2015 and the 50/50

[this has nothing to do with what I'm writing... but it's funny]

2015. Baby Girl has been with us 6 months now. Half a year. 

The beginning of this new year is a bit different than any I've experienced before. With every past January, I've had a pretty decent idea of the big milestones that were to come, and about when they would happen-- graduations, weddings, births, moves, etc.-- or totally caught off guard by the things you could never expect-- deaths, accidents, promotions, surprise pregnancies [let's be real y'all], a new Starbucks opening closer to your home [a girl can dream].

2015, though. 

I know that this year is likely to bring big answers about Baby Girl's future. If she stays or goes. If she goes we'll live, we'll be remarkably sad but we'll keep living. My kids will grieve too, and we'll all weather that storm together because we've known it could happen since before we even met her, and we've been real about the possibility in our family. If we find out that she'll stay we'll rejoice. We'll settle in. We'll talk about futures. We'll buy stock in the company that makes Aquaphor. 

The best thing I can relate this feeling to is the feeling I had when we knew, going into a new year, that James' former company was struggling and there was a chance he could be laid off. It was 50/50. We wanted him to stay, but we knew things would be fine if he didn't and he'd find a new job. We had a some savings, and we were prepared.

Then it happened. He went to work on a Tuesday, and he called me just a bit too early in the afternoon.  He shouldn't have been coming home yet, but he was. He'd been laid off. After almost ten years with a company, they cut him. We were in the not-so-good half of the 50/50 we knew was coming. Not that saying goodbye to a child is comparable to losing a job. Far from it. But, that feeling of uneasy suspense, knowing that we don't control the decision that is coming, but that will impact us so greatly, is sort of the same.

I know that we might have to kiss her sweet, soft, chubby little brown cheek and say goodbye... but we also might be told that we'll get to kiss her little face forever. Total HOPE, with a healthy, underling understanding of reality. [This weird dichotomy of emotions is why I stress-eat tacos and had to buy new pants. Welcome to foster parenting. You will need new pants.]

Regardless of what decisions are made, or what happens to any of us, we will praise God and look forward. The verse that I'm clinging to for 2015 is: Mark 9.24

“I believe; help my unbelief!”

In Mark 9.14-29 there's this dad. He comes to Jesus with his child. His boy. He explains that the child not only has seizures, but that he believes he's been possessed because at times he's physically forced into fire or water as though something is trying to kill him. Regardless of speculation about whether this could be something medical, psychological, or truly demonic, it doesn't matter. When we consider this boy's dad.... when we put ourselves into his shoes... does it matter? No. What matters here is a father pleading with God to save his child. To fix the mess. To make it right. To heal. To restore. To HEAR him, and in His compassion, to step in. That dad. Oh, goodness! That poor papa. Imagine being him. FEEL his plight. He's standing there. Jesus is in front of him, and he wants nothing more than for his child to be made whole, to be healed, to be safe and well. He's probably been told by anyone who was deemed qualified to help that his child was a lost cause. That his seizures couldn't be stopped. That he would suffer like this forever. He was probably tired. Right exhausted by the constant concern. He was desperate. He was afraid. He knew that this was the only thing left. Nothing else had worked. He probably didn't honestly believe, 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt, with all of his heart, without reservation that his child would walk away healed. That he'd never again have to hold his child's convulsing body in his arms, and pray that this wasn't the one that would take him. That he could sleep, without fear that he would wake to find that his precious son was compelled into flames or into depths during the night. Rest. Rest probably didn't seem real to him at all. [mad props to Matt Chandler for making this so real, beginning about min. 39 in this sermon] 

BUT... he asked anyway. He WANTED to believe that his child could be healed. That he could rest. That this struggle and fight could end. He wanted to believe. His belief might not have been solid. Might not have been all that it needed to be after so many disappointments and so much uncertainty, but his desire to believe was true. His want to believe was 100%. His longing to hope was sincere. 

“I believe; help my unbelief!”

Faith is a gift. It's a gift from God, from the Spirit. We aren't faithful because we are just so capable of mustering this strength to believe up inside of ourselves. We're faithful because we're given faith by the Spirit, because faith is grown in us by The Grower who honors even our tiniest attempts to trust Him.

So, I pray that throughout 2015 my faith is grown. And along the way, I plan to pray:

“I believe; help my unbelief!”

Regardless of what side of the 50/50 we fall on with Baby Girl, I want to trust fully that God is in control. That if she stays, He faithfully delivered her to us because we were the right family for her. Because in our own mess God saw that she could grow and fit here, and in His goodness He entrusted her to us. If she goes, I want to believe that He knew she wasn't to be our daughter. That she didn't belong here forever, but that He would do a work in her life wherever she goes. And, I want to believe that in that loss, The Healer could heal my broken heart. 

“I believe; help my unbelief!”