A friend who works in foster care told me a story that has haunted me for days. She had to take a little girl to her third foster home, because her behaviors were so bizarre that the mothers who had tried to care for her could not endure it. My friend led her to the car, clutching her stuffed bear. It was all she had in the world. She slumped into the back seat, resigned to being rejected once more. 

She is five. 

I watched a short movie called ReMoved, about a young girl who had been traumatized by her father's abuse of her mother, and had shut down. The only person she loved was her baby brother, yet even he was taken away. Each temporary home worked for a short time, but then the girl's anxiety spiraled out of control and she was removed again. Her ability to trust broke into a million pieces. Yet because we see a glimpse of her past, it is possible to forgive this small child for her outbursts, and to meet her anger with compassion. She has reasons for her pain. 

Most of us are trying to love someone who has broken parts. Sometimes we respond in confusing ways, with words that do not make sense. Yet if we are able to peek into the past, we just might begin to understand. 

One of the knee jerk reactions I held on to early in our marriage was to panic when John was late. If I did not know where he was, I spiraled into fear. After a long time, we figured out that I was reacting to a scene that played out in my childhood. When my mother erupted in a manic phase, sometimes my father reached his limit and drove away. Which meant I was home with her. Which was scary. 

When John began to realize my history, he became more mindful of letting me know where he was going and when he would be back. 

I have a feeling that the reason God is so generous with compassion is because He knows our past. The miracle, though, is that He also knows our future.