Sovereign Over Everything (Yes, Even My Control Issues)
Here's the thing about being a foster parent: the number of things outside your control is absolutely staggering. Court dates you didn't set. Visits you didn't schedule. Outcomes you cannot predict, no matter how many times you Google "how to help a traumatized child heal" at 11pm while eating green grapes and sharp cheddar cheese because dinner didn't happen.
I am, by nature, a control enthusiast. A planner. A person who color-codes things and then color-codes the color-coding system. And God, in His infinite and sometimes hilarious wisdom, called me to foster care — one of the most unpredictable, uncontrollable, beautifully chaotic callings on the planet.
So. That's been fun.
But here's the thing I keep coming back to: what keeps me from completely losing my mind when a placement falls apart, or a court date changes everything I thought I knew, is that I serve a God who is not surprised by any of it. And that changes everything.
He Goes Before You. Every Single Time.
What does it mean that Jesus is sovereign over all time? It means He didn't just show up when that child came through your door. He was already there — weeks, months, years before that placement call came — working the pieces of a story you can't yet see the end of.
My God has gone before me. He knows the end of my story. He knows the mountains and the valleys, and there He is already in both. That's not a bumper sticker. That is the most radical, stabilizing truth I have ever planted my feet on in the middle of a hard season.
When I don't know what's coming next, He does. When I can't control the outcome, He holds it. When I'm terrified of the goodbye, He's already written the chapter after it.
That's not passivity. That's not resignation. That's the most grounded, action-fueling posture I know, because I can love this child with my whole heart today, without white-knuckling the future, because I know whose hands it's in.
And if you want to know where I keep going to remind myself of that? It's the last book of the Bible, and most people skip it because it sounds terrifying. Don't skip it.
The Best Spoiler in All of Scripture
I'm currently reading the book of Revelation. And before you click away thinking this is about to get very intense and involve a lot of confusing numbers — stay with me.
Because here is the singular, most important message of the entire book: JESUS WINS. That's the spoiler. I'm giving it to you for free.
As a Christian and a foster mama, that changes everything. Not just my theology, my actual daily life. Revelation reminds us, over and over, that we will go through troubles on the way to the kingdom of God. It doesn't promise us easy. It promises us victory. It promises us company. It promises that whatever we endure here is building something eternal; for us, and for the children in our care.
My babies' lives are held in the same sovereign hands as the end of history. That's not nothing. That is, in fact, everything.
Now. Knowing all of that, you'd think the next part would be easy. You'd think I would just... relax. Hand it all over. Rest. You'd think that, if you didn't know me very well.
Knowing all of this; that God goes before me, that Jesus wins, that I am held — you'd think surrender would be the obvious, easy next step. [Insert laugh track here]
Surrender, for a control-loving girl like me, is about as natural as threading a camel through the eye of a needle. (Yes, that's a Scripture reference. Yes, I did that on purpose.) Every instinct I have wants to manage the process, optimize the outcome, have a Plan B and a Plan C and honestly probably a Plan D in a binder somewhere. But here's what I'm learning, slowly, imperfectly, with a lot of deep breaths and some unglamorous meltdowns in my car: surrender is not weakness. Surrender is the most powerful thing I can do, because it's the moment I stop insisting that my limited view of the story is better than the Author's.
I don't have to have it all figured out. I just have to show up, love well, and trust the One who actually does.
And here's the grace in all of that: God doesn't hand you a calling and then leave you to white-knuckle it alone. He equips you. Specifically, practically, supernaturally equips you. Woven right through the pages of Revelation are reminders to receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and I cannot tell you how many times I have watched those gifts show up in real time inside the walls of a foster home.
The Seven Gifts That Make This Possible
In the context of a foster family, these are not abstract spiritual concepts. They are survival tools. They are the actual gifts that make it possible to do this hard, holy work. Let me show you what I mean.
Wisdom: Knowing when a child needs correction and when they need connection. Recognizing that the behavior in front of you is rarely about what it looks like on the surface — it's about fear, grief, loss, and instability. Wisdom also means remembering: loving a child completely doesn't require knowing how long they'll stay.
Understanding: Looking beneath the behavior to see the child. What happened before they came to you? What might this moment feel like through their eyes? Understanding also extends to biological families — seeing the full humanity of parents in hard circumstances, without reducing them to those circumstances.
Counsel: Being a steady voice for children when many adults are making decisions around them. Teaching them how to name feelings, make choices, repair relationships, and ask for help. And being willing to receive counsel — from caseworkers, therapists, teachers, other foster parents, and people who know things you don't.
Fortitude: Loving when attachment feels risky. Showing up for court dates, difficult behaviors, sleepless nights, and uncertain futures. And sometimes having the courage to support a child's reunification, even when you know saying goodbye might break your own heart. Fortitude is not the absence of feeling — it's continuing to love anyway.
Knowledge: Learning each child's story — their triggers, their strengths, their culture, their family connections, their ways of receiving love. Knowledge carries one crucial reminder for every foster family: don't expect this child to simply fit into your world. Learn who God created this child to be.
Piety: Making your home a place where children experience God's love before they can necessarily understand it — through meals, bedtime prayers, forgiveness, consistency, celebration, patience, and simply being delighted that they're there. Faith becomes something they feel in their bones first. Understanding comes later.
Fear of the Lord: Remembering that these children belong neither to the state, nor to their biological parents, nor to you. They belong to God. You are being entrusted with them for whatever season He allows. That means loving without possessing. Advocating without controlling. Trusting God when the outcome is entirely outside your hands.
Seven gifts. Seven ways the Holy Spirit meets you exactly where foster care is the hardest. Not after you've earned it, not once you've got it together — right there in the middle of the mess, in the moment you need it most.
So what does all of this actually look like on a Tuesday morning when everything feels like too much?
It looks like waking up on a hard morning and saying: He goes before me today.
It looks like sitting in a courtroom not knowing what's about to be decided, and holding onto: Jesus wins.
It looks like a child testing every limit in your house and reaching for: I don't need to understand this moment to stay steady in it.
It looks like a surrender that isn't passive — it's active, daily, and honestly kind of exhausting — but it produces something in you and in the children watching you that no amount of control ever could.
Peace.
Not the absence of hard things. The presence of the One who holds all things. And for this foster mama, that is more than enough.
Are you walking the foster care journey? I'd love to hear from you — what gifts of the Spirit have carried you through? Drop a comment below or reach out. We were not meant to do this alone.
Comments