, God's grace reminds me to not write an ending without considering the limitless potential of what He can do.
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