I'm bombarding you with a series of pictures from a day when I was really missing my babies. Normally the logical side of me remembers that they were able to go to family, and that is good, as long as their families are providing them the care they should be. Normally I also remember that I could not raise up a 3-year-old, two 1-year-olds, and an 8-month-old all together in a two bedroom apartment, either legally or logistically.
Yet, some days, I cling to the hope that I'll get a call that my babies have come back into care and that the system is willing to bend all rules to put them with me again. I don't want their homes to fail. The mommy part of me just sometimes really misses my babies. It doesn't matter if I only knew them for a week or two days, because that is enough. I will always have days of intensely missing my babes gone home, thinking of how old they are and what they are doing now, and wondering if I'll ever see them again. I'll spend countless hours praying for my littles as they grow, asking Jesus to place them with people who can teach them how big and wide and enough God's love is, no matter their circumstances.
And because some days I just plain miss my babies, here are a bunch of adorable pictures of Baby M and Baby Z.
People say they could never do foster care because they couldn't handle sending kids home. It didn't take me long to learn that I can't handle it, either. But by God's grace, I'm able to turn that desperate longing for my babies into a longing for the wholeness and fullness of heaven. I'll never be whole again until I'm in the presence of Jesus. That's how it always was. The baby-sized holes in my heart are just really good reminders of that.