Originally, she came to stay with us for just a few days.  And then she went home for about a week.  Then, her mom called and asked if I would pick her up and take care of her for awhile. 
Eleven months later and we are still taking care of her.

My husband and I have always been interested in foster/adoption --we even talked about it before we were married(oh how fun and innocent and simple life seemed back then!).  However, we were thinking young children.  Babies.  Toddlers at the oldest.  We knew enough to know that a three year old who has been raised in a terrible environment will have some deep wounds.  And those wounds will need lots of skilled care to heal.  And we knew we did not have that type of skill.  

However, God obviously had different plans than we had. 

We planned to have a third child.
                         God allowed our third child to die.
We planned to then foster or adopt an infant.  (My husband clearly said-- no child over 2.)
                         God brought us a three year old.

Let me be very clear here--I like to be in control.  I like to make a plan and then follow that plan, checking off each step as it is accomplished. 

She is hurting.  Her wounds are very raw.  She's angry and lashing out. 
Its difficult for me to see the wounds.  Instead, I see the tantrums, the disobedience, the meanness.  (She's four now and she still poops in her pull-up, but only when she wants to.  If she wants a treat-- she'll poop in the potty.  If she's angry-- she'll poop in her pull-up.  Do you know what its like to change a four year old's poop?  Its Disgusting.  I HATE DOING IT.)

There are times when I feel so angry at God.  "Why, God?" I question Him.  I cry out in ager to this God "Why did my baby die? Why did you bring this child to me?  Why do I have to deal with an angry, mean, fighting-the-world four year old after everything else that I've been through?"

She doesn't want us to have control over her.  She believes that she must remain in control.  No matter the consequence.  But she cant continue to live like that.  She must learn to trust us.  She must allow us to take care of her.  To trust the decisions we make for her.  She must realize that she doesn't see nor understand as we do.  She must find rest in our love.

After my tears dry up and the questions stop pouring forth, I hear a small voice saying to me "My child-- I love you.  And I have a plan for your life.  A plan that you can not see nor understand.  My ways are not your ways.  You simply must trust Me.  You must learn to let go of your plans, to open your tightly fisted hand, to let go of control and keep your eyes on Me.  This world, your plans, they will not bring you joy because you do not see the whole picture.  You must trust me. "


She and I-- I'm thinking we may have a few things in common.