Is that the phone?

 As a pastor, you get many types of phone calls.  Missionaries wanted to schedule a time to present their burden for their mission field.  Other preachers wanted advice or to commiserate.  Church members needing a listening ear.  People needing help.  People needing comfort.  Letting me know that their loved one is in the hospital or perhaps has passed away.  Many types of phone calls.

Last night, I got home from the Wednesday evening service and got a phone call that I was not expecting.  It started like this: “Pastor, it appears someone broke into the building.”  Excuse me?  What did you just say?    On the back side of our fellowship hall, we have a small room for visiting preachers to stay in while they are with us.  It is just big enough for a family to sleep in.  There’s a bathroom and a room with a washer and dryer.  Nothing fancy.  Someone broke into that room.

I immediately went back to the church.  The police were already there.  Thankfully there was not any damage to the building.  I looked through the room and realized there was very little missing.  There wasn’t anything of real value in that room to start with. 

Here’s what was taken:  A blanket, two pillows, soap, shampoo, detergent, fabric softener, towels, wash cloths, and a trashcan.  That’s it.  Things that someone who was perhaps homeless or in need would have wanted to take. 

I didn’t get angry.  I didn’t get upset.  I was heart-broken for this person.  Here’s the sad truth:  if that person had come in the church and sat and talked with me, explained their situation, and asked for help, I would have given them those things that they needed.  Not because of who I am, but because of Jesus.  That’s what He would have done. 

It was a restless night to be sure.  Early this morning, I got up, went to the store, and bought a new lock for that room.  I installed it and   I spent some time cleaning up the room.  I also spent some time praying.  Praying for this person.  I finally forgave them.  In my heart, I’m hoping that this person was helped by the towels, soap and other things that were taken.  I prayed for their soul.  Hopefully they know Jesus.  There were a handful of Gospel tracts missing as well.  If they don’t know Jesus, I hope they meet Him through that literature. 

I’m not going to focus on what was taken. Instead, I’m going to focus on what wasn’t taken.  Our peace.  Our peace is in Jesus, not in buildings.  No one can take that.  Our commitment to the ministry is still intact.  We may have been shaken, but we aren’t giving up.   Our desire to help the less fortunate hasn’t been taken.  Yes, this hurt.  Just like when someone apparently didn’t like the food in our food box, so they decided to decorate the playground with food. But we are still going to try to be a blessing to folks. 

We’ve learned some things through this, and I’m sure we’ll learn some more as the days go on.  My prayer isn’t that the person responsible is caught or punished, my prayer is that they would get the help they need.  Would you pray with us? 

I haven’t said much over the past 6 months or so about our fostering journey.  It’s been…interesting to say the least.  Laura and I had talked about becoming foster parents for years.  One thing or another would come up and we’d always say we would wait. 

About 8 or 9 months ago we began talking about it in earnest.  We did our research.  We did some soul searching.  We discussed it with our boys.  We prayed about it.  The Lord seemed to be opening the doors for us to foster.  We signed up for the introductory meeting.  For two hours we listened to a foster parent talk about her foster journey.  We signed up for the rest of the training. 

In all honesty, this was Laura’s dream.  I initially agreed because I knew it was something that she wanted to do.   But the more I learned about the foster system, the more I was burdened to be involved. 

One day, while I was reading my Bible, the Lord spoke to my heart.  I was reading in James, where the scripture tells us that true religion is visiting the widow and the orphan in their affliction.  I surrendered my heart to being a foster parent. 

Our first placement completely changed my family’s perspective.  A little girl and her baby brother were placed in our home.  They quickly became part of our family.  As long as I live, I will never forget the day that sweet darling girl placed her hands on my face, looked me in the eyes and said, “Are you Daddy?”  My heart melted.  One morning, I was playing with the little boy.  Just doing the typical Dad thing, holding him up in the air over my head and talking to him.  He grinned at me and I thought, he’s never had a Daddy play with him like this.  That is why I became a foster parent.  Because there are so many children in Kentucky that need what so many of us take for granted—the love of a parent. 

No, they aren’t my flesh and blood.  No, I’m not looking to adopt.  I’m looking to step up and step in to give these precious children what they need most at perhaps the darkest time in their young lives, a father’s love.   Someone who loves them no matter what—the temper tantrums, the night terrors, the arguing, no matter what. 

You’re probably thinking, I could never do that.  I could never open my home, much less my heart, to perfect strangers.  Where much is given, much is required.  My heavenly Father gave me love when I was unlovable.  He opened His heart and His Home for me.   As a Christian, I am supposed to show this world the love of Jesus.  How better than to heed His words and suffer the little children. 

We’ve got our next placement.  An adorable little boy.  We’ve been told that most likely, this will be short term placement.  It’s only been a few days, but I’m already dreading the call from the caseworker that says he’s going home.  I’ll be happy for him and overjoyed for his parents.  But it’s going to hurt.  I’m going to cry.  I’m going to have second thoughts.  But I’ll say yes again and again.