Last night my husband and I were talking about a third child. Do we have one? Biologically? Adopted? We are at the stage in life where if we were to have any more, we need to make a decision either way.
I was great with this conversation until he said “what about fostering a child?”
Fostering? Like caring, loving, and then giving UP a child? My throat started to close.
I replied “I am not sure my heart could take that.” My eyes started to water.
We talked for a little while about some families we knew that had fostered, and the little we actually knew about the process anyway. The news came on and a story we had been wanting to see began, so our attention shifted to that.
I sat there, watching the news story, gripped with fear. The story ended and I turned to my husband and said “this is the thing. I’ll go anywhere: Africa, India, China, wherever He wants us to go.” But please do not call me to care and love a child that I cannot forever call my own.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, spilling to my arms and my shirt. “My heart could not handle that.”
“So you are putting limitations on God?” my husband quietly asked? “I think so,” I hoarsely replied. “I don’t think my heart could take it.”
I baby sat fostered children in high school and I remember thinking even then “How can they just have a child for a season, then willingly give them up?” I have spent my whole life moving and giving people and friends up. All I have done is sit at car windows, airplane windows, and said good bye. More goodbyes? Intentionally?
I don’t think my heart can take it.
No decision was made regarding our conversation. It wasn’t the time or the day for a decision. And, clearly, I have a ways to go and a stack of conversations to have with the Lord.
Gut-wrenching transparency. Not always pretty.
