What is fostering all about?
The desire to see kids thrive.
A passionate hatred of injustice and trauma.
Proving yourself over and over again to someone who is so full of fear they can’t see the good you’re holding out at first… or at second… or at third or fourth or fifth.
Meeting needs, preempting needs, second guessing needs – and wishing they’d dare to ask, dare to let you see what they need, dare to believe you’re good and you want to help.
Laying down boundaries, being bad cop, imposing structure and routine and safety.
Patience (often in a very impatient person).
Above all – hanging on in there. Just hanging on. By your fingernails… in hope, without much hope, on borrowed hope, on others’ prayers. Gritting your teeth and hanging on.
It struck me today as I listened to Jesus’ final words to the disciples in John 14-15 that his mission wasn’t so different.
Just listen to what he says:
Don’t be afraid
Trust
You’re asking, How can we know?
Believe me… at least believe on the evidence of what I’m doing
You may ask me for anything…
Keep my commands
You will realise!
Grow in love… you will be loved, you will see me
Be pruned to become even more fruitful
Remain. Remain here, with me.
You’re not meant to do this on your own.
Abide.
I love that little word, abide. I’ve thought about it a lot over the last few years. It means so many things.
Abide means remain. It means don’t take action, don’t change things, don’t take control. It means let someone else be in charge, while you simply stay. You may not know what they’re doing, but resist the urge to get up and take over. Let time pass. Wait and watch and trust you’ll see.
Boy is that hard! Hanh found it so hard he couldn’t do it; he let the traffickers pick him back up again and lost all that was on offer for him. Ella couldn’t do it either; and having decided she needed to move on, she couldn’t let the social workers find her a place either but went around our friends asking if they would take her in. They couldn’t abide – and their ensuing decisions really hurt them.
Aren’t we a lot like them?
Is your Daddy asking you now to simply remain? Oh, that we would trust him, remember who is the Lord Almighty and who is just a sheep, and sit tight!
Abide means rest. It means you’re held. You’re not meant to be in charge, you’re not meant to know what’s going on, you’re not meant to be planning for tomorrow. You’re meant to be the child, the sheep, the beloved. It means that your Daddy knows what you need, and that includes the need to let it all go, to lie secure, to know that your lack of control is the space in which his provision is seen, his love made manifest, his glory revealed.
It sounds amazing… but this is hard too. Harmony never managed to rest. She carried a window key on her person at all times, so she knew there was an escape route if she needed it. Control was her weapon. She watched me like a hawk; she knew if I’d had a broken night’s sleep or was worried about a friend or wasn’t sure how to respond – and the latter was a red rag to a bull as she took up the reigns. She battled me on routines, on wearing her seatbelt, on bed time, on energy drinks, on giving her more freedom – despite being terrified of having to actually fend for herself again.
Aren’t we a lot like her?
Is your Daddy asking you now to simply rest? Oh that we would trust him, and let go of our lesser plans, remember who is the Almighty Creator and who is just a creature, and relax!
Abide means grit. It means that when things are tough, we get tough. It means a steely determination to cling to the certain promises of a faithful God, and not let go. The world may flash its glitter before us, or question what our Father said, but our gaze is unwavering. To who else would we go? – our Daddy has the words of eternal life, and whatever today looks like, he is in still Lord, he is still working good, and we will not, will not, will not let go.
He has to work so hard to wean our grip from the glitter and the empty words of a world that’s let us down again and again… Like Holly, who came back from therapy with a big fake smile plastered over her face and hid herself in her room and found any implement that would let her cut her pain into her own legs. She had grit for sure; she knew how to cling on, but she was clinging to a terrible counterfeit, to self-inflicted pain to relieve the torment of a mind that just didn’t understand what had happened to her.
Aren’t we a lot like her?
Is your Daddy asking you now to simply grit – to grit your teeth, to grit your grip, and cling to him? Oh that we would trust him, and throw aside the counterfeit saviours, and stake all our hope on him, to remember that no word he’s spoken has ever failed, and bet everything we are on his great faithfulness.
Abide means wait. Oh but we hate waiting! It means accepting that someone else controls the timing, that they know the what and when and that we don’t; and that they know better than us when the best time is. It means letting go, going with the flow, accepting there may be other goods, other gifts, other blessings our hands need to be able to receive before the one we’ve set our heart on. And that they may come in surprising packaging; through illness or weakness or setback or trial.
None of my kids could wait. Ella needed to go through the calendar for the week ahead several times each evening – which isn’t actually so different from my obsession with things being planned. Mia threatened she’d shoplift or start a fight or scream at a passerby to get me to leave the supermarket more quickly – maybe just a wilder version of my impatience with a slow queue or hesitant driver. And Kayleigh at the dentist was a sight to behold… she’d stand on the table, lie on the floor, throw the kids’ toys around, flit from one app to another on her ipad, try to leave, start games and rip them up – embarrassingly quite similar to the way I can’t settle to one task when I’m feeling anxious.
Clearly we’re a lot like them…
Is your Daddy asking you to simply wait? Oh that we’d trust him, and understand that time is in his hands… that he’s Alpha and Omega, Beginning and End; that all our days are in his book; that he created every second, every breath, every heartbeat, and we’re just a breath, just dust. Dust he loves.
Abide means persevere. It means getting up again and doing another day; the same old tasks, same old routines, same old people and places. It means being faithful, keeping my word, showing up on time, whether I have much hope in the outcomes or not. It means sticking at it, recognising that my judgement of whether this is worth it is not the point.
The kids have had amazing levels of perseverance. Unfortunately they’ve persevered in activities that weren’t ultimately going to help them. Hanh maintained his pretense of having no English. Holly kept cutting her legs. Kayleigh picked fights with every kid who would rise to her taunting. Ella maintained she was fine, even when the tear tracks were fresh on her cheeks and her smile was worse than wobbly.
We’re a lot like this too, right?
Is your Daddy asking you to persevere – to keep going, to be faithful – and to direct your perseverance at the better things? Oh that we’d trust him, and see the well worn ruts of our habitual bad choices for the dead ends they really are – and commit instead to the better ways, the roads that lead to life, and to the long slow walk in the right direction: towards him and his perfect freedom.
Abide means quiet myself. It means doubting my doubts, putting a lid on my internal clamour, shushing the inner critic, and breathing deep. It means accepting that my voice – or my voices – aren’t the ones I need to hear the most, that there is a deeper truth if I can just tune out myself and tune into him.
Quiet is one thing the kids hated. My phone’s playlists have been forever ruined by the demands to play chart rubbish – UK or Vietnamese – and always at top volume. Ella had no idea the TV was blaring. Hanh’s insomnia DVDs could have woken half the street. And Harmony’s headphones were used as a weapon against me – she literally couldn’t hear a thing I was saying.
Don’t we do this one too?
Is your Daddy asking you to quiet yourself – to turn down all the voices in your head, all the babble you use to distract yourself, and just listen to him? Oh that we’d trust him, and would turn it down, and step away from the noise and entertainment and lies and distraction… and hear instead his still small voice of truth.
Abide means be joined. It means admitting I’m not self sufficient, and holding out my hands for my Daddy to help. It means letting myself in to my own pain; and letting others in, and letting God in; it means sharing my needs and my dreams, letting who I really am come out into the light.
Hanh worked so hard to stay separate. He wouldn’t eat what I’d cooked him until it was cold, without showing any appreciation. He sat with his back to me, and shouted at his games, or the news, or whatever he was watching, without sharing what it was. He walked ahead of me – or behind; he kept his headphones in; he went off for walks on his own. His was a study in fierce independence. And it worked – I didn’t get to know him, I couldn’t see what help he needed, I didn’t become his friend.
Just like us.
Is your Daddy asking you to be joined – to show him your real self, to live in connection with him, and to become truly known among his people? Oh that we’d trust him, and step out beyond the fear, and open up our clenched hard little hearts, admit our need, share our joys, live in interconnectivity.
Abide means hope. It means lifting our eyes to the glory we will regain, filling our souls with the joy to come, and fueling the battle through now with the victory of not yet. It means believing what we don’t yet see, because he who promised is faithful. It means meeting the darkness that presses in on every side with the light that is to come; the light that the darkness can never overcome.
The kids had learned that hope in anything external always let them down. And so Abbie fought to prove her strength, and Harmony excelled at sport to prove her worth, and Ella shared her sweets to prove her good heart. None of them could put down their weapons for none of them expected good things to come. Not unless they fought for them.
Aren’t we like that too?
Is your Daddy asking you to hope – to face the dark with eyes wide open, and to see beyond it to the glory yet to be revealed? Oh that we’d trust him, and put down our weapons and step away from the fight, and lift our heads, and see what is coming: the goodness he has prepared for us, the works he is doing on our behalf, the joy and freedom and glory that we will enjoy with him forever.
Commentaires