“We don’t
really consider him to be a part of your family.” When my daughter heard those words recently, referring
to the foster child who has lived with us for 2 ½ years, she wept
bitterly. And why wouldn’t she? She, herself, had once been a part of the
foster care system before she had been, by God’s grace and providence, adopted
into our family.1 What
message was this respected adult now communicating to her? “The only reason we consider you a part of a family now is because a
judge signed a document and declared you to be.
Before that day, it didn’t really count.
You didn’t really belong.”
My heart
aches and I can’t help but cringe when I hear people, even upright, God-fearing
people make comments like that. You know
that feeling when someone makes an unexpected remark, and you have the perfect
response? Three days later? Here’s what I wish I would had the clarity to
articulate at the time: If we aren’t “really”
his family, then who is? The mother who rarely
showed up all those months of his infancy that he spent in the hospital, and
who hasn’t seen him at all in almost two years?
The grandmother who will only agree to fill that role if she is
financially compensated to do so? It’s
not his fault that he was born into a
family who were unable to care for him, only to then be stuck in a flawed
system that continues to delay making a permanent decision about his
future. He didn’t ask to be raised in
these circumstances, with the title of “foster child” perpetually hanging
around his neck.
And if all
the things that mothers do for their child – getting up with him when he’s
struggling to breathe in the middle of the night; snuggling with a well-loved
book after a bubbly bath and a creamy massage; teaching him the proper way to
hold a fork and insisting that he eat his peas before getting dessert; training
him to pick up his toys at the end of play-time; hearing the little voice
declare, “I love you, Mama!” as I’m preparing his favorite snack – if doing
those things don’t qualify me to “really” be his mother, then what does?
Upon seeing my daughter’s tears, the flustered person continued in an attempt to soften the previous words: “We haven’t been called to care for these children like your family has. Your family’s gift is to care for foster children, just like our family is involved in the music ministry at our church.” I understand that not everyone has been “called” to foster or adopt children. I totally get that. People have different gifts, talents, callings and passions. If someone asked me to stand up in front of our church and sing a solo, the terror in the pit of my stomach and the violent trembling of my knees would most likely precede the inevitable faint. But there’s a significant difference between using your musical talent (or any other skill, for that matter) and rescuing a child who desperately needs a family. In the case of our current foster child, opening our heart and home to him literally meant the difference between his life and death!2
In the 13th
chapter of 1 Corinthians, the Lord is pretty clear about his opinion on the
subject: “If I speak in the tongues of
men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging
cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy
and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can
move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and
surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.”
The body of
Christ all serving and functioning together, with every member doing his or her
part, is a thing of beauty. Oh, how I
love to hear someone else’s beautiful music as I worship the Lord; it often
moves me to tears and reaffirms my devotion to my beloved Savior! But like the story that Jesus told about the
rich man who gave much out of his abundance and the poor widow who gave the
only two coins she had, there is a difference between contributing and
sacrifice.3 I want to live
like that widow! I don’t want to just
show up for “choir practice” once a week, so to speak. I want my life to be characterized by total
surrender of everything I have. And it’s
not even giving what I have. Like a fresh absorbent sponge, I want to soak
up the love that God has so generously lavished upon me, and squeeze it out in
abundance onto the lives He has temporarily placed in my care.
I am so
thankful that the Lord has called me and my family to the ministry of caring
for “the least of these!”4 He
has placed within my heart a deep, relentless love for fatherless children, and
that spark has only been kindled and fanned into bigger and more powerful
flames throughout the years. With each child I have had the honor of caring
for, my capacity to love has continued to expand. Demonstrating love and compassion is like
exercising a muscle . . . it doesn’t diminish with use. On the contrary, the more it’s exerted and
stretched, the larger and stronger it becomes.
When I hear casual comments
that this precious, beautiful, uniquely-made child who dwells in my heart is
not “really” a part of my family, it reminds me that not everyone shares my
perspective, my passion. It compels me
to love him well, to the best of my ability.
To fill a void in his life that others may not be able or willing to
fill. And I am humbled and honored all
over again to think that God would choose simple ol’ me for this role.
So who is
“really” this child’s family? It’s the Papa he runs to, squealing in delight,
when the Papa returns from work at the end of the day, knowing he’ll be tossed
in the air and tickled until he practically bursts. It’s the Mama whose arms he seeks when he first
wakes up from his nap, the one who knows that “You Never Let Go” is his
favorite song. It’s the sisters who teach
him cool dance moves and pose him for elaborate “photo shoots.” It’s the big brother who invites him climb
onto his lap while he’s playing computer games, and who carries him proudly on
his shoulders, introducing him to his teenage friends. It’s the family who shares their life with
him day in and day out for years and years, even without the official document
that allows him to share their last name.
We may not
be his legal family. We have no idea if we will ever be privileged
to be his permanent family. But if you were to ask him who his “real”
family is, there would be no hesitation or doubt. He knows.
He knows he is loved and safe. He
knows which people are crazy about him. And
at least for now, for today, that’s what really matters.
1.
Read
about her foster care and adoption journey at http://psalm1139mama.blogspot.com/2012/02/wild-ride.html
2. Read about his amazing story at http://psalm1139mama.blogspot.com/2012_09_01_archive.html
2. Mark 12:41-44
2. Mark 12:41-44
3.
Matthew
25:40
Amen. Thank you for always sharing your heart and your wisdom. We are only nine months into this foster care journey and can use all the help we can get! :)
ReplyDeleteIt's so easy to get discouraged, especially by other people's opinions. About every other week I am tempted to give up! I write these things as an encouragement for myself; I'm so thankful if the Lord can use it to encourage someone else too!! Let's continue well!
ReplyDelete