Poster Child

One day you sit back and take a good look at your life, and you are overcome with gratitude.  You suddenly realize that everything is almost picture-perfect.   Your home is orderly and organized, the clutter under control.  Your children are well-behaved and happy, not perfect of course, but generally manageable.  You are happy.  You have a predictable routine, wonderful friends, enjoyable hobbies, big dreams.  You are the poster child for a comfortable, cozy life.

And so you ask yourself, innocently enough, why not?  Why not share this beautiful life with a child in need?  There are so many forgotten children who do not have a family to call their own, why not share yours?  After all, you reason, you have a lot of love in your heart.  Wouldn’t it be amazing to be able to make a difference in someone else’s life?  To give someone else an opportunity to thrive?  To give someone else hope for the future?

It is not an easy decision.  You know, in the corners of your heart, that it will be difficult.  Life-changing, even.  Of course there will be an adjustment period.  Some getting used to.  But, you tell yourself, you are a fairly intelligent, competent, confident person.  How hard could it really be? 

And secretly you think, maybe you can become the poster child for this brave new thing.  If you can do it, maybe other people - your friends, others in your church, your contacts on social media – maybe they will follow your example and be inspired to do it too!

As you start this exciting journey, gathering documents and completing paperwork and attending classes and rearranging the furniture in the room down the hall, you can’t help but talk about it and write about it, chronicling the details and recording the steps along the way.  Already your heart is overflowing with all the things the Lord is teaching you.  About trusting Him as you walk into the unknown.  About overcoming fear and finding the courage to say yes to this path the He had called you to.  About opening your eyes and heart to the plight of orphaned and vulnerable children in your own community and around the world.   You can’t help but share the many new things that He is showing you.

Finally, after months of preparations and obstacles and unexpected delays and anticipation, the long-awaited day arrives.  A new little life enters your home and joins your family.  The child you have been dreaming of and praying over.  The one God has opened doors and moved mountains for.  The one He has clearly chosen for you. 

And from this moment forward, nothing will ever be the same.

In the first few weeks you are sort of running on adrenaline and excitement at the newness of it all.  Even though you had spent months preparing for this child, you still need to run out and buy some last-minute stuff.  Shoes, now that you know the right size.  Pull-ups, because you had no idea that a child this age still wets the bed.  And what a challenge it is to find a jacket this time of year, when it’s still bitterly cold outside but all the stores are stocking up on swimsuits.

You call to set up an appointment with your local pediatrician.  You meet with the social worker when she comes for her home visit.  You fill out the registration packet for school, and realize how much information you don’t know.  You schedule a developmental evaluation for the concerns you have already noticed but can’t quite articulate.  You take pictures, because the frantic days are already passing in a fuzzy blur and you don’t want to forget any of it.

Maybe someday, after everything settles down and things start to feel normal, you will be able to write, once again.  Or talk to a friend about everything that you are experiencing.  Or pray about how much harder this is than you expected it to be.  But not today.

There is way too much to do, so many details that demand your immediate attention.  And at the end of the day when all the children are tucked safely in their beds, you are much too exhausted to think.  There is no energy left to process everything that you are feeling.

It’s been several months since this child became a part of your family, and you are starting to suspect that things may never feel “normal” again.  This is by far the hardest, most challenging thing you have ever done!  The pangs of doubt start wiggling their way into your heart, and that perfect little poster that you imagined your life to be is starting to crumble just a little bit.  The edges have begun to fray and peel.

If you are honest, you will admit that raising this child is way beyond your limited capabilities.  Maybe you aren’t such a good parent after all.  This child’s incessant tantrums are exhausting.  You were so patient at first, sympathizing with the great loss and fear and trauma that surely precipitate such strong reactions.  But now you just want to scream, “Stop it! Can’t you see how your behavior is affecting everyone in our family?!”  Your beautiful poster folds and bends, leaving irreparable creases across the once-glossy surface.  It’s so embarrassing.

You have tried ever-so diligently to be loving and kind and nurturing and tender.  But still there is no affection in return.  Nothing.  No acknowledgement that you are anyone special.  Not even a hint of hope that the slightest bond might be forming.  Other people may be the recipients of the hugs and the smiles and the delightful charm, but not you.  Towards you there is just scowls and arguing and calling you horrible names. 

What’s the use of trying?  It is quite possible that your most diliegent efforts will never be good enough to reach into that tiny closed-off heart.   Your poster rips now, an awful splitting gash, and not even the best tape in the world will be able to fix it.

In your rawest, most honest moments, you finally admit to yourself what you have suspected almost from the beginning.  That this is quite possibly the worst mistake you have ever made in your life.  Your life is a complete wreck.  Your biological children have become angry and resentful.  Your marriage is strained.  Your friendships have become pretty much non-existent.  

And your faith?  Ha!  You used to be strong.  You used to have courage.  But now?  Now your faith has been tested, and you feel like a complete failure. Every morning you beg God for strength to face another difficult day.  You cry often, endless tears of fear and frustration, sure, absolutely sure that God must have called the wrong person to this impossible task.  The poster that had once been so beautiful now has a huge ugly tear right down the middle of it, ruined beyond all recognition.

But wait.  Maybe the destruction of your poster is not such a bad thing after all.  Maybe that’s the point.  You see, maybe from the very beginning that was your poster.  Your confidence and your skill and your efforts.  Your wisdom.  Your courage.  Maybe, secretly, you wanted people to see your poster so that they could see you!

But now that your poster has been ruined beyond all recognition, it is so obvious what it had been made of . . . cheap paper.  Weak and fragile.  Temporary.  Disposable.  Behind it, what had been hidden from view behind that thin veneer, was something infinitely more valuable.  Something far more excellent and awe-inspiring.  Underneath, all along, has been a Rock, strong and firm and unwavering.  Steadfast.

It’s like when Peter ventured out into the waves, brave and confident.  Cocky, even.  He was so excited to step out in faith!  He just knew that he was going to do the impossible, because after all, he was following Jesus!  He may have even said, “Hey guys, look at me!!”  So what changed?  Why did he so suddenly start to sink?  Why did he cry out in terror, pretty sure that he was about to drown? 

What happened was he took his eyes off of Jesus.

Just like Peter, you find yourself far from solid ground, pretty sure that you are about to drown.  Keep your eyes on Jesus.

Now that you see your shabby poster for what it really is, now that it has been torn away and is no longer obstructing the breathtaking view . . . fix your eyes on the Rock.  Fix your thoughts on Jesus. (Hebrews 3:1)

Hold on to the courage and the hope of which you had boasted.  (Hebrews 3:6)

Hold firmly until the end the confidence you had at first.  (Hebrews 3:14)

It’s ok if you don’t have enough wisdom.  If your skills are too meager.  If your strength has run out.  If you are no longer brave.  The perfect poster is gone, so there’s no need to keep taping it.  No need to keep pretending.  You can stand in awe, in speechless wonder, at that Rock, that abiding, faithful, unflinching Rock that will never be shaken.

You think, I can’t do this!  It’s impossible!  There is no shame, no condemnation.  There is freedom in admitting your inability, your inadequacy for this task.  Did He call you to this task because you were capable?  No, He called you to this task to show that He is capable.  Is anything too hard for the Lord?

Now, in your time of need, you can approach the throne of grace with confidence, and may receive mercy and find grace.  (Hebrews 4:16)  You may not have a shred of strength or courage left, but you know where to find it.  Receive His mercy.  Find grace.

Incredible as it may sound, you can genuinely be grateful that you are no longer the poster child you hoped you would be - not for a comfortable cozy life, and certainly not for this brave new thing.  You don’t have to be the example for anyone else to follow.  You can stop feeling guilt or anger or shame that it didn’t turn out the way you expected.

Why?  Because it’s never been about you and what you can do.  It’s always been about Him and the amazing things that He can do. 

Because now that the ordinary has been torn away, there is room for the extraordinary.

Write about your journey.  Talk about it.  Sing about it, even!  It’s a story worth sharing!  Why?  Because now that you are no longer on display, He can be!