This morning my pastor told a story of Hezekiah, of the prayers he presented to God when he was surrounded by his enemy and there were no other options left to him. My pastor asked us to name the similar places in our lives, to write out where we desperately needed God to move, and to offer these up as prayers. I immediately thought about where we are with B’s case, and how angry I have been this week – sometimes at certain people, sometimes at the delays, oftentimes at the whole messy process.
Then I realized that I’m not really angry so much as I’m anxious. Anxious that things won’t go the way I want them to, the way I think they should go. Scared of the fallout that will occur if they don’t and the pain it would bring for so many I love.
It’s not the first time I’ve been here, brought to tears at whatever heavy thing was going on in my life or in the lives of those in my close circle. Sometimes I get tired of the burden, but mostly I get tired that it never seems to end. Even as I am certain I am right where He has directed me, there is always a burden to carry.
Worry for the kids I’ve called mine, even for a short time, who may not be completely safe where they are.
Despair at the never-ending impact on kids, when healing seems so unlikely and far away, when there seems to be no good answer, just a lot of not-great ones.
Anger at those who can’t seem to put the needs of children first.
Grief at the absolutely horrific things that kids experience, coupled with the awareness of the significant likelihood that they will fall into the same behaviors as adults.
Frustration at yet another delay for reasons that just seem ridiculous.
Fear for the unknown outcome, because how do you make any promises and provide any stability when things could go sideways at any minute?
It wasn’t always this way. There were days when the biggest concerns I had are things that seem so self-centered and unimportant now. When if I were asked to name a situation that was lost unless God intervened, I would have been hard-pressed to come up with one.
But that was back when I knew that kids were abused and neglected and abandoned, but I didn’t know their names and faces. Now I do, and I can’t un-know them, even if some days I wish, for just a moment, to be that ignorant again.