We have a 15 year old foster daughter. She has another set of parents who are still in the picture. Every Friday we haul the laptop with us to baseball games, or send her downstairs with it if we are home, so that she can log in to a zoom meeting and see her mom and dad on the screen for a few minutes. The picture is fuzzy because no one has a good webcam, and her dad usually has trouble getting the mic to work or his video is flipped sideways. Mom sometimes logs in ten minutes late or more. The words they speak to each other are carefully guarded by the social worker who also watches in on the call – it’s their job to make sure nothing inappropriate is said and to check in on how the kids’ week went.

For almost 3 years they have been doing this. Every Friday night (when everyone shows up).

But this week?

This week, our girl got to sit with her dad, face-to-face. For two hours, they got to catch up and hug and cry and share a snack. It was the most beautifully heartbreaking thing I’ve ever been a part of. She was so happy.

Rewind with me for a second though, to earlier that day.

Earlier that same day, we had court. Again, it was virtual, and we logged in and were sworn in over video camera (thanks, COVID). I watched our girl’s dad write my name down when the judge announced everyone on the call. I knew we were supposed to meet her dad in person later that day, so although it wasn’t unusual for him to make notes, I took notice of it. I also took into account some information I gained by doing a little bit of googling, and the job I knew he had had in his past, and as I thought about all of these things, fear started to creep in. And then, once I cracked the door and let a tiny bit of fear in, it came rushing through like a tidal wave, blowing the door to my heart straight off of its hinges.

I was afraid. Not just afraid, but overcome with fear.

I was afraid he would find where I worked, come to our house in the night, try to steal her or try to harm one of my smaller kids. I looked at him, all jumpy and nervous on the courtroom camera, and my brain screamed, “DANGER!! He’s coming for you!”

I wish I could say that in that moment I was able to face down my fear, was able to remember any scripture, ever, to combat it. I wish my first gut response was always faith, no matter what. But, I’m a work in progress. I let that fear go straight to my soul and just take over completely. I texted a friend with all of the evidence I had, all the reasons I was scared. And let me tell you, they were good reasons. I had proof.

After about ten minutes of texting the whole, “we are gonna die! poor us, why is this happening, etc. etc” nonsense, it was like the Holy Spirit put the brakes on my runaway train.

Then, He reminded me of scripture, what the word of Truth says. About me, about our situation, and most importantly, about who God is.

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. When you walk through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.” Isaiah 43:1-2

“The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?” Psalm 118:6

“I, even I, and He who comforts you. Why should you be afraid of mortal man, of a son of man who withers like grass?” Isaiah 51:12

I started to fight back against the fear. When I held up all of my fears in one hand, and all of God’s promises for protection and peace and mercy in the other hand, suddenly my fears didn’t hold any water. I remembered who I am, because of what He’s done for me.

I’m a child of the King.

I’m a child of the KING.

I’M A CHILD OF THE KING.

And He protects His kids.

Fast forward again to the moment when I’m pulling up to the park to meet our girl’s dad for the first time. She’s preparing to get out of the car and see him and hug him for the first time in 3 years. She’s so excited and nervous she can’t contain it. She’s clutching the black bag from the gas station where we stopped to get a snack – the bag has a honeybun for her dad, because she’s remembered he likes those.

I’m calm for the first time all day, because I remember that I’m not in control, He is. And it’s a good thing too, because I would have messed this up.

We walk up the sidewalk toward the pavilion, and she grabs my arm. “That’s my dad. That’s my dad. That’s MY DAD! I’m gonna cry. I’m probably gonna cry.”

I said, “It’s ok if you cry. That’s your dad. Don’t walk here with me, run to him!”

That’s all she needed. My girl was off, running into the arms of a dad she wasn’t sure she would ever get to see in person again. They collided in a sobbing embrace that lasted a full ten minutes. Through her tears, she was saying over and over, “it’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you came”.

The social worker, the therapist, and I all looked at each other. A little unsure of what to do or say, we just opted for silence, and I think most of us were fighting back tears ourselves. I made some small talk with the case worker and she got the address for the baseball game we were headed to so that she could bring our girl back after the meeting.

About this time, the moment ended, and our girl came to sit down. Her dad came over to me, awkwardly putting out his hand, then pulling it away, then offering me a fist for a fist bump and then pulling it back and offering me his hand once again. I grabbed his hand and shook it gently, muttering something about how I’m never sure if we are allowed to shake hands anymore after COVID. When he looked up, I noticed he wouldn’t meet my gaze. Shame and embarrassment were all over his face, and he shuffled his feet. When he started to talk, I noticed that the hardened facial features and sunken cheeks weren’t part of a tough guy image like I had thought on the zoom call, but instead a direct result of many front teeth that were missing.

Instead of the hardened man I’d imagined, desperate to steal his daughter back and hurt anyone in his way, the Lord opened my eyes. In that moment, I saw this man a fraction of the way that God sees him. Broken. Hurting. Full of shame and in need of grace. A precious child of His that is loved and who desperately misses his kids and wants them back. A man willing to leave his wife in another state and get his own lawyer and fight for his rights. A man willing to take notes on the court call, and drive for over an hour to see his daughter, and show up early for this visit he’s waited years for.

At that moment, I stared down the source of my fear, and realized that without the grace of God, that could have just as easily have been me instead of him. I also realized that fear is a liar. It can’t be trusted.

I got back into the car and I lost it. I mean I ugly cried all of the way home. Because that moment was so beautiful and so heartbreaking. God’s not done here. He’s been whispering to my heart.

I think this is the beginning of a redemption story.