I have lost four children, but there has been no funeral.

 *Thoughts from December*

His oatmeal smeared pants are still in my laundry basket.  His car seat is still fastened behind my seat.  His bath toys sit idly by the tub.  

Their photos line my hall, but their beds lie vacant.  And I will wear my puffy eyes like the black of a grieving mother.

The suddenness is painful, the grief overwhelming. 

I have lost four children in the last three years.  But there has been no funeral. 

No, they have not died.  But they are gone.

I'm a foster mom. 

Fostering is synonymous with grief.  I don't care if your first case leads to a swift adoption--foster care is birthed from loss.  It is a deviation from God's design.  A ripping apart of the family he called good.  And so there is no situation in which you will not be walking through pain and loss, either with the child or loss of the child.

I don't know what is worse: the child who is able to verbalize their confusion and grief: "Why did Mommy mess up? Why can't I go with you?"  Or the one too young to be able to receive even an explanation of why they'll never see you again. 
And which is more painful: the agency telling you "no", or you telling the agency "no"?

Whatever the circumstances, it leaves your stomach in agonizing knots, and leads to the kind of aching no amount of tears will ever relieve.

Sometimes, when you're grieving, you don't want to just "say the right things".  Sometimes you want to quit.  Sometimes your prayers are angry, questioning.   

But then I'm reminded: I don't grieve alone.  I grieve with the Father who so loved the world that he gave HIS only Son.  And if he did not withhold his Son, how will he withhold any good thing?