Redemption

I see you.

God says, as my heart breaks.

I know.

He says, as I turn into the covers to cry.

If you ask Him for compassion, if you ask Him, to help you love. He will blow your heart wide open.

Love, such a beautiful thing. But it hurts too.

Last week, my children told me their Auntie's called them stupid.

Told me many things which tore me in two.

All I want is to protect them. To have them grow up in a home full of love. To have them bring the Kingdom of heaven to earth.

But all around me, the brokenness of many hearts.

Many hearts who have not known love, and don't know how to give it away.

Last week, I had to let go of two people. And that is always hard.

Harder still, is the feeling that I want to hide. Hide from the world, and from seeing eyes, that we are not perfect.

That we have flaws too. And inadequacies. And sin.

Hide, because it breaks me that these things could be going on in my home. My home, that is supposed to be a refuge for these little girls who have already known too much pain, and too much of man's sin in their lives already.

I cringe at being vulnerable. At being honest. But God is there, always wanting my heart. Always wanting the truth. And to live my life before others, even in our messiness. To be real.

And to be real, I was hurt and angry. Angry at the injustice of it all. Angry that this culture has not yet learned to value children the way Heaven does.

Not yet learned to see that they can be Kingdom carriers too and how the whips of words can crush that.

I can't bear to see my girls shrivel away, when we've worked so hard to see them blossom.

And then I was sad. Sad, because I see how much this land needs healing. The Father's touch. To experience love, so they can give it away.

Sad because it is so hard to find those who will love these little ones as I do.

Lord, grace. I pray.

Grace on their little hearts.

I lean hard into Him.

So we have family discussions around the table. Everyone gets her chance to share and we hug and say sorry. We get haircuts and have our first taste of pizza. We stay late and watch movies, and we talk, and we pray. We give kisses as we tuck tiny hands under mosquito nets.

I fight the temptation towards discontentment. And choose to rejoice. It isn't easy.

But somewhere in the midst of it, I stop to breathe a

thank you.

A thank you for toothless grins, and resilience. A thank you for peaceful goodbyes.

A thank you for the fresh joy I can already see in our kids as they climb out from under a shadow.

A thank you for bad behaviors melting away under the banner of love.

A thank you for redemption.

There is always a reason. And He makes even the ugly things beautiful.

“Put my heart, into their heart,” God says.

So we do. Every day we try to do. And to teach. And to give it all away.

On Monday, our new counselor shares testimonies of growth.

Yesterday, we read Here Comes Heaven, together and talk about kids being carriers of the Kingdom. We dream of things we will do, and people we will help, and how we can give love we've received away.

Some of our new girls get saved.
Some of our girls pray.

And I can hear that they are now intercessors.

And I smile to see them becoming.

Things are still messy. We're short staff, and there never seems enough time, and our kids always seem to lose their underwear, or their shoes, or their brand new pencils.

But I have an image of them laughing. And dancing. And twirling. Before heaven.

And nothing, can take that away.