Why do such small feet leave such deep imprints in our lives? How can such tiny fingers have such a strong grip on our hearts? How is it, that when removed from our lives, those little hands take such a large part of our hearts with them? How can those tiny people leave such a big hole?
I knew before they came that it wasn’t going to be forever. I understood that they would quickly become a part of the family. And I realized that when they left, I would miss them. But I wasn’t prepared for the agony of walking through this journey.
I have always seen the great need for foster families. It’s a ministry, really, to open your home to kids that you have never met before and to give them a safe and loving environment for as long as they are with you. And then, having to let go and move on with your life when the child is removed from your home… That is the part that I have never understood. I have never figured out how to love someone while protecting myself. Every time I love someone, I automatically give them a piece of my heart. Once given, that piece is irretrievably lost to me. I can never recover it and restore it to it’s previous condition. Is it even possible to love without risking injury to your heart? Love and pain go hand in hand. I know you can have pain without love, but honestly, can you really experience love without pain? It seems that every time you open yourself even slightly to love, a door gets thrown wide open inviting pain in.
It has been five months now since they left, and life has gotten back to “normal” (as normal as anything is right now). No more screaming in the middle of the night. No more scheduled visits. No more trips to Urgent-Care. No more court dates. No more social-care drama. But somehow, there is a hole now. The high-chairs are gone. The toddler bed and crib have found new homes in new families. The cute clothes we were blessed with are now blessing someone else. And the nursery is gradually being turned into a guest room. Everything is as it should be. And yet…
I miss the sweet voice saying “I missed you!” when I walk in the front door. I miss the little hands reaching to help unload the dishwasher. I miss the big brown eyes pleading for food off my plate. I miss the sticky faces begging for “more please”. I miss the little feet stealing our shoes. I miss the giggles and shrieks when playing hide-and-seek. I miss the tea parties and forts. I miss rushing to the window to watch the train. I miss being asked to go outside so we could “sit an’ watch” as the world went by. I don’t miss tripping over toys, but I do miss the ones who scattered them across the house. I don’t miss being woken up by a screaming baby, but I do miss the midnight cuddles. I don’t miss the temper tantrums that could last for hours, but I do miss the ones throwing them. My arms and back don’t miss carrying two toddlers around all day, but I do.
Those six months were crazy and difficult. So. Very. Difficult. (Taking care of the babies was the easy part.) If we had known from the start even half of what we were about to go through, we might have made a different decision. If we had known the betrayal we would experience, the helplessness we would feel, and the level of pain that would be inflicted we might have tried to build a wall around our hearts. But we didn’t know, and oh, how we all grew to love those two kids.
We were warned to guard our hearts. We were cautioned about the pain we would experience. And we were told to prepare to have our hearts broken. Broken hearts? No. A broken heart brings to mind an image of a heart with a crack running through it. What we experienced was not a cracked heart. Instead, our hearts were torn out of us and thrown to the ground. We were forced to stand by and watch helplessly as our hearts were reduced to powder under the weight of a sledgehammer. Blow after blow fell, and we wondered if we would ever be able to salvage anything. The pain was so intense… Even if we could somehow manage to piece things back together, how could we ever choose to open our hearts to love again? The risk is too great. Why put ourselves through that again?
The answer is simple… Because we have been commanded to.
“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.
— John 13:34
God never said that loving someone would be easy or painless… And if we look at His demonstration of love to us (John 3:16) and choose to follow His example, we should not be surprised if heartache is the result. Pain is inevitable, whether we obey or not it will most assuredly come. But when you walk in obedience to the Lord, He is faithful to give you the strength to endure whatever comes your way.
So we will choose to obey, knowing that pain is most likely right around the next corner.
And those holes that have been left in our hearts? They will never really go away. Instead, they are filled with memories. Sweet, funny, and even painful, I wouldn’t trade one of them. You see, those memories are gifts. The giggles, the hugs, the mischief, and the conquering of fears were all signs of growth. They serve as reminders that it was all worth it. With the time we invested and the love we gave, we saw confidence take root, tenderness instilled, and joy bloom. Yes, it was worth it. So when the pain becomes more than we can bear, and we feel the need to build a wall of protection around our hearts, we force ourselves back to truth. Instead of boarding up the hole like a broken window and pretending that it doesn’t exist, we will allow God to use the pain as a reminder of what He has done. We will trust Him to continue working even when we can’t see it. And we will choose to love again, knowing the risk, counting the cost, and following in our Lord’s footsteps.
~Elisabeth~