Next month is National Fostercare month so it seems like the time to share that we are almost done getting licensed to foster/ adopt. I am terrified.

When I love, I LOVE. When I attach, I ATTACH. I hate goodbyes. Even if it’s just for a night. I cry easily. My heart breaks easily. My kids’ hearts break easily. There are a million reasons not to do it. But here’s what I know- if we let Him, God will break our hearts for what breaks His. If we say the hard yes instead of the easy no, He will let us be participants in His beautiful, and painful, plans of redemption. Never did He promise us a life of ease and comfort. But He did promise to make beauty from ashes, turn mourning into joy, and take the broken pieces of our hearts and lives and turn them into worship. We aren’t always called to do bigger and better and grander things, sometimes we are called to love the one. The one who needs a temporary family. The one who needs a permanent family. The one who just needs someone to walk beside them and tell them “I know you can do this.” The one who feels alone, waiting for hope in the margins. The one who feels unseen, unheard, unloved. We aren’t called to sit inside our comfortable lives and look at the broken world around us. We are called to be light IN the broken world around us.

“Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.” 1 John 3:18 “This is my commandment: that you love one another as I have loved you.” John 15:12

I’m so very scared of having my heart broken over and over again. But I’m more scared of not loving and serving all of the people God puts in my life. What a privilege it is to give our broken hearts to Jesus, the ultimate comforter and restorer. What a privilege to trust the story He’s writing in our lives and those around us. What a privilege to offer our heart’s cries to Him as an act of worship. And what a privilege it is to serve and love His creation.

And we are in such sacred company when our hearts break with Jesus’ heart. Because His promises for the broken hearted are full of hope and comfort and restoration. Don’t miss out on the hard yeses He has before you because you fear the messiness, the hurt, the discomfort. His promises are true on our mountaintops AND our valleys. In the ease and the hardship. The comfort and the struggle. He won’t call you into His story and then leave you. He will see you through. He will wipe your tears and draw ever closer to you as you love harder. He will fill you up when you’re poured out. He will be the strength you need when you fumble through the messy stories. Jesus followers, let’s really love like Jesus. Let’s jump into the unknowns He’s called us to. Let’s get dirty and broken, just like He did. Let’s run, hearts wide open, into a world that desperately needs our light.

“He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3 “The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18 “Weeping may stay through the night but rejoicing comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5

Lately I’ve felt such a heavy weight of comparison. I see other mamas who seem to be more organized than me, more patient than me, more creative than me; hustling more than me. And honestly, I feel like I’m failing at all my roles. In my mind, I’m not wife-ing like I should, not mom-ing like I should, not blogging like I should, not running my Etsy shop like I should. And when I take it to Jesus, I feel angry. I’m mad that I’m not succeeding like I thought I should. I’m mad because I feel like he’s left me on my own. And really, I’m mad because it feels like He doesn’t care about my “success”. I feel like lately my tears and cries are falling on empty space. And then I woke up today. Good Friday.

Nothing miraculous changed. I still feel like I’m failing. I still feel like I’m not measuring up. But today, I decided to turn my heart to the cross. And you know what? My “successes” don’t really matter. Because my role as a mama is not to be perfect in every way, it’s not to succeed by cultural standards, it’s not to measure up. My role is to humbly submit my ways to the cross, to wake up each day relying on His grace and mercies, and to model this to my kids. On my own, I always fall short. But then, the cross. The grace overflowing that fills in all my gaps when I humbly let it. The forgiveness that was extended while I was still a sinner.

On Good Friday, Jesus gave up every measure of success. He humbled Himself to death on the cross, never once choosing to prove how “good” He was. And if we are to be like Him, we have to surrender our shortcomings to Him and watch Him faithfully renew us. Our kids don’t need a perfect mom, they need a humble mom who is willing to fall short by others standards in order to measure up to God’s standards.

Today, on Good Friday, with my gaze on the cross, I’m surrendering my discontent heart. And I’m trusting. That the work He did on the cross, the love and grace poured out, are abundantly more than this world could ever give me. I’m trusting that when He looks on me He sees His grace, not my failings. I’m trusting that my measures of success are not His and I’m trying to lay them at the cross. And I’m thanking Him. For loving me even when I don’t feel worthy. For loving me when I’m discontent. And for gently pulling my gaze back to His every time I falter.

Jesus didn’t call us to be perfect moms or perfect followers. He called us to be humble and grace-filled. And Good Friday reminds me that I can only do this with my eyes on Him and my heart tied to His word.