I've been reading a book (I'm not naming the book because I don't want to spoil anyones read so consider yourself warned if you click the link). I'd followed the main character through his daughter being kidnapped, the next 24-48hrs of looking for his daughter, and his own guilt and pain at the loss.
I was doing just fine until a very anticlimactic part where he walked into a cave I think, and discovered his daughters bloodied dress.
I had to shut the book. A part of me that's just bone weary of the hurts stepped back and just sat down. My mind, suddenly startled by the find, knew that this is no rare occurrence. That's the very hardest, most exhausting part of foster care. Knowing the stories, hearing the stories in training, over and over again. Meeting the living stories,
There isn't anything it seems that can be done about it. My brain can't unload the information, but my heart can unload the hurt that can suffocate me.
I'm not good at it, but the cadence of "Lord help the hurt" is becoming more and more of a mantra. Whatever the load, whatever the burden, I can't 'fix' my heart. I can't remove the stains of past pains, or marks that were made when someone I loved was hurt, or when I hear of pain and injustice or trauma.
But I'm in constant need of a Savior who can keep the load from suffocating me. As I wait for Him, I'm pushing for more confidence (aka FAITH) in a Savior that knows the line between the hurts that paralyze me, and those that motivate me.
I've opened up the book again, because in the book - the main character is about to find God.
And I need to see my Savior come through.