With what measure did I love?
Fourteen months ago, God violently shook our hearts and asked us to step outside of our plan and bring home baby number five. Only weeks into sleep deprivation and complete chaos, God pulled me in further and asked me to show up for Sweet Mama. This wasn't a gentle calling that lead to a casual check-in. It was more of a walk-into-her-room-and-scatter-the-darkness type of event.
After 30ish years of walking with the Lord, I can boast in my direction following. I wouldn't say that I always see the world through a kingdom lens or that my natural frustrations don't blur the clarity, but when it comes to Sweet Mama, somewhere along the way, God swapped my heart for his, and loving her became instinct. But not easy.
It wouldn't be fair to measure my love for my kids, or my husband, or my closest people. That's too obvious; predictable. Loving them takes very little effort.
The true measurement of love is found in messy relationships with obscure boundaries and complicated outcomes. Sometimes those relationships exist within our families and friendships, but more often they surface, suddenly, in the catastrophes of life. Because these experiences are marked with pain, bias, and inequality, it's easy for justice to strangle our love. We must fight for love.
I have been wrestling God over my relationship with Sweet Mama. He asks for more than I want to give and he never lets me settle within boundaries that make me feel safe. Sweet Mama is a fighter by nature and rules her life with aggression and manipulation.She takes more than she gives and rarely acknowledges our part in her story. It would be easy to cut off our connection and most would find it reasonable - maybe even necessary.
A few weeks ago, Sweet Mama started a social campaign to take her kids back and used pictures I had sent her. In my humanness, I was enraged. For several hours, I let myself think on my own and to those closest to me I ranted. It wasn't her intended threat that angered me (our adoptions are final and legal), it was her disregard for my heart and theirs. To no one in particular, I raised my fist and listed all the ways I had gone beyond. I relived the atrocities she committed and made sure to emphasize words like MY KIDS and MY FAMILY.
Earthly wisdom encouraged me to close accounts, inform police, and take precautions, but thankfully the whisper of the Holy Spirit held more authority. Even in my fury, I knew the answer. She needed love more than ever. Her brokenness leaves her desperate, grasping for pieces she will never be able to put together on her own. I let my frustrations rest and after a few days, let God use me to administer healing to her heart. In the beginning of our conversation, her walls were very dark. Her words were ugly and harsh, but mine were soft and kind. When she spewed, I listened. Twice, I wanted to walk the other way; twice, God, gently, nudged me back. I listened; she cried. And then we broke through.
It took both patience and time for the window of her heart to open long enough for me to slip through. It wasn't as grisly as she let on, but it was full of dents and craters. Family, life, people, men - they've all let her down. The knee-jerk Christian response to this dilemma is to vocalize God's all encompassing, redeeming love...but then walk away.
That isn't gospel. That isn't love.
God uses us to reveal himself to others, but if we refuse to view people the way he does, we will never make impact. On the contrary, when we ignore our impulses and let the love of God turn our hearts toward others, that is where the supernatural magic happens.