Looking back over the arc of our foster journey, my mind flounders when I try to describe what God has shown me about Himself and what I have learned. But last week, as I was preparing to share our story with a group of women, the phrase who for the joy set before Him endured the cross jumped into my thoughts. And it immediately put all of the pieces into place. Sometimes a verse jumps into my mind and then I have to work backwards to try to find where it’s located, but I finally tracked it down.
who for the joy set before Him endured the cross (Hebrews 12:2)
Our foster journey started around seven years ago. Welcomed Mr. Z (used to be “D”) three and half years ago. The trials of court and foster care. Living in the already-but-not-yet. Often aware and heavy-laden with it. There were a lot of little deaths that led to this beautiful season of joy. It’s really quite amazing to look back and see all of that now.
When I look at Jesus’ life, His example points the way: joy comes with cross-enduring. Why should our path not look a lot like His, our Servant-Master? He knew that death was ahead of Him, but He walked resolutely toward it, confident of the joy on the other side. And even the joy in the midst–it’s almost as if the cross and joy are intermingled. One comes with the other; they belong to each other.
I must also note that this joy I feel now is not a giddiness or an over-excited happiness. It’s not even quite like the gladness accompanying answered prayer or timely provision. It is deep and quiet and peaceful and true. It’s the joy of fellowship with God and confidence in His goodness–overflowing gratitude for all He has taught me on this journey.
scorning the cross’s shame (Hebrews 12:2)
There can be a certain stigma associated with fostering and adoption–the stares and the you-are-crazy’s. Not to mention my own heart questioning and wrestling–the what-if’s, if-only’s, and it’s-not-fair’s. To scorn can mean “to reject or dismiss as contemptible or unworthy” (Merriam-Webster). One must come to the place of throwing aside the shame, considering it unworthy of consideration. To Jesus, the cross was worth everything; and so He walked on despite the shame, betrayal and pain.
This shame-scorning highlights Jesus’ willingness. Paul David Tripp writes: “One of the dark character qualities of sin that we don’t recognize as much as we should is unwillingness. We’re often unwilling to do what God says if it doesn’t make sense to us. We’re often unwilling to inconvenience ourselves for the needs of someone else. . . . [So] a willing Savior is born to rescue unwilling people from themselves because there is no other way. Jesus was willing to leave the splendor of eternity to come to this broken and groaning world.” Jesus saw the victory to come–and, even though we can’t always see the other side like He can, we can trust that He sees our victory too.
let us fix our eyes on Jesus . . . let us consider Him Who endured SO THAT we will not grow weary and give up (Hebrews 12:2-3)
Friends–we need to be captured by Jesus, our gaze always locked on Him! We will want to give up and lose heart; we will grow weary. We certainly don’t serve the least of these neither because it feels good or fulfills us or helps us earn a better spot in eternity nor because it gives us all sorts of warm fuzzies or the children all turn out amazing. No, indeed. Remember something else Jesus said? “Take up your cross daily and follow Me” (Luke 9:23). We walk in the way of the cross because it is an honorable cross; this cross from Jesus is meant to be borne willingly in the power of the Holy Spirit. Jesus is our loving companion in death, faithful to bring joy.
In my mind’s eye, I see our foster care path and now here we are at adoption. I marvel at the story God orchestrated. It’s a dusty dirt path with many twists and turns. There, do you see it? In the middle of the path is a cross jutting out of the earth. But now from this new vantage point I can see through the cross, and there is the light of joy on the other side.
the way to joy
sometimes
looks a lot like dying
