Sustained by the King

I wait for the Lord; I wait and put my hope in His word. I wait for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning — more than watchmen for the morning. Israel, put your hope in the Lord. For there is faithful love with the Lord, and with Him is redemption in abundance.
Psalm 130:5-7

For the second time in my life, I am in a season of waiting. The first time God led me to a season of waiting, it ended with me in a pit of depression and depravity. I’m determined for things to be different this time.

In 2020, my then-husband and I obeyed the Lord’s call to become foster parents. We became foster parents for one specific little boy, a wild banshee of a boy who needed a forever home. He was being temporarily fostered at the time by a family we loved dearly, and it seemed like the perfect, storybook version of obedience: I had cared for this family and their children for a decade. I get married, my husband and I graduate college, and we immediately say “yes!” to God’s call to care for the orphans. How convenient that the little boy we’re meant to rescue is just down the street, being temporarily fostered by a family we knew like the backs of our hands. Little did we know, God had a very different plan.
Long story short, that little boy was not meant to be ours. To be fully honest, I was slightly relieved—my 22-year old self was terrified by the thought of becoming a mother to a wonderfully hyperactive three-year old overnight. That first step of obedience was meant to get us in the water of fostering, but we were far from our final destination. Our “yes!” was meant for a different little boy, a boy who was created to be loved by us for the rest of our lives. A little boy we named Luca James.
We met Luca in the NICU two weeks after our government announced the pandemic lockdown. He was a high legal risk case, which meant there was a high likelihood that his parent'(s) legal rights would be revoked and we would be able to adopt him. Once again, it seemed like the perfect, storybook version of obedience. This time, the call to foster would end up like we wanted it to, right?
Not quite.
Five months after bringing Luca home, we found out about a family member who wanted him. If you know anything about foster care, you know that once a relative decides they’re willing to take a child in, there’s a 0.001% chance of the child staying with their foster parents. From August to January, my then-husband and I fasted, prayed, petitioned, and worshipped for a miracle. We left no stone unturned, spiritually or practically, in trying to keep Luca. On January 11th, two social workers came to our house before dawn, loaded Luca and his belongings into the back of their car, and took our son to be “reunified” with a family member he’d never met in a state he’d never seen. Through our grief, we continued to fast, pray, petition, and worship for a miracle. They could change their mind! They could soften their heart! They could send him back to us! As the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months, the grief of lost hope and dashed dreams consumed me. By August, the trial period was over. Our son was gone, and my faith had left with him.
Being Luca’s mother was the greatest privilege, delight, and honor of my life. How could God do this? What good would it do me to trust in a God who couldn’t answer my pure, scripture-centered prayers? What kind of God lets children return to cycles of poverty and addiction? How could I ever pray for anything ever again?

The testing and refining I walked through in that first season of waiting nearly killed me. It ended my marriage, led me to deep sin, broke dozens of hearts, and devastated my faith. Now, three years later, the Lord is asking me to wait again.
Everything about this season is different. This season has been, praise God, filled with joy and blessing beyond compare. Rather than waiting from a place of grief, I’m waiting from a place of hope. As I pray with my hands and heart open, I’m encouraged by the Psalms’ calls to wait and hope on the Lord. At least weekly, if not more, the Lord prompts me to read Psalm 36-37 and Psalm 62-63. Diving into these chapters has redirected my longing from the object of my wait to the object of my faith.

Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires. Commit everything you do to the Lord. Trust Him, and He will help you. He will make your innocence radiate like the dawn, and the justice of your cause will shine like the noonday sun. Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for Him to act.
Psalm 37:4-7
Rest in God alone, my soul, for my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold; I will not be shaken. My salvation and glory depend on God, my strong rock. My refuge is in God. Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts before Him. God is our refuge.
Psalm 62:5-8

Before, I curled my fingers around the desires of my heart so tightly, my knuckles turned white and my nails pierced my skin. I won’t ever trust you again if you don’t bring my baby back. I’d rather die than lose him. How dare you, God. I placed Luca on the highest pedestal, miles above the Lord. I spent those months jabbing my finger into God’s chest and resenting Him more and more every day. The years between have allowed me to see glimpses of why I had to suffer as I did, and hindsight has made me thankful that God’s plan was different than mine. The scars of trauma remain, but they trace a pattern of grace rather than malice. What I wanted was good, but it wasn’t what was best.
Now, my hands are open. My heart is still longing, but it’s doors are open for God to work. Now, my faith grows stronger each day rather than weaker. As I stand at a fork in the road for my future, God has given me glimpses into the blessings and trials that lie ahead for both paths. Rather than praying for a yes from God, I’m praying for His guidance and discernment. If I get everything I want but don’t want Christ more, even my dreams will leave me empty. I’m praying that He would continue to help me believe that my life with Him will be beautiful and wild, whether this season ends the way I’m hoping it does or not. Rather than seeing this season of waiting as something to rush through, counting down the days until God reveals the path ahead, I’m choosing to see it as a season of preparation.

This season of preparation is refining me, teaching me to wait on the Lord in things big and small. This season of preparation is healing me, tugging me back to trust that God is good and has a beautiful plan for me. This season of preparation is molding me, forming my heart to look less like my brokenness and more like my Jesus. He has redeemed me for so much more than I can fathom, and I won’t waste a moment by taking my eyes off Him. As I fix my gaze on who God is rather than what He can do for me, I find my peace. Either way, whether I get what I’m asking for or not, I’ve found Jesus. No dream is greater than the gift of His presence.

If you’re in a season of waiting, I hope you can be encouraged today. God has called you to adventure in the wild of His glory. The small moments between, the moments He’s quiet or life seems to pause, are the moments to rest and restore your strength in His presence. However this season ends for you, there is so much beauty to be found in your waiting. With every prayer, God is working. With every tear cried, God is moving. He holds your future in His capable hands, and He loves you more than you could ever know. May your wait lead you to worship the Lord, trust in His plans, and seek His face. Rather than worshipping your desires, even the good ones, I pray you will press deeper into the One who desires you. With all the might of the heavens and all the perfection of His glory, He loves and longs for you.