Praise the God who rescues!

When I was just a little  girl, like a wee little thing, I had a different mom and dad. And they were  kind to me, but they had hurts and they had addictions and they didn’t  know how to take care of themselves, much less a wee girl and her little  brother.
I mean, they tried. They hung on to us for  several years, but things kept slipping and they kept falling and failing and  they mustered up what strength they could, but they just couldn’t make it work  and they couldn’t make it right. And so the policemen came over and over again,  and took us away and my mama cried in the back of that police car, hands cuffed,  and she told me that she loved me. And I knew in my little heart, as I looked  up at her, tears streaming and mascara running, I knew that she really did love  me. She just couldn’t make it work.
And I still remember my daddy’s face, another  time, when the police finally caught up with him, and took his drugs and took  his booze and took us kids. And even though I was just a little thing, legs not  even long enough to dangle from the seat, I knew deep inside that he was in  trouble and that he couldn’t make it right.
And I cried for them because every little girl  wants her mommy and needs her daddy, but they were gone, again, and I felt lost. And the  social workers took us to some foster homes, lots of times they took us, but we  were never safe. (Did you know bad guys can live in foster homes?) I lay in bed  at night wishing they would go away. And I was just a little thing.

But, one day something  beautiful happened. Something strange. The social workers came and got us and  put our stuff in a brown paper bag and we met a different mom and dad. And they  said they wanted us. Like, forever. And we could live with them and never go  away. And I really liked the idea, but I didn’t know what it really meant to  trust, so deep inside I didn’t believe them. Not yet.
So, we came to our new home, and I had a big  brother and a big sister and from the get-go they loved us and they never made  us feel afraid. And my mom and dad told me how they had prayed for us, because  God had put it on their heart to, and so they asked Him to show them where we  were and what to do. And one day my mama walked into that government office,  saw our picture and knew right away. And she told that social worker that we  were her kids. And the  lady disagreed and tried to protest and said it wasn’t possible, but my mama  knew about the God of all the impossibles, and so it wasn’t long before we came  home. For good. And time passed and no one ever took us away, so I believed.

And as days have turned to  months which have turned to years, I still believe. I believe in that God of  all the impossibles. And I’ve come to find that He’s the One who rescues and He  redeems, but He uses our hands and our feet. And He whispers His rescue plan  into our hearts and hopes that we’ll obey.
And this same God has healed those wounds from a  mama and a daddy who just couldn’t make it work and couldn’t make it right.  Because He gave me another mama and daddy who didn’t have it altogether, but  who depended on the only One who does. And people say that time heals all  wounds, but I think it’s love.
And every day I’m thankful that I’ve been  rescued and that my life has been redeemed by the God who can make beauty from  a mess. And I’m thankful for a family who became His hands and feet to reach  out with a love that heals—reached out to the likes of me. When I was just a  little thing.

(Thank you, Ma and Pa—a million times, and with  tears, thank you.)

And thank You, Jesus, for always coming for me,  for scooping me up and bringing me home. And thank You for how you take the bad  and the ugly and the messed up in this world and You make it beautiful. You are  good. You are so good. Amen.

by Maggie Paulus

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