A few minutes ago I walked out of the bedroom of a happy, peaceful little boy.  He asked to do the "superman jump" into bed, and then immediately turned to wrap his arms around my neck and hold on tight for a nice, long hug.  I kissed his cheek, said his goodnight prayer, turned on his music and then quietly shut his door.  He went right to sleep without a peep. 
While none of that is profound in and of itself, tonight I took a moment to think about that room and that boy.  A few months ago that room sat empty.  It was a "guest room" that was only used on occasion.  It looked very different.  There were no personal items and nothing special on the walls.  It was lonely.  Now that room belongs to someone.  Someone whose name I had never heard a few months ago.  Someone whose story I still barely know.  The room has a bookshelf with his special toys from home.  It has a bulletin board on the wall with pictures of that little boy and his family.  It has clothes in the drawer that have been donated by friends.  It has a handsome plaid quilt on the bed, topped off with his special blankies and teddy bear. The room is "his" and he loves it.  He shows it to nearly everyone that comes to the house.  It is special. 
Now let's talk about that little boy.  A few months ago bedtime was my most dreaded time of day.  There was no happy, peaceful boy.  There was a terrified, crying, screaming child that I did not know how to handle.  He was scared.  He didn't like that room.  He didn't want to go to bed.  He didn't trust me.  He wanted to go home.  He was angry.  The first night he was here, it took us 3 hours to get him to sleep.  The second night he snuck out of his room and we found him on the couch in the morning.  He was just trying to be closer to us because he was afraid.  He cried so much.  I cried too.  I cried a lot.  I was scared that I couldn't handle this boy.  I was scared that it would be too hard and I would never have another quiet, peaceful evening with my husband.  I was totally freaking out and thought I must have made a mistake by agreeing to this foster parenting thing. 
Thank goodness that God was and is much bigger than my situation or my fears about it.  I knew he had led me to this point and He could get me through, even though I felt 100% inadequate.  This was the first time in a very long time that I could honestly say I needed Him desperately...every hour of every day.  While I have always recognized my need for God, I have also felt confident and able to handle things pretty well on my own.  So, this new sense of desperation was uncomfortable.  BUT, it was also awesome because I felt God's love, strength and encouragment in so many ways.  Meals from friends, calls from friends, donations from friends, Bible verses e-mailed to me from friends, letters from my mom, songs on the radio, songs at church, sermons at church are just a few examples.  Notice you don't see on that list..."scripture I read".  You know why?  I wasn't reading scripture.  I was barely even praying.  I was too overwhelmed, exhausted and honestly, a little mad.  My attitude wasn't always right but God kept showing himself and loving on me through others.  My attitude still isn't always right.  I get frustrated, overwhelmed and angry sometimes.  I don't always feel happy and joyful.  I don't always do a good job.  That is why I am SO grateful that God is bigger and He can turn all things into good.  He can still use me in my weakness to help these children.  I really cannot believe how well the kids are doing.  I do not think it is because I am some amazing mom who is so awesome at foster parenting.  In fact, that makes me laugh out loud.  I mess up often.  One thing I know, God loves me and God loves these kids.  He is using me to show his love to them and he is using them to show His love to me.  It is pretty amazing.  I don't always like it but I wouldn't trade it.  Those kids are HIS kids and I am His too.  I love what I have learned thus far and I am grateful for it.