There are periods when I feel like giving up and surrendering. At times, it just feels like the fight is not worth it. So much of this life feels like a multi-front battle in which all the enemies have the high ground. I am not complaining or whining. I do not want your sympathy of pity. It’s just how this ministry often feels. Every day we face the battles, usually multiple.
We fight battles with grief and fatigue, some of our greatest enemies. We have lost so many children that we love. And some of them were lost through traumatic fights for their lives that involved CPR and frantic ambulance rides that left us traumatized and broken. And, following these times, we have had to find a way to get out of bed the next morning and face tiny bodies in tiny caskets. Sometimes we are just tired out, from long days and short nights and the never ending list of questions and challenges that are constantly brought to us. Fatigue takes its toll, and can be our greatest battle. Yet, somehow, God has given us the strength to take one breath and one step at a time.
We fight battles against the culture that surrounds us. We fight against the mindset that children with special needs are curses that are better off dead. We fight against stereotypes that assume that people with disabilities cannot learn or be productive. We fight against a culture that seeks to set unnecessary limits on people with special needs because they refuse to see their potential. We fight against traffic, crowds, and long lines. And we fight against a negative mood in the midst of it all.
And we fight battles with government agencies all the time. Just like in every nation, government bureaucrats are often more concerned with wielding power than acting justly. Instead of being public servants, they see themselves as lords who need to control their subjects. And they make our lives and work exponentially more difficult.
Yesterday I sat with our wonderful Coordinator of Homes, Claudia Escobar, as she went through a list of things with me that CNA (the government agency responsible for the licensing and supervision of private homes) is insisting we need to change. Some of these include hiring addition staff. Some are demands for more paperwork. And most of it is foolish and completely unnecessary. So we have to fight some of the demands while trying to accommodate others. And both of these require time and resources that would be better spent on caring for children. But we have to spend it fighting with an agency that should be helping us.
We fight battles with PGN (think Child Protective Services). We regularly show up for hearings in which they were supposed to have done home studies and investigations, only to find out that, once again, they did not complete their work. So, we wasted another trip to another hearing. We will report a child to them that is in imminent risk of death due to a lack of care, and they do nothing. Two months later they have not done even a basic visit to check on the child’s welfare. And, with increasing frequency, the courts are asking us to do CNA's work for them, because the judges know they will not do it. So we are doing home studies and supervising placements that PGN should do.
We fight battles with the courts, who are returning children to horrifying conditions at a rapid pace. Last year we lost two children who were returned to their step mother. And that step mother is a sex trafficker. We presented evidence to the courts showing that was true, but that evidence was ignored. Meanwhile, the wicked stepmother made ludicrous accusations against us, and the judge chose to investigate us instead. So we faced more inspections to show that we had, in fact, done nothing wrong. And we wonder how those two sisters that we love are doing.
This weekend we were told that the judge was considering returning our little Olimpia to her biological parents. We had previously been told by the courts that she was with us permanently, and we had celebrated that decision. She arrived in our home at the age of five and a half months of age, weighing only five and a half pounds. We nursed her to health. We watched her grow and learn to crawl and walk. And while we saved her life, this little girl with Down Syndrome saved our broken hearts. On the hard days when we were broken by fatigue, frustration, illness, and/or grief, she would crawl into our laps, and the broken pieces would come back together again. We have often told others that she has the magical power of healing. And now, almost six years after receiving her in our home, they are saying she may leave us and be returned to parents and a home where she will lose access to therapy, doctors, and education. She might leave the only family she has ever known and go live with strangers. And when I heard this news, I broke.
Wanda followed me into our ministry’s office where I was trying to hold it together. I was grieving, I was angry, and I was ready to give up. My beautiful wife reached out to me and hugged me while I vented. “What is the point of continuing to fight?!? At any moment a corrupt court or agency can make their wicked decisions and strip away everything we have done! I don’t know how long I can keep fighting!” (This is a general summary. Due to the pain and stress of the moment, I cannot give your a verbatim script.)
At that moment, I felt like a punch-drunk fighter who did not want to leave my corner for another round. I wanted to throw in the towel, head to the locker room to wash off the blood, and go live a normal life far away from the battle. And, if I am completely honest, there is still a part of me that feels that way.
But I know that I won’t. I will not walk away from the fight. And I have been asking myself, “Why not?” Far better men and women than me have walked away and gone on to easier work and ministry. Why can’t I just turn around and walk away from the fight? I have spent a lot of time over the last few days asking that question. And here are my answers:
- My heart will not let me. I know that this is what God created me to do. My life, experiences, and relationships all prepared me to do this work. And I know that if I walk away, I will not be happy. I might be more comfortable, and life might be easier, but it will be empty. What is the point in living an easy life is you aren’t living your purpose? At the end of the day, the battles might leave me broken and bleeding, but God redeemed me and called me to this fight. And I will not walk away.
- Obedience is my call, not results. I often forget this. God calls us to hear His voice and follow. The results, or the lack thereof, are up to Him. And those results will not be known in this life. I often think that some of the accomplishments of which I am most proud are not even a blip on God’s radar. But there are likely moments that I would label as failures that have produced eternal results. I cannot know the consequences of my obedience. Only God knows and measures those. My responsibility is to hold tightly to my Daddy’s hand and do what He asks.
- The alternative is to surrender to evil. If I walk away from the fight, I am telling the enemy that I surrender to him. I am surrendering these children and families to him. I am leaving behind those who cannot fight for themselves and giving them over to the evil one. And that is just not in me. No matter how many times I am knocked to the ground, I will find a way to stumble to my feet again and taunt the enemy, “I can do this all day.” Not by my strength, but by my Jesus, who is strength in my weakness.
- Even if I lose the battles, I want these children to know that I at least fought for them. I refuse to leave them to fight alone. I refuse to surrender them to the evil of government orphanages. I refuse to let them live and die alone, forgotten in some hellhole. I refuse to quit on them. At the end of the day, they will know that I fought for them because they are worth fighting for.
- I do not fight alone. I am blessed to be surrounded by family, missionaries, and staff that refuse to quit as well. I am blessed to be surrounded by supporters and prayer partners that fight at my side every day. And, most importantly, I am blessed that the Lord of heaven’s armies fights with me.
One of my college profs said something that has always stuck with me. “Until you find something for which you are willing to die, you will never really live.” And he was right. I am willing to die for my Jesus and these children. And, as a result, I have a reason to live.
So, I will get up tomorrow morning and keep fighting. And the next...and the next...and the next...until God takes me home or I decline physically to the point that I can no longer fight. I will never surrender. I will never walk away. This is the hill on which I will keep fighting, and eventually die.
So, bring it on, Satan. I can do this all day.
Daryl, Wanda, and the Crew
