Not Receiving the Things Promised

 "How selfless of you guys."

"Thank you for being willing to do foster care."

"I couldn't do that. I'd want to keep them." 

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Already, in the short time we have fostered Baby Boy, we've received countless comments similar to these.  It's as if people think we are somehow less selfish, being that we have chosen to open our home up to kids in crisis.  

But I know better...

I struggle daily, probably hourly, with my own selfishness in this journey.  

There is the (big) part of me that wants to keep Baby Boy forever.  He feels like too much of "mine", at this point, to share.  And how could I send him back to an unknown family, an uncertain future, one in which he may never remember me? 

Then there's another part of me (equally as selfish) which knows we're caring for him temporarily, and figures: hey, if he is going to move to a family placement, it should be sooner than later... so that I don't get too heartbroken.  

I know I could record even more selfish, shameful thoughts than these.  I know I am selfish... 

But Jesus steps in to my twisted tornado of thoughts, and inserts his heart. He really does... Time and time again.  Sometimes in the middle of the night.  For it was not Baby Boy who woke me up, last week, with this resounding thought: Joseph.

Joseph, who faithfully served Potiphar's household.  Joseph, who oversaw the Egyptian prison.  Joseph, who stood in the shadow of a foreign king and saved a foreign land from disaster.  Joseph, who "succeeded in all that he did" (Genesis 39)... and yet, whose toil and labor benefited not himself, but another man, another kingdom. 

How bitter this man could have become, if he had focused on what was "rightfully his".  If he had replayed the injustices done to him throughout his lifetime.  If he had worked for his own gain, and not unto the Lord.

We know the end of the story, but he didn't... Ultimately, Joseph's household was saved through his success in Egypt.  He saw his family delivered from famine, was reconciled with his brothers, and reunited with his father.  

At the end of his life, his pure motives are confirmed.  He was not angry at the suffering he had endured.  Nor was he satisfied in the success that had come "back around" to bless him and his household.  Rather, on his death bed, he acknowledged that he had yet to "receive the things promised" (Hebrews 11). 

He instructed his family to carry his bones out of the very land which had worn them down.  He knew that his hands, which for years had worn the handcuffs of a master, actually belonged to God.  He knew that his body, burnt out and beat up in a strange land, was headed for an eternal one.  

This is the same promise that carries me and purifies my motives, day after day.  When the question arises, and it does: Am I serving my household or another's?  I can say confidently, like Joseph: I serve God's household.