What Kind of Love?

Last week, I was contemplating the mysteries of this world and realized that, since God knows all and has always known all since the beginning, He must've known what was going to happen as He created human beings. I wondered what kind of love is that where One would create such a thing, knowing what we would do, and willingly expose Oneself to pain and suffering, betrayal and death on the cross. I was feeling very thankful that that kind of love exists for me, still not completely comprehending it.

Then, one day, one of my sons punched me. In the back. When I wasn't looking. I wasn't prepared. It seemed so unfair to me. I didn't even have an opportunity to protect myself. He and I had an argument and we were overtired and things escalated, as they do at times. I was shocked, but not completely. You see, I adopt older children from foster care. Children who have been hurt and neglected. Children who have felt alone and unloved by the very people who are supposed to love them: their own families. Parents. Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Siblings. God. Their very young, self-centered selves deduce that life was bad for them because they are bad, that there must be something inherently wrong with them for their very own parents to hate them so. Of course, their views formed at those young ages are very skewed and they are too young to see life the way adults see life but, nonetheless, they must overcome all of that. They must change the way they view things. But, because of their life view, they have a strong desire, need, life or death desperation, to control their world as best they can. To protect their fragile hearts from more hurt. To preserve what little dignity and self-esteem they might have left. They do that with very negative, dysfunctional behaviors, like punching holes in walls ... and hurting people who tell them what to do or who say "no." The pain inside them is rekindled with each incident until ... BAM. I once asked said child what he is so afraid of that he can't tell me how he feels. He said he will die. He. Will. Die. If he shares his feelings and he is betrayed or hurt even one more time he will die.

So, because these children feel badly for what they do in their unregulated states and must preserve their own humanity, they blame others. They justify. They deny. They lie. They rage. They isolate. They harm themselves. Those around them feel every ounce of their pain. They make sure of it. Because they hurt so very much, others know it yet I'm convinced they mostly feel very ashamed that they hurt others. I once told my boy that I was willing to take his pain. I begged him to let me have it, terrified, knowing full well what that meant. He fought me on that but little by little he began to share it with me. He says he isolates to protect others from the "demon-possessed" person within him. He says he fears hurting me in his anger. He fears I will abandon him because of it. Sometimes he will say, "You have no idea how much I want to hurt you right now." I thank him for telling me that. That's love and respect right there. He trusted me enough to share his very strong feelings with me. This time, he said nothing but he left me the following picture:

His request: Take This Journey With Me. How can I refuse?

This time, he hurt me physically and emotionally but, this time, he did not isolate. He did not quit. He used what he's been taught and stood strong. He trusted and believed the messages his new mama has told him these past 3 years. He believed the truths of the bible. He relied on God's promises, even though he has many doubts. He stood strong, did his best to live life, to get out of bed each day and do his school work, go to work, exist in the same room his mom is in, however briefly, even after what he did. He attempted to communicate in the ways he knows how. Did I make it easy for him? Heck no. When he came to hug me, did I hug him back? No. When he said he was sorry, did I tell him he was forgiven? Nope. Was he forgiven? Of course he was. Why didn't I tell him? Part of me was in shock. Part of me didn't want to let him off the hook so easily. Part of me wanted him to stew in his guilt for awhile. Part of me felt he deserved a consequence, a punishment, for his behavior. Did I tell him I still love him? No. No. No. I was too stubborn so I prayed about it. What did God want me to do? How did God want me to respond? I knew. In love. With compassion and forgiveness. Why should I? Because that's how God responds to me, every time I fail, no matter how badly I fail.

Of course, the boy was avoiding me. Avoiding the possible rejection. Avoiding facing the truth of what happened. Even though he wasn't isolating, he was avoiding talking to the mom. The few times we tried to talk, it just didn't come out right. So, after much prayer, I got the boy alone and he couldn't simply walk away. I revisited a story I've told him many times: the story of his adoption. They all get to hear how they were chosen. It goes something like this: I look at pictures and read brief profiles. I listen to God's voice. When I find a child that weighs heavily on my heart, I read the background history, then I look into the eyes of that child's picture and ask myself "Can I love this child NO MATTER WHAT THEY DO?" I imagine the worst things a child could do. Those things include things I know to have been done to them in their past, and things they've done in the past. If the answer is "yes", then I pursue that child and bring them home. I chose him. Punching me in the back would be a minor offense compared to the things I'd imagined he'd do before I brought him home. I reminded him of the commitment I made and reassured him that punching me was one of the things I decided to accept when I made that commitment and that I, in fact, knew it would happen so, now that it's done and out of the way, we can move on to more healing.

As I explained this adoption story to my beautiful baby boy, again, it occurred to me: God made that same commitment before He created. He knew, in advance, what we would do. He knew He would have to sacrifice His Son and that we would punch, kick, beat, torture, kill, and worship other things ... yet, he made the commitment to love us anyway. To adopt us anyway. There's got to be something worth all that in the end ... and that's the truth we choose to live for. That's the kind of love we live for.