Kindergarten Teacher, I Am Your Biggest Fan

My son has five days left in his kindergarten career. Which means he only has 37.5 hours left with you. And while this might be cause for a party on your part, my gut response is to fall at your feet and embrace your ankles because I am so not ready for you to not be his teacher.

I'll never forget the fear and apprehension and worry that accompanied me when I walked him into your classroom on August 19. He was my first to leave the nest and I wanted to ask if I could install a nanny cam. You looked too young. And cutesy. And I had serious doubts that my son was ready for this. To that point I had been successful at teaching him to (sorta) write his name and (maybe) a dozen letters. (I'm good at other things!) I was convinced he would need two years in kindergarten. How could you possibly get him ready for first grade in just nine months?

You won my heart and gained my confidence later that week when I got a text from you. He had a minor meltdown after nap time, you wrote. When I asked what was wrong he said he missed you. I sat on the floor and held him for a while. Just wanted you to know he had a rough few minutes, but bounced back. 

I sat at the table and cried. Tears of sadness because my son missed me and needed me and I wasn't there. And tears of gratitude that you were. You didn't scold him, or dismiss him, or overlook him. You held him. And I knew then that you were for him. 

Since then it's been emails about his progress and calls of concern. Pulling his tooth (cause we both know that ain't my thang!) and texting a picture of his gaping grin. Paying for his snack when I forgot to send a dollar and keeping him close when the Easter Bunny came. (What is UP with that fear of costumes?!) Laughing at the stories he tells and not holding them against me. (Ahem. Most of them are likely. Probably. Sadly. True.) Making sure I knew that he offers to push other kids on the swing, and telling me often that he's a great kid. 

You call him one of "your babies" and watch over him like he were your own. 

Because of you he can read letters. And words. And sentences. He can do math and follow directions and write I love you mom and dad.

On the wall.

In marker. 

Because of you he feels safe and secure in the classroom and looks forward to going there. Because of you he has something that sets the stage for a deep and wide life. A love of learning. And a confidence that he can. 

Even without seeing his report card and the progress he's made, your influence is obvious around this house. He draws you pictures and writes you notes. He asks to buy you candy bars and cars and wants to invite you over. You are the Grand Poobah of knowledge and he thinks he can win any argument simply by saying, "Ms. Peacock says so!"  Also, my daughter has started including you when she draws pictures of our family. 

Beloved teacher, how can I ever repay you? Jen Hatmaker already came up with all the really cool ideas. But I'll offer what I can. You need prayer? I'm your girl. Something on your heart, I'm here to listen. A Pinterest project for your classroom? Better call someone else. A girls night out? CALL ME NOW. My undying devotion and forever words of praise. They are yours. 

Few things in this life mean more to me than someone investing in my children. You opened the world to my son. I am your biggest fan.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Thank you for every time you got up with me in the night,

all the messes you cleaned, the laundry you washed, the meals you lovingly cooked,

the birthday cakes and parties,

for buying my favorite cereal,

a million trips to the doctor,

and a billion doses of medicine.

Thank you for getting me ready for church,

and taking me every time the doors were open,

for correcting me when I was wrong,

and praising me when I was right.

Thank you for teaching me about the big, big love of Jesus,

for reading the Bible to me,

for showing me how to be a Godly woman.

Thank you for teaching Sunday School,

and not wearing a new dress on Easter

so the little girl who couldn't afford one

wouldn't feel left out.

Thank you for putting up with my preteen swings,

for bearing my yelling and arguing,

for not killing me when I assumed I knew everything,

for listening to all the adolescent girl drama,

and buying me clothes that cost too much so I would feel less self conscious.

Thank you for being at every band performance, every concert, every competition,

for buying me two flutes and working tirelessly at dozens of fundraisers.

Thank you for bringing me dinner at school when I worked late on yearbook deadlines,

for being my number one fan and biggest cheerleader.

Thank you for all the money you spent to give me an education,

for leaving me at college, and then at seminary, so I could find my own way,

for letting go and trusting God would guide me.

Thank you for a zillion tears cried and prayers prayed on my behalf.

Thank you for a gazillion hours spent on the phone 

listening to whatever I wanted to babble about,

for not telling me I was crazy for dating all those weirdos,

for stocking up on wedding supplies for 8 straight years,

and for working your fingers to the bone when I finally met the one

to give me the wedding of my dreams.

Thank you for buying me maternity clothes,

for spending 4 hours in Babies R Us 

investigating "only the best" baby equipment,

for driving across the country 2 weeks early so you wouldn't miss Titus' delivery,

for spending 5 weeks away from home when Anna was born,

and for loving my children as much as I do.

Thank you for buying 3 dozen plane tickets,

for giving up having us with you during the holidays,

for never making us feel guilty for living so far away,

while making sure we knew you would prefer us right under your nose.

Thank you for embracing this new one who is not of my womb,

and every one who might come after him,

for defending us to those who think we're nuts,

for being a mama bear even though this cub is 34.

Thank you for not forcing me into a mold,

for being behind me no matter what the Lord asks me to do,

for trusting my discernment and letting me blaze my own trail.

Thank you for taking this mothering thing seriously.

You are really good at loving me.

The Truth About Me

It seems there's a rumor going around that I'm some kind of exceptional person. Everywhere I go since we gained a housemate, I'm greeted with "What you are doing is amazing" and "You're inspirational" and "You have the best hair". (Okay. Not that one. But I really want good hair.) My inbox has been flooded peppered with over-the-top kindness from people telling me how great we are for fostering this darling boy. And this is causing me all kinds of anxiety because I know the truth, and it's time to let the masses in on it.

There's a false belief that you have to be a "special person" to take a child into your home that isn't your own. Like we must posses some above average ability to love or parent or follow Jesus. I've been told how brave I am, how full of faith. And while I covet every thoughtful word of encouragement, I can't have people thinking we're anything special. Because we simply are not.

The faith that led us to fostering was full of ups of downs. Up days when I was excited and motivated and ready to take on whatever small and wounded soul the Lord sent. Mostly those days were on Sundays. There was something about standing with my church family and singing to the Savior that gave me the strength I needed to keep walking into the unknown. The song Oceans by Hillsong United became my theme and I sobbed like a baby every time we sang it. Sundays I was full of faith and trust in God's guidance and provision.

But by Tuesday I was usually saying are you sure, Lord? Cause I really need you to make this one clear. My motto became, "Lord, I do believe. Help my unbelief!" I was a volatile mixture of fear and faith.

There were plenty of down days. Days I wasn't sure I wanted to do this. My family was happy and normal healthy and rolling merrily down the road. Our kids were becoming more self sufficient and I began to consider working outside the home. Our life was easy and manageable. And under control. We had a good thing going and I wondered if we should risk it all.

So if you think we decided to foster and then walked headstrong to the day of our first placement with little hesitation, you're dead wrong. I doubted everything. I doubted my ability to maintain the stability of my current children while also bringing in a new child who needed extra care. I wondered how I could keep up with the endless emotional demands that come with raising kids from hard places. I fought the fear that fostering would somehow lead Titus and Anna to grow up resentful and reject Christ. I obsessed about what problems a foster child might bring into our home. What if they cracked our foundation? During the dark hours when I was plagued with doubts, I knew that I didn't have the faith required to do this.

God would have to give it to me. 

Now that we have a sweet little one in our home, there are moments of exhilaration. We are water walking! We stepped out of the boat and HE IS FAITHFUL. He is giving us what we need moment by moment to navigate this wild new way of living. And often, it's a rush. We're touching a life. We're serving the least of these. We're rocking this new adventure with Christ!

But sometimes I look at the waves and lose sight of His grip. And that's when I plummet to the depths.

Nathan was holding him while I was fixing a bottle. He pondered out loud, "I wonder what he'll look like when he gets older." The first thing that came to my mind also came out of my mouth...

"What if we never know."

My heart has never been this vulnerable,this laid out for potential pain. I get physically nauseated at the thought of him leaving us. Of not having him under my protective wing and watchful eye. I fear the day that I might have to hand him over. I worry. I grieve the unknown possibilities. It's a daily struggle to remember that he might not be a permanent fixture in our family. That he has another mother and my rights are none. I get overwhelmed with the onslaught of new emotions that became my constant companion when he joined us three weeks ago.

And it's not just the tough stuff, I wrestle with all the silly and selfish aspects of this new thing too. Like, where did my free time go? I kinda want some of it back. I drool at the thought of a housekeeper. And a cook. Or a babysitter that doesn't have to be fingerprinted and background checked.  And I know my sin nature is really kicking into high gear when I start keeping count of the hours of sleep that Nathan is getting verses mine.

I'm harder on my kids because there's more to do and less time to do it. I fuss at my husband for leaving junk laying around - despite the fact that he has served me and these kids sacrificially nearly every waking minute since our new normal began. I get aggravated. I get tired. I get testy. Just ask my family.

Sweet readers, my belabored point is this. There is nothing special about me or my family.We're weird and messy and sometimes mean. I have hang ups. I have fears. I have faults. The only thing "special" about me that makes this task doable, is that I also have Jesus. 

Questions People Ask

I was at Titus' school for a Trike-a-thon and had baby boy with us. A sweet lady came over to see what I had in my "pouch" (sling).  After the ooo-ing and ahh-ing, she asked how old he was.

"Two weeks," I replied.

"Two weeks!? Wow. You don't look like you just gave birth two weeks ago."

Well, that's a relief.

I don't usually advertise the fact that he's my foster son, but to escape the lie that I squeeze into regular jeans 14 days after childbirth, my conscience demanded that I fess up. After I explained, again, (because I've repeated this scenario a dozen times since he joined our crew) came all the questions.

But honestly, I don't mind the questions. Answering them is a platform of sorts. A chance to talk about what we've learned and promote the big, big need for foster parents.  It's an opportunity to educate and dispel myths on a subject I've become passionate about. So bring 'em on. My guess is that since strangers and church members and best friends and everyone in between have questions about how fostering works, others might too.

Disclaimer: This will undoubtedly be my driest and dullest post. (We can hope, anyway). I operate more in the realm of storytelling and persuasion and anything that involves emotion. Straight facts with little commentary give me flashbacks to writing research papers. The horror. I get all worked up about being inaccurate and incorrect and saying something that will make social workers revoke my foster license.

But I can well remember the hours I spent online when we began considering foster care. It was a huge unknown. In all my life, I've never had a personal relationship with someone who was a foster parent, or a foster child. I had no framework of experience through which to filter my questions, no one to ask about the process, no flesh and blood person to fill me in on what life might look like if we took the foster care route. And the greatest desire I had was for information on this great unknown. Trying to wade through government sites of garbally gook was barely helpful. What I needed  was someone to answer my questions in everyday language and give me real life examples.

So in the spirit of providing information for those who are curious, or considering foster care, I give you the following questions I get most often and how I usually answer them.
(Keep in mind, I'm usually less sarcastic to people's faces.)

Question #1 - Are you going to keep him?

As if it were that simple. The short answer is, "We have no idea."

By it's very nature, fostering is designed to be temporary. The long term plan for most children who are brought into custody is for reunification with the birth parent(s). The child is not an orphan and parental rights have not been terminated, therefore the child is not currently adoptable. His parents aren't dead-just unable to care for him due to abuse, neglect, or failure to provide. So the Child Protective Services places him/her in a foster home with the hope that they will only be in custody until the parents are deemed able to care for the child again. Of course, in cases of extreme abuse, the plan is not for reunification.

So, when a child comes into foster care, most of the time they are not up for adoption. They may eventually become adoptable (more about that later) but for the time, the state has custody and a temporary placement (foster home) is found until they are returned to their home, to a close family member, or become adoptable.

When the social worker asked us if we wanted to foster our new addition, we knew that our future with him was highly uncertain. He may be with us a short while, many months or his status may change at some point to adoptable. At which time we would sign on the dotted line. But at this point, only One knows "if we are going to keep him."

Question #2 - How long will you have him?

Pretty much the same answer as #1. There is no way for us to know. The biological mom has 14 days from the time he was brought into care to name relatives she would like to be considered as a family resource-someone in the family who could take custody of him. After a family resource is named, DHR begins the process of determining if that person is able/fit to take him. They look at many of the same things that were considered for our foster care license- home inspection, income, background check, interest in the child, etc. This process takes several weeks, more if the family resource lives across county lines. If the family resource checks out as a good option for him, he may only be with us 4 weeks or so.

If the family resource does not get permission for custody, then he will potentially stay with us until he is either reunified with his birth mom, or he becomes adoptable.

Question #3 - Why was he removed from his parents?

Can't talk about it. Not as in, it's too emotional. But for confidentiality purposes. This little guy doesn't need that aspect of his story shared with the masses. Some people don't know how to respect the delicacy of that information. In order to protect him, and his birth parents, we keep this (generally) to ourselves.

Question #4 - What are the chances he will go back to his biological mom?

It depends entirely on her. If she does all the things the court has asked her to do, the chances are high. Alabama believes (in theory anyway) in the preservation of families. In other words, the court system and human resources work to reunify children with their families. But the road to that actuality is very difficult for many parents. The cycle of sin is nearly impossible to break for countless moms and dads who have had their children taken away. It is obvious to me that our little guy's mom loves him. The question is, can or will she take all the steps necessary to earn the confidence of the social workers and court system.

Question #5 - At what point would you be able to adopt him?

The general guideline is to give birth parents one year to get their act together. If the parents do not meet all the court orders and deadlines during those 12 months, the court will (usually)begin a "permanent plan" for the child. In order for our little one to become adoptable, the court would have to terminate parental rights. However, some courts are more inclined to do that than others. Many simply want to give the birth parents every reasonable chance to get their child back. Which means the child is in foster care for longer. If parental rights are terminated, we would get first dibs on adopting him. Even if he does become adoptable after that year (or so) the process to adopt takes time too.

We're relatively new to this whole process and still have loads to learn. My perspectives and answers to these questions may change dramatically as we actually live this thing out. If you are a seasoned foster care veteran, by all means share your answers to these questions in the comments field. The educational process is fluid and we need your input! If you're a rookie like me and curious about a question I didn't address, ask that too.

And Then It Got Real: My First Foster Care Experience

Our local Baptist Association was hosting an Easter egg hunt for foster families. They were kind enough to include prospective foster parents in on the invitation. I was relieved when I pulled up and saw two other couples from the GPS (foster care certification) classes.  I was a newbie and totally felt like it. Seeing other newbies I could band with turned down the awkward dial. 

Foster mom's were pulling up in minivans and SUVs with multiple kids of different races piling out. As I watched little ones toddle around with Easter baskets bigger than they were, I began to think about how real this whole thing was becoming. These were actual souls, no longer case studies or statistics. Here were babies and preschoolers and big kids who had found a safe haven in the homes of loving families. They were protected. And happy. And doing normal little kid stuff. The weight that we might be embracing one just like them in a few weeks settled like a heavy quilt. Just warm. And not burdensome. 

I stayed for only 45 minutes knowing I had another normal little kid event to attend (Titus' first game of the season!) then started saying my goodbyes. Several social workers from our county were there that day, and on my way out one asked if she could talk with me.

If you've read previous blog posts, you might assume nothing would shock me at this point. I should expect the unexpected. We all should. We serve a mysterious God who is a master plot-twister. And that day, He did it again.

"Beth, we got a call yesterday. There was a baby born Friday who we will  have to take into care on Monday. Would you and Nathan be interested in fostering this baby?"

One heartbeat. Eyes bulging.

"Yes!"

The easiest and quickest yes I've ever uttered. 

I vaguely remember asking if it was a boy or a girl, but at this point my IQ had dropped dramatically and I was having trouble forming sentences. A baby boy, she said.

EEEK!  A baby boy!

I got a few other details. But that was it. My brain was trying to compute a baby boy joining our nest. THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. I don't even remember saying goodbye. And I definitely forgot to get her cell number. Did I buckle my seat belt after I got in the car? How do you start this thing?! Tee ball, game, Beth. Get it together and drive! You can wig out later.

I remember zilch about the drive to the ball field. Except that about half way there I started questioning my memory.

Did I hear her correctly? Did she mean this Monday? As in not tomorrow but the next day!?

I speed dialed my friend Machelle who I hoped and prayed was still at that Easter Egg hunt. "Machelle, this is Beth. Is Felecia still there? Hallelujah. Could you ask for her number. Wait. That's weird. She might not want to give me her personal number. Would you give her my number and ask her to call me as soon as she has a chance? It's REALLY important. Great, thanks!"

Cause that didn't raise an eyebrow at all.

As I walked toward the ball field from the parking lot like a zombie, another thought struck me.

Maybe I should have asked Nathan about this.

I stared at my son in all his cuteness playing ball and my husband rocking the coach role, but mentally I was elsewhere. Trying to figure out what the heck was going on up in here. We were only 8 weeks into our training. A baby boy was moving in? On Monday!? By my estimation, this whole scenario was at the very least 2 weeks earlier than I had expected.

I should stop expecting.

Those games only last about 30 minutes. Hallelujah, amen. Because I needed to talk to my husband NOW. The teams shook hands, kids came by for snacks. I did the, "Great job, Titus!" spill. Nathan gave me the "How did it go?" eyebrow raise.

And then I lowered the boom on his orderly and predictable world.

Something about sharing the news with Nathan forced reality to set it. And with reality came the excitement. You've heard of nesting. I went into hyper-nesting. My mind racing with what all needed to be done.  I had a crib. But that was the extent of the baby gear at my house. No bottles. No car seat. No changing pad. No nothing. I had enjoyed 36 weeks of preparation for my two biological babies. I was looking at 36 hours at best for this one. How was I going to get everything I needed in 36 HOURS?!

Shortly after we left the ball field, I gave my friend Katrina the news. Three hours later she bust up in my driveway, SUV loaded down with baby gear. Later Calli came with even more stuff. Bless the hearts of mom's who keep everything and are willing to share! They totally tended to my heart with their generosity and prevented wide scale panic since I was down to around 30 hours at that point.

The next day (Sunday) was a blur. I didn't talk about our news much to church members. Quite frankly I was beginning to wonder if I had dreamed the whole thing. It was a packed day from beginning to end which left no time for hand wringing or anxiety. We just did life. With the knowledge that we could be gaining a family member the next day.

Monday morning came. Titus out the door to school and a kiss to Nathan on his way to work. I remember him saying, "Call me if we have a baby. I'll come home."

I love that guy.

I performed the worlds fastest house cleaning, dressed Anna and dashed to the grocery store for FORMULA and DIAPERS. By 11am I was home wondering if this was really going to happen.

Shouldn't they have called by now? If nothing else but to confirm I would be home? Maybe they decided to take him to someone else. What is the protocol for this sort of thing?!

At 1:45 pm, the phone rang.

"Beth, what's your address?  We're on our way to the hospital and then we'll be straight over to your house."

WITH A BABY, YA'LL.

It struck me then.  That fragile three-day-old wee one was being picked up by strangers, only to be transported to a stranger's home, to be cared for by strangers.

Begin heartbreak. And tears.

30 long minutes went by before I heard Gracie barking alerting us to outsiders on the premises. It was raining. One social worker was holding an umbrella over the other as she tried to maneuver the carseat out of the car. I ran over and bounced around them like a chihuahua. Eager to help but not wanting to take over too quickly.

And then he was under my roof. In my living room. And I got my first look.

No words. Just big, deep emotions.

The stranger transport people stayed about 20 minutes. As my friend Jenna described it, having appliances delivered often demands more ritual and paperwork. I signed nothing. Knew nothing. Save his name. And the immediate, overwhelming desire to nurture and protect this tiny one.

How long that role would belong to me was a mystery. A great unknown that would dominate my thoughts in the days to come. But that first night with him brought one certainty. He was now a part of us. Our history. Our story. And we were a part of his.

A New Direction. Again. Some More.

After Nathan and I changed course to pursue domestic adoption, and then had the surprise visit from the Haitians, we settled into Christmas celebrations and anxiously waited for a phone call from our state agency to fill us in on next steps. 

We are not good waiters. 

Not like as in a restaurant. As in waiting. For stuff to happen. For people who have the information to tell us what our lives might look like in the future. So after a week, we called them. They reported that the next step was to take a mandatory training class which would take place some time starting in January.  They would call and let us know when. 

Ehhh. More waiting. 

In the meantime, we had plenty to discuss.  Like if we were going to be adopting or fostering. Seven years earlier when we had first discussed raising children who were not ours biologically, I had informed Nathan that I was not interested in fostering. My reasons were similar to many you've probably heard before. Reasons you might state yourself. Mainly, I didn't think I could have a child placed in my home only to have it removed later. How could I love and nurture a child and then let it go? Possibly likely back to a home situation I felt was unsafe or unsuitable. I couldn't fathom how I would navigate that kind of heartache.

On the way back home from a trip to Kentucky, we stopped to see dear friends who had adopted the year before. We were excited to catch up with them and meet their daughter. Since we were at the beginning of the adoption process, we annoyed them with questions. At some point they asked if we were considering foster care or adoption only. Nathan looked at me with that you answer this, it's your hangup look. I remember Rebecca mentioning that they were interested in fostering when their daughter got older. And then she made a statement that has stuck in my head ever since. "Some kids just need a soft place to land while their parents get it together."

Hmmm. I chewed on that for a while. And prayed about it.

I told God again how unsure I was about loving a child and then sending it off into the unknown. That it would break my heart to give one up that had become a part of my family. That I struggled with the unknowns and possible transitory situations that came with fostering. That I wasn't sure I could handle my home becoming a revolving door of children. 

And then He said something really profound.

This isn't just about you, Beth.

Owww. 

But He was right. This isn't about what is comfortable for me (for the love, this process is demolishing every comfort zone I've ever embraced). Or safe. Or easy. Or assured. This isn't about what will keep my heart feeling warm and fuzzy. 

This is about the least of these. This is about children up the road from our homes who are living through hell. Who are scared. And beaten. And molested. And broken. Who simply need a consistent parent figure to say you are worth it. You are worth me possibly getting my heart broken in the process of loving you. You are worth my home being turned upside down while we all adjust to each other. You are worth extra laundry, extra cleaning, extra doctor visits, extra homework, extra diapers. Jesus died for you, precious one, so you are worth the room in my heart and life to love you. Even if it's only for a time. Even if a little piece of me dies if you go away. 

Nothing about following Christ is tame or safe. We've decided to change directions from adoption only, to fostering too. That ain't safe, folks. It's not safe for my heart, or our checkbook, or our social life, or my sanity! I might get broken in this process. Every person who currently lives in my house will suffer. But if we suffer for another, we might look a little more like our Savior. And I want soo much to look like him. I want to love like He loved. With no thought of self. In order to redeem another. 

I'm not saying every Christ follower is called to foster. Or adopt. The least of these are everywhere we find humans who are overlooked and mistreated. You won't need to look long or hard to find a vulnerable life of some kind to minister to. Jesus said whatever we do for them, we do for Him. And Worthy is the Lamb.

But let's stop shying away from serving them because we want to protect our hearts. Our hearts are already secure. They are eternally tied to the One who's heart bled out for us. He can help us deal with a broken heart. Let's put our hearts on the line for those who don't know Christ. Because it's not our hearts that are in danger. 

It's the infant who crawls around in a home with dirty drug needles on the floor and isn't fed or held or changed. It's the 4 month old baby girl who is slammed against the wall during a domestic dispute and the 2 year old who saw the whole thing. It's the 13 year old girl who is being targeted by sex slave organizations because she has no one who cares where she is or what she is doing. It's the 7 year old boy who hates the weekends because the only time he gets fed regularly is at school. 

It's their hearts and lives and eternity on the line.

Not mine. 

Letter to a Captive

Baby Girl, 

I see your self condemnation and it grieves Me. You needlessly hold on to sin and guilt, for I have not required it. On the contrary, I have provided a way for you to be free. I alone possess the key to your chains, but I give them to you. I am not your warden. I am your Rescuer. Liberty is waiting. Turn the lock and walk through the door to Me.

You think of me as a beast waiting to devour you. It is not so! Rather, I am the Lion of Judah. Here to defend you. There is no foe my equal. I will fight them all. For you. 

You wallow constantly in the atrocious sin you committed. The secret to waking from that nightmare is not complicated. Simply believe Me. Believe Me when I say I've removed your transgression. Your sin is no more. Yes it was hideous. Yes it was criminal. If it had been minimal would a cross be necessary to pay for it? But I have removed your sin as far as the east is from the west. There is no sin I can not pardon. For I am the judge. 

And I declare you innocent. 

I died so you can live. So LIVE. Live everyday in freedom from your past. The only chains it has on you are the ones you give it. The Evil One wants you hindered. He foams at the mouth to have you paralyzed in fear and condemnation. He promotes the lie that you are not worthy. That you disgust me. I moved heaven and earth to tell you otherwise. Ignore him. Listen to me! You have already cried rivers of repentance. Now dry your eyes and look to me. Take hold of the forgiveness that I freely offer. But I will not force it in your hands. Gifts must be received. 

Stop comparing yourself to others. Are they holy? Do they hold eternity in their hands? You think they are good and acceptable to me because of what you see on the outside. You assume I accept and bless them because of their righteous deeds. Their righteousness is to me as filthy rags. The same as yours. You will never stand in my presence based on self righteous acts. You will stand or fall based on your belief in my Son. When you believe Him, I will impute my righteousness to you. You will be right with me because I have made you so. Refuse to see yourself as shameful and less than. Open your eyes to how I see you. Blessed and highly favored.

I love you. I want to spend every day with you. Flee this captivity and let me show you life abundant. I will mount you on wings like an eagle. 

And for the first time in years, you will soar with me. 

Love,
Your Father