This sucks.

Post from http://www.fosterthefamilyblog.com/foster-the-family-blog-1/this-sucks

By Jamie C. 

This sucks. That’s what I’ve been saying over and over, all afternoon. This sucks. This sucks. This sucks.

Baby boy just left. Forever. I had a half hour’s notice.

Yeah, technically, she told me a month ago that he’d be leaving in a week or two. And then, a week or two or three or almost four came and went. And then the supervisor explained the evaluations and the services and the reality that, maybe, in fact, he wouldn’t be leaving at all. And then, I kind of stopped believing it would happen. And then, and then, she called and said: “I’ll be there to get him in a half hour.” This sucks.

I’m not even home. I’m supposed to be teaching the Chronicles of Narnia to a bunch of fifth graders, for goodness sake. I don’t have his things. I didn’t print the pictures or write the letter or explain the schedule. I didn’t buy the books or carefully fold the clothing or sniff the blankets as I packed them in the bought-just-for-him suitcase. I don’t have him in my arms (I need him in my arms NOW.). This sucks.

Maybe my “this sucks” mantra sounds un-Christian. Maybe it seems like I’m having a bad attitude, lacking faith, falling short of the trust and joy I should have. But none of this is as it should be. A baby shouldn’t have to be taken from his mother two days after birth. A worker shouldn’t leave just a half hour to say good-bye. A mama like me shouldn’t have her heart broken over and over. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to be like this. This family and this system and this whole-wide-world are broken, broken, broken.

And it doesn’t shock God when I shake my fist at it all. I don’t have to clean up my act and watch my words and wait to approach until I’m all prettied up. I come to Him in my sadness and my anger and my mess. And I plead for grace and perspective and peace and more of Him.

When I say, “This sucks,” and I say it to Him, it’s said like a prayer. A faith-filled acknowledgment that though this isn’t how it should be, He is in it all. A desperate cry that though I feel like I can’t do it anymore, He will give the strength. A held-close conviction that it doesn’t matter how hard, this is worth it. A worn-out and weary statement of faith: I do all of this for You.

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