November 3rd, 2014 § 2 Comments
There’s this little Mexican kid keeping us up at night. Over the last month, barely conscious, I’ve stumbled into his room every night to quell the little man’s demands … well, really, it’s just one demand. His 1 AM call. The drink of choice: Enfamil Gentlease. I summon every bit of my badly diminished capacity to mix a bottle in the dark as the kid extends me zero consideration. It’s full “fire drill” until he’s stuffed shut with a nipple. Finally, a breath. And on some nights, even a thought: “What in the world did I get myself into?”
A few years ago, my wife and I decided to look into foster parenting. Long story. The short of it is that we believe in God. Although I’ve purposely tried to keep this blog free of religious language (Maybe I’ll explain why in a future post), just about every thought has been inspired by our faith. This faith has us trusting that more than anything else, God is love. And this love extends beyond what we feel. It certainly encompasses our feelings, but it’s also an act … something of volition. A workable definition of love can be To do something for another’s good.
What in the world did I get myself into? We got ourselves into love. Not the happy intoxication, but the dazed sacrifice. And truth be told, I didn’t get myself into anything. Myself would have strenuously opposed this. God got me into this because he loves this precious little boy. Move mountains for him. He loves the boy’s parents. And he loves us.
This week, a friend asked me, “Do you love him?” In some ways, not anything like my own. In another way, I don’t know if I’ve loved anyone more.