December 21, 2014
In real life, I like fog. The darkness and dreaminess and quiet–there’s a peace to it. I even like driving in fog, feeling completely enclosed but watching as the path ahead inevitably reveals itself, the path that was always there, though I couldn’t see it.
Fog in the figurative sense I like less, but God is teaching me through it. Our girl has been with us for nine months. Two months ago we had a court hearing, at which point we thought we were going to learn something about what everyone had in mind for her future. (And even then, that would just have been the start of a lengthy process.) At that time they said no, let’s decide in December. So they set a date for another hearing. And last week, at that hearing, they once again said no, let’s wait to decide, and they set another date for another hearing in March. If you’re doing the math, you’ll realize that when THAT hearing rolls around, our girl will have been with us for a year. One whole year, and it FEELS like everyone is twiddling their thumbs. I know that’s not exactly true. I know they want to investigate and observe and discuss and make sure they’re making the very best decision. But to all of those people, the people deciding the whole future of this little person, October or December or March, it doesn’t make much difference. Those are just dates on their calendars. They have tens and hundreds of nearly identical dates on their calendars, because there are hundreds and thousands of other kids in foster care in the state of Arizona, and they all have their own court hearings and meetings and psychological reviews, and all of their futures are hanging in the balance as well.
But while those are just dates on the calendars of the powers-that-be, they represent minutes and hours and days and weeks and months in the real lives of these kids and their families. All that time passes, and the kids and their parents–foster and biological alike–wonder. We wonder what will happen, what the lawyers have up their sleeves, what the judge has in mind, what mood they’ll all be in at the next hearing, if anyone who matters will have actually read all of the pertinent information or given any thought to these dramatically life-altering decisions prior to setting foot in the courtroom. We wonder if they’ll ever actually MAKE a decision, or if they’ll continue putting it off indefinitely. And all the while this girl is growing up, away from her biological family. She is missing them and growing more attached to us, which makes her feel confused and guilty, and when she asks about the future, we have to tell her the truth. WE DON’T KNOW.
I realize I sound a little cynical. I suppose I am. I’m frustrated by a system that allows a child to linger for so long without any sense of permanence, and I’m frustrated by the brokenness that got her into this mess, a brokenness that is far from healed…but might be just healed enough. In a way, I can’t blame everyone for taking so long, because I have no earthly idea what I would decide if it were in my hands. I honestly don’t. I’m glad it’s not my decision, but the decision belongs to other people who are also flawed, who also have only limited knowledge, and who also can’t predict the future.
While I’m frustrated at the system, I’m finding an increased sense of peace in the Lord as He leads us through this particular fog. When a situation is so thoroughly out of our hands, it almost makes it easier to rest in Him, because we simply have no other choice. The path ahead is hidden from us, but it is never hidden from Him. He not only knows it, He’s laid it down for us. That doesn’t stop being true just because people make decisions that don’t make sense to us, or refuse to make decisions at all. It doesn’t stop being true when I’m fretful or our girl is confused. “Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.” Even when I think I have control, I don’t really, and in this case I know I don’t. So I will walk this path, the path that’s always there, and I will trust that God will lead us, that He will turn this fog into a darkness and dreaminess and quiet, and give us peace.