When I get to the end of life, I want to peer up, drawing my last breath, look toward my Savior, and know I am completely wrung out for Him, for His glory. I don't want to boast of one drop of morrow left in me reserved for tomorrow or my comfort. With that, I would need more time to expend the breath He'd given me, the calls He placed on me, and my talents that He'd entrusted to me. Desiring this for life seems easier than living each day with the same yearning; so I am beginning each day with the real end in mind.
We are neck deep in our paperwork for our adoption of an older child, siblings, or special needs children. This adoption promises a new set of challenges. We anticipate more pain, more hurt, more attachment issues, more adjusting, and, hey, more children. Not a day passes I don't wonder if we are ready for this, if we are crazy, if we will find ourselves rend of all personal time and comfort we've known.
Harder yet, is hearing from others their concern without offering to act as the body of Christ is called to behave; gird up, support, pray, encourage, and bridge the gap when our strength is failing. They warn about burn out. The assure us we are chasing trends/riding a fad (if I'm not mistaken widow and orphan care was a trend Christ began in the church over 2000 years ago). They caution us we are getting in over our heads. Yes, they say, you are signing up for pain and giving up our personal happiness. Yep! We are. I know they embrace the same Word of God I read.
In the midst of doubt, I return to Phil. 3:10, which reminds me when I am sharing in the power of the resurrection, I am joining in His sufferings. The word suffering alone guarantees there a great opportunity for pain, hurt, discouragement, and, yes, even burn out. A bit masochistic, but I know Act 20:24 echos the sentiment. I'm aiming to run the race God has in front of me. For us parenting...parenting a lot of children...some who look different than me...having special needs...and not born of my womb. I anticipate weariness. Training for a race and running it is hard. Testifying of God's grace in the midst of the race is a joy, hard, but a joy. Finding myself broken, exhausted, spent, and needy allows Him a greater platform. Suddenly, my flesh fails and the Spirit steps in. I consider this the strict training and blows to my own body that goes into an eternal crown (I Cor. 9:24-27).
My friends are right. They know me. I will experience lassitude. I will regret my decisions in the middle of a hard day. I will cry. I will grieve. I will need help. THEN...Then...then, I will remember that my "light and momentary troubles are achieving for (me) an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So (I) fix my eyes...on what is eternal" (II Cor. 4:17-18). What a joy, friend, to find myself wrung out. By the moment. Daily. Weekly. For a lifetime.