Taboo: Do Hard Things

Life is hard. It can be easy to decide that the hard that life throws at us, completely beyond our control, is more than enough hard and we should therefore scoff at the idea of voluntarily taking up more hard. Yet, that is what God calls us to do. One of the hardest hards that He currently has my family wading in the midst of is foster care. Looking back over the past few years, I can clearly trace His hand, highlight His call, and point out His providence. But recently, I have noticed a dark feeling associated with this journey I’m on. After some reflection and prayer, I identified the reviled sensation as nothing less than good old guilt. GUILT. I am haunted by guilt as a foster parent. There are certain times in particular where this hideous enemy rears his ugly head, clenching icy fingers around my gut tighter and tighter until I was to scream and run for the nearest one way out--times like when someone stops by and my house is grosser than gross. Times when my marriage is struggling and in a heartgush moment, I speak this outloud and instantly regret it. Times like family gatherings, where the depths of my children’s needs and my own insufficiency are on full display. Times when a stranger or a friend watches the ridiculous way I load our almost-too-many kids into our busted up van (that I love). Times when I must be honest about a financial decision that other couples our age would easily make, but we must choose differently. Times when I am asking the same person for the fifth time this week to babysit so I can take a child to an appointment. Times when I am asked if my husband is ok because he just looks so darn tired. But I can’t run. I can’t scream. So instead, I make excuses. And then later, behind closed doors, I give into heartwreck, searching, praying, listening, and trying to find out what it is that I need to repent of. Again and again, this guilt is defeated by the knowledge that I needn’t repent or apologize for doing hard things, for CHOOSING hard things.  Not just any hard things, not hard things done to score a pat on the back, but hard things that my God orchestrated and led me into through His own divine hand and the wisdom of my husband. So I must ask…where is the guilt coming from? Unfortunately, we live in a culture that doesn’t like to do messy. We love safety, comfort, and normalcy. To be blunt, even the Church itself can be caught up in ministry and service that only consists of that which is safe, clean, and comfy. We are so comfortable with making family, self-care, marriage…and so many other very good things idols. Hear my heart here…..all these things are invaluable and absolutely must be cared for and fought for first most of the time. But when we refuse any calling that might require us to fight even harder for these things, we choose safety. So perhaps, the guilt that creeps in is found in the uniqueness of my journey. The fact that I am 25, married for three years, living in a small fixer-upper house, driving a God-send of a minivan that is on it’s last leg, and am currently staying home with our six children under the age of six, three of them with medical/special needs, and none of them operating above a two year old developmental level is quite shocking. Maybe I feel guilty because we have been so warned about laying a firm foundation martially and financially these first few years, and yet we still felt led and chose to follow this path. Maybe I feel that people think I can’t possibly be enough…and I know they are right. Or maybe, I just really, really don’t fit into the norm of society and feel as though I should at least try to. Whatever the reasons may be, I somehow feel like I am failing those around me and that is hard for me. But the truth is…I am called. When I brush aside the norms and the standards and the opinions, I find the heart of my God leading my family on a painful, but fruitful journey…a journey that is a blessing because it causes on to lock our gaze on Him each and every day. There is so much sacrifice. But doing hard things doesn’t mean I stop fighting for that which is important, it means I fight harder. Silas and I have to fight harder for marriage and for time as a couple. We have to fight harder for every child in our home, but especially to make sure our biological children are being heard and loved and encouraged. I find over and over that as I seek the heart of God that that which is useless (and also happens to be the root of my guilt) falls away. I don’t need a fancy house. We don’t need dates out of the house every week and have learned to love date nights in and treasure date nights out. We don’t need a dozen other hobbies. We need Jesus. So here it is, the raw truth: My family doesn’t fit into society. I am NOT a superhero. Six under six plus special needs is just as darn messy as it sounds. Sometimes my house reeks like all the bodily fluids. My kids disobey all the time. I hardly ever wear real clothes. Marriage is hard and Silas and I miscommunicate, hurt one another, and drive each other nuts all the time. Some days I spend too much time on my phone at the expense of my family. I can’t remember the last time I dusted. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with friends. Sometimes (lots of times) I yell at my kids. Sometimes all of them are crying at once and I don’t know what to do.

I long for all people to be able to do hard things, the kind of hard things that make it impossible to have it all together. God is so good at showing up when we cannot go on without Him. You may not be called to the hard that I am. But you are called. I encourage you to seek and ask what the hard that you are avoiding may be. It won’t be pretty. It might be awful. But if you faithfully obey, I can promise that you will see Jesus. And if no one else…I will be here to be a real, raw, hottest kind of mess right alongside you.