I hated it

I was twenty-two when we first brought them home. I hated it. I didn’t like little hands knocking on my window at 5 am, and I certainly didn’t like loud voices waking me up arguing in the middle of the night. I didn’t like all the time that I felt obligated to spend with them, and I really detested all the time I spent giving out punishments. I didn’t like the constant fear gripping me that one was going to run away and we were going to fail. I hated even more thinking about how much it would hurt me if they left, because I loved them. I didn’t like how tormented I was replaying conversations with critics and voices of scorn in my head. I didn’t like the pressure I felt to perform well. I hated how stuck I felt. 

The thing I hated the most was every time I looked at God, He was smiling! Smiling as I suffered, smiling as I lay awake at night letting stress toss my mind to and fro, smiling as I sat in three hour long disciplinary meetings with kids trying to make them understand that life in our home, even when they have a punishment, is better than life on the streets. 

See, He was smiling as he began bestowing blessings on us. He was cheering us on as we learned how to lay down our lives for our friends. He rejoiced every time my face hit the floor, weeping in fervent prayer - as I built a foundation of trust. He was thankful for every ‘yes’ we had given Him. He delighted in my loneliness as He and I learned how to be friends. He laughed as any parent would watching their small child try to pick up something that is entirely too heavy for their chunky, tiny, toddler arms; and His heart leapt for joy when He heard me say “Daddy, come help me.” 

I’ve learned to delight in the months of having a foggy head. I’ve learned to rejoice when my questions tally up higher than my reasons to praise. I’ve learned to laugh when I realize that I’m trying to move something on my own strength. I’ve learned to be thankful for countless seasons of suffering, because there’s always an unidentifiable point that you begin to count those seasons, not of suffering, but of abundant growth. And I smile, because God has taught me to see every single one of those children for what they are - a blessing to me - worth waiting on, worth laboring for, and really worth getting rid of me. 

He and They

He doesn't let the smaller one leave for school until he has fixed his collar, quizzed him on his homework, and given him a gentle shove out the door.  He is a man of excellence.
He doesn't let that aunt that he loves out of his sight, as they trek their three mile morning run. He is a protector. He holds the one that is enduring a punishment and tells him "Even me, I've had so many punishments before. Punishments don't mean that we don't love you."  He is a peacemaker. He leads our family in worship every Saturday night.  He is a strong tower. He doesn't like serving at the street programs with the street kids, but God is telling him to go, and so he goes. He is faithful. He is always a "yes" when it comes to helping others, no matter what it costs him. He is a servant.

There are many beautiful "he's" that make up this home of "they."

They are inexplainable. They don't care that seven year olds aren't supposed to play with eighteen year olds, they play. They share clothes, laughs, dreams, and living quarters. They school together, go to church together, work together, serve together, and are silly together. They don't have a system of who owes who what. They give and they take. They love and they are loved.  They define fellowship. They define family. They define community.

They are world changers. They are dreamers. They are shedding glory all over this home every day as they simply do life together with an excellence that God himself delights in.

They have taught me how to love, and for that, I am eternally grateful.