I used to think that as a house parent, I could relate to Mary’s pain as she watched Jesus grow, knowing he would leave her and it would cause her pain. The last year or so though, while I obviously have no business comparing myself to Jesus, I’ve been so grateful to realize that in some of my deepest, most painful moments, he can relate so fully to me.
Since becoming a house parent, I’ve said goodbye to nine kiddos as they’ve gone to their forever families. While certainly joyful occasions, these are also seasons filled with grief. Each departure has been hard in its own way, but some have hit more intensely than others. And each subsequent farewell makes the grief a bit heavier to carry. At Easter last year, anticipating the departure of J, who’d been with me for over six years, I told a friend “if there was any other way, I’d choose it. Nothing in me wants to do this.” It was what we’d been waiting and praying for and it was huge cause for celebration, but it was also profoundly painful and in that moment, I desperately wanted out. Out of the pain. Out of the grief. Out of the intense emotions I knew we were all about to experience.
“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” Jesus knew. He knew why he came to Earth. He knew the cross was the plan. He knew it would hurt. He knew he was doing it for his kids. But, in that moment in the garden, he didn’t want to. And in that moment of preparing to say goodbye, I didn’t want to either. And as yet another goodbye loomed only weeks ago, I found myself pondering that garden scene, deeply grateful for how I know Jesus understands my human emotions, but wondering, even though he knew, did he know? Jesus, fully God, knew the plan and accepted it. But did Jesus, fully human, know ahead of time just how much it would actually hurt. Not even just the physical, which was obviously agonizing, but the emotional pain that is so deep it physically hurts. The pain that makes it hard to breath. The pain that just makes you sob because you don’t even have the words to describe how you’re feeling. The pain that makes you beg God for another way. Even though you know there’s not. Even though you’re doing what you planned to do.
Going into foster care and house parenting, I knew it would hurt. I knew there would be sleepless nights. I knew I’d intentionally carry grief that wasn’t my own, so that these little people didn’t have to. I knew I’d get “too attached” and saying goodbye would be hard. I knew, but I didn’t know.
I didn’t know it would hurt so badly to walk through those transitions. To experience deep grief at something the world celebrates. I’ve written those emails to sponsors myself “Exciting news - this child has gone home” and it is exciting, and joyful and worth celebrating. But it also hurts.
The past few weeks held a very hard transition, a bit unlike any before it. This time, it was E’s turn to go home. E, who’d been with me since he was 10 weeks old. My baby, who’d been with me from his very first moments at COTP. The one I’d cared for from a newborn. The one who transformed the most in front of me. Almost every first for his first four and a half years was ours to share. His to experience and mine to treasure. First smile, first tooth, first step, first birthday.
From the beginning, I pondered his personality and prayed over his future. I wondered who he would be and I prayed for his family. Because I knew that, although he was mine, he wouldn’t always be. I am so, so very grateful for the ways that I saw E grow and I am so, so very grateful for the family God prepared for him. Walking through this transition with them was unbelievably hard, but so beautiful. Even now, a couple of weeks later, I don’t think I can fully capture the experience with words, but I do know that it was one of the most intense experiences of my life. I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t really know.
I didn’t know the depth of emotion we would all go through in those few days together. I didn’t know how badly I would want to choose something, anything, less painful for all of us. I didn’t know how I’d feel like I was abandoning E, even though my rational brain knew it was good and right. I didn’t know how hard it would be to watch him try and process all of the changes happening in his little life. I didn’t know that leaving the house without him would take every bit of willpower I had. I didn’t know that I would have to fight every maternal instinct I had to return to COTP without him a few days later. I didn’t know how badly it would hurt to look at his empty bed, realizing he’d never again fill it. I didn’t know the depth of the fog I would feel trying to function in those first few days. I just didn’t know.
But I do know that I was called to this. I know that in my weakness, he is strong. I know that God places the lonely in families. I know that he answered my prayer for a Christian family for my baby boy. I know that he will give them everything they need to care for E every day. I know that E belongs there. I know that although there is brokenness in this story, there is so much beauty.
In one of our very hardest times together during those transitional days, in a moment where it made absolutely no sense, I remember just having such a sense of peace and knowing that it would be okay. Considering the circumstances, it didn’t make much sense. And yet, it made sense. Because God has a way of bringing peace to chaos and redeeming what is broken.
And now, looking back on every memory with E and still sitting in the pain of saying goodbye to him, I know that even if I could go back in time and spare myself this experience by saying no to being his foster mama, I’d still say yes. Because he is worth it.
I don’t know if Jesus knew ahead of time the depth of emotion and pain he would experience, but I do know that even if he did, and even if he begged for another way, he’d still go back and do it again.
