I never
could understand why foster children move through so many different foster
homes. Why foster parents don’t just try
harder. Why they don’t stay committed to
the child they welcomed into their home.
Why they call the social worker and ask him or her to find another
placement. I always wondered what makes
them admit that the story is over.
Until
it happened to me.
It all
starts, innocently enough, with a flight reservation. My husband’s job requires that he frequently travel,
often times to faraway places like China and The Netherlands and Brazil. So this time, when he is invited to speak at
a conference in Dublin, a city in the enchanting country of Ireland, I jump at
the opportunity to tag along.
Because of
the difficulty in finding respite care for our foster children and the detailed
planning that requires many hours of my time, I don’t often travel with my
husband on his trips – either business trips or vacations. In fact, it’s been more than three years
since we traveled together, usually resorting to our familiar role as a Relay Team. So now, I am filled with anticipation at the
prospect of sitting on the same airplane, staying in the same hotel room, and exploring
the same beautiful country together with the man I love!
I had (sort
of) forgotten how stressful the preparations are, but I am quickly reminded
that getting a foster child ready to be placed in another home, even for a
week, is not as easy as it sounds.
Documenting his daily routine and medical care requirements. Copying his insurance card and custody
letters. Listing all of the legal and
medical contacts in case of emergency.
Making sure all of his medications are refilled so they don’t run out while
we are away. And trying to fit these added
tasks in between therapy appointments, visits with his mother, and the normal frantic
busyness of a household full of young children who require constant attention.
But first, I
will need to find a suitable foster home where he might stay while we are
gone. Therein lies the biggest hurdle of
all. I ask every licensed foster parent
I know, hoping and praying that he will be able to stay with someone familiar. He has already experienced such turmoil and
upheaval in his short life, that I want to spare him the unnecessary anxiety of
staying with strangers.
However,
despite my most diligent attempts, not one foster parent I know is able to care
for him, even temporarily. Some families
do not have a parent who can stay home with him, and because of his medical
needs, he cannot go to daycare. One family is currently caring for other foster
children and do not have any more space.
Another is in the process of moving to a new home. One is having health problems, one has a
lapse in their relicensing, one will be out of town that same week, and one doesn’t
feel comfortable caring for a child with special needs. I do get a glimmer of hope when a friend graciously
agrees to care for him, but she is licensed with a different agency, and the
lack of communication and collaboration between my agency, her agency, and my
foster child’s county makes this option all but impossible.
Maybe I
should just give up on my travel plans. Cancel
the plane reservations and just forget about the whole thing. It would mean losing a considerable amount of
money that I had paid for my non-refundable ticket, but that would be a small
sacrifice compared to these constant roadblocks and continual frustrations!
But perhaps
the end . . . isn’t the end after all.
Just days before we are scheduled to leave, our agency finds a foster
family in another county who is willing to care for our dear boy. I’m not too thrilled that he will be staying
with someone I have never met, but I am thankful that the Lord provided this
resource. After a few e-mail exchanges
and phone calls with this delightful, enthusiastic foster mom, I am confident
that he will be welcomed and well cared for in her home.
The travel
day is jam-packed with preparations and details, including a last-minute appointment
with my 7-year old son’s transplant team before dropping him off at my friend’s
house; a three-hour round trip drive to drop off our foster child at the home
of his respite provider; a stop at the social worker’s office to get a travel
document for our baby foster daughter (whose passport had just arrived that morning!),
and a frantic dash to the airport to catch our early afternoon flight. I sit on the airplane as it taxis down the
runway and think to myself, I hope this
trip is worth it!
Not even 24
hours later, safely tucked into our hotel room on the other side of the Atlantic
Ocean, I receive a desperate text that no parent wants to receive: my friend is in the Emergency Room with my 7-year
old son. Apparently he had been riding his bike at top speed down a steep hill
and ended up hitting a tree, which resulted in a broken elbow. (According to him, it was really fun . . . And
then it wasn’t.)
Oh, my poor
boy! He is there in the hospital with
his injury, writhing in pain, scared and confused, and screaming for his mama; and
here I am thousands of miles away!
Should I cut my trip short and return home? If only I had just stayed home, none of this
would have happened.
After several
lengthy discussions with my dear friend, the cost of the long-distance phone
calls hardly relevant, I decide to stay in Ireland. She is fully competent and dependable, and
loves my son almost as much as I do. She
devotes herself whole-heartedly to comforting him and coordinating with all of
the doctors involved in his care – a whole team of doctors and specialists who
are concerned, not only about this current injury, but also about the sedatives
and pain-killers that are going to adversely affect his complicated transplant
issues. I am so, so thankful for my
friend, who is willing to set aside all of her plans for the remainder of the
week in order to care for my child until I return.
The
vacation passes in a blur of breath-taking beauty and magical memories. But I would be less than honest if I don’t
admit that never for one second during the remainder of the trip do I stop
thinking and worrying about my son back home.
At the end
of the week, I leave the fairy-tale world of Ireland behind, and am immediately
hit with the burdens and responsibilities of my every day life in suburbia. The vacation, as they say, is over. The toppling pile of mail that had
accumulated while I was gone needs to be tackled, the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets
need to be restocked, the suitcases emptied and stowed away, the clothes washed
and returned to their respective bedroom closets, and the droopy plants watered.
But before
I can do any of it, my first priority is to hug my son who has been counting
the days until I return home, and listen attentively while he recounts every
detail of his injury and his week without me.
And hold my clingy, whiney foster child who has just returned to my home
and is trying to readjust. And admire my
teenage daughter’s favorite photographs that she had taken on our trip. And calm the baby foster daughter who had
accompanied us and is now sleep-deprived and jet-lagged. And, and, and . . .
Any
opportunity I have to rest, however, will have to be postponed. Bright and early the next morning, just one
day after returning home, as soon as I settle my son into his home-school
routine, I take my foster child for his weekly visit with his mother in a
county located an hour away. While I’m
waiting at the social worker’s office, my son’s home-school teacher calls me on
my cell phone, and before she says a word, I hear his frantic screams in the
background. Ow! Ow! It hurts so bad! I want my mama!!
I am
heart-broken. I walk to my car with
tears of guilt streaming down my face, and I think, What in the world am I doing? My
son needs his mother, and here I am at a social worker’s office so that my
foster child can have a visit with HIS mother.
I can’t do this! Enough is enough
is enough! I quit!
I hate the
word “Disruption.” It is every bit as
ugly and frightening and traumatic for a child as it sounds. It’s something that other foster parents instigate, ones who clearly aren’t as
committed as I am. Ones who give up much
too easily. My husband and I resolved
early on, years and years ago, that we would never send a child away, and yet
here I am doing exactly that. What other
choice do I have? I am one person, with
limitations and frailties and my own family who needs me now. Especially now.
I contact
the social workers involved, and fight the guilt that is growing stronger by
the minute. This poor little boy has
been through so much in his young life, and now I will be the cause of even
more distress. More uncertainty and
chaos and confusion. More reasons for
him to distrust the adults in his life who are supposed to take care of him.
But I know
my Heavenly Father, and I know the unceasing grace that He extends. Deep in my heart I force myself to remember that
He isn’t going to be mad at me or think less of me or be disappointed in
me. I often hear that God can use our ability, and He loves to use our availability. And now, apparently, I will need to trust
that sometimes He may choose to use my inability. That He is perfectly capable of providing for
the needs of this foster child. Of accomplishing
His purposes without me.
Several
hours later, still frantically trying to fit everything into my day, my foster child’s
visit has ended, and I am now at an appointment at Orthopedics Trauma,
discussing with the medical team whether or not my son will need to have
surgery on his elbow. It has been one
week since the original injury, and because of the excruciating pain radiating
into his fingers, there is concern that the injury has caused some nerve damage. When do the hits stop coming? When can I stop for two seconds and just be a
mom? When does this story end?
It is late
in the evening when I finally have a free minute to take a breath and check the
many phone messages, texts and e-mails that I had received throughout the
day. And there, right on my phone, is the
most astonishing message from the social worker . . . the family who had
provided respite care for our foster child while we were away had fallen head
over heals in love with him! They had
called our foster agency earlier that day, letting them know that if ever there
was a need for him to be moved from his current foster home, they would be more
than ready and willing to welcome him into their family!
You just never
know when you’re right in the middle of a God story. Watching events unfold that only He could
orchestrate. I hadn’t known this family before, but God
did. He knew that, during all my
searching for another foster family, this
was the one. They were the perfect ones
to provide respite care for this child. He
knew that they would welcome him into their home and love him as their own
during our vacation. He opened their
hearts, even before the need existed, to care for him as their foster child. He knew that if ever I was going to be
relieved of the guilt of disrupting this placement, that I would need the
assurance that another family would love him.
My Heavenly Father knew what I needed, even before I asked Him. (Matthew 6:8)
And yet, perhaps
the end . . . isn’t the end after all. The story continues to change and unfold.
It’s been
four days since my conversation with the orthopedic doctors. My son is now tentatively moving his fingers,
which hopefully means that he will not need surgery. Hopefully his elbow is on the mend.
It’s been
four days since the communication back and forth with our foster agency, and our
foster child is still here, still living with us. His bright smile and indomitable spirit brings
such sweet joy to my weary heart. Perhaps
I was too quick to quit. Perhaps I just needed
a reminder that God will provide – not only for the needs of my foster child,
but for my needs as well.
I don’t
know how this story ends. I don’t know how
long our little foster child will be with us.
But this I do know. I need to simply
accept that some days will be more frenzied than others. And to be okay with that. Every morning the Lord’s mercies are new, and
every moment, especially in the crazy moments when I feel like crying out, I am only one person here! . . . is a
new opportunity to trust Him. To know,
with complete confidence, that He will give me enough strength to complete the
tasks He has given me. That He will give
me enough love for the little ones in front of me. That, in spite of my inabilities, His plans can
not be thwarted.
Every disheartening
frustration. Every non-refundable
airline ticket. Every painful injury. Every “wasted” hour in the car or at an
appointment. Every child’s clamor for
attention. . . Every one of God’s promises.
Every unsettled child finding comfort.
Every unexpected phone call. Every
foster family’s open arms. Every
faithful friend . . . They are all pages in the story that He is writing. They are all reminders of His love and
provision and grace.
Each new
day, each unexpected moment is part of a God-story . . . regardless of how it ends.
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