Nearly three years ago a state vehicle escorted three little boys to new, temporary homes. They were examined by doctors while covered in sores and bruises. Empty tummies, empty hearts and a back story that’ll break even the strongest man. Pages of medical reports collected and forwarded along to every foster home they’d be planted in, to only be uprooted and thrown into another. Over a period of 24 months they had been separated and bounced around until they landed a permanent home with an adoptive family.
Well, that was until one afternoon when the boys stepped off the school bus and found the caseworker standing next to three duffle bags. The adoptive family changed their mind and demanded the boys be moved that day.
This is where we come in. That Wednesday at 5:30 PM a voicemail came through from DHS. “Unless you take them they’ll sleep in my office tonight.” I’d like to tell you it was an instant “YES!”, but that wasn’t the case at all. I wept like an infant for nearly an hour. No, seriously. It was silly. God had already laid his plans on our hearts, but because I’m such a good Christian, I questioned it.
The caseworker gave us a poor prognosis on our soon-to-be boys. One couldn’t even hold a pencil, they physically fought and all were severely behind in school. After my hour long cry-fest, we said “YES!” and they were dropped off at 11:30 that night.
Over the period of a year they’ve become thriving kiddos who have fought hard. By fought, I mean with me and my husband. During that year we experienced everything. Fire starting, running away, fist fights and words that cut deep. I’ve cried many hallway tears during that year. I’ve restrained a six year old from hurting himself while he screamed and punched me. The past year was…interesting to say the least. We were forced to fully rely on God in situations we had no control over.
November of 2015 we headed out on a three hour car ride through cotton country for mediation. We would be face to face with the biological parents that intentionally did unspeakable things to our children. We sat in a 70’s style courtroom for 3 hours and didn’t say more than a few sentences. They talked each other into terminating their rights and allowing our adoption to continue. We watched Exodus 14:14 play out in front of our eyes.
Obviously, the boys were rescued. They were physically removed from a home that didn’t love. More than once. More than twice.
This isn’t just a story of abuse and neglect. In a way, we were rescued as well. We were rescued from this comfortable Christianity that doesn’t require dirty hands or broken hearts. It’s removed us from the excuse of “I wish I could do something, but (insert excuse here).” Comfortable Christianity stands on the shore rather than in the boat. Comfortable Christianity stays in the boat when instructed to walk on the water. Side note: When you’re instructed to walk on water, you don’t drown. September 26, 2016 the boys officially had new last names.