Some days I really want to give up on this whole “a people set apart” thing.
Some days I want to float downstream, take the path of least resistance, and quit investing in others.
It’s usually on the days when that urge is strongest that God sends me a reminder of how this life, these things we do… they are less about us than we care to imagine.
Not long after we settled into this house, I got an early morning text from the west coast. John Mark’s first foster mother, the one who had picked him up from the hospital, had passed away. She was just 38 years old, and had fought a fight against cancer that, in the telling, makes even believers cast their eyes towards heaven and ask “Why?” She left behind a husband she loved well, four children she lived to nurture, and countless friends and family. By all accounts, her faith and even her joy were strong as she approached the end of her time here on earth. And friends, that alone is enough to say that this was a life well lived.
But there was more. I don’t know how much more, exactly. No one does. But for my part, I can say this:
God used this woman, this mortal woman, to lean into the life of a family for a season and change the course of everything. Forever.
For a time this woman’s family served to foster children in need of homes. I don’t know how many kids found their way into their lives. I do know that there was heartache and loss and wrenching pain in this place for this mother. I know that eventually, it was all too much, and she stepped away from fostering, still raw with loss.
But I also know that, in the midst of that turmoil, God used her willingness to serve. He used her open arms and safe roof. He used her love.
John Mark was one of those little ones who found a home with her. It was a way station, just a stopping place, but it was a setting that let him begin the process of healing. This was a mother who was gentle, hands that were soft, a voice that spoke softly to soothe the tears. She held him only a few weeks. She had many other children much longer, I know. Some she probably connected with and loved instantaneously. Others she may have served out of obedience to God and not from a tug on her heart. Maybe John Mark was special to her. Maybe he made her heart sing every time she saw his dimples explode as he grinned. Maybe he was just another baby, just someone else who needed tender care. But it doesn’t matter, in the end. Because what she did, who she was to these children when they needed it … that’s the part that grows wings and takes flight.
A foster mother loved a baby. That baby found his forever home. He is a beloved son, a precious brother, an adored grandson, nephew, friend. That baby has grown and will continue to grow. He has brought joy to many, and encouraged many more. The love of and for this child will continue to ripple through generations.
And without that foster mother? Without her “yes”? What would have happened then?
These are the things I ponder when all of it– the struggle, the dying to self, the trust in that which we can not see– feels like a heavy burden to carry. These things we do in service? They are not meant for us. They are not victories we win crowns for, here. They are bricks in the walls of God’s kingdom. They are small acts of sacrifice writ large in the ledger of God’s grace.
I can do it. One more cup of water at bed time. One more dinner delivered to a new mom. One more call to build up the friend with the strained marriage. One more, one more, one more. Because in the end, all of us live with the knowledge that our time here is not determined by our own clock, and what we leave behind is not simply those things we hope people remember. We have the opportunity, every day, to play a part in God’s story simply by saying “Here I am. Send me.” I, for one, am eternally grateful to one woman who raised her hand when He called in the guise of a broken baby boy. I hope in some small way for the honor of play a part of someone else’s story of blessing, too.