The foster placement had been a hard one. Really hard.
He had many complicated medical issues that required surgeries and
procedures and appointments and specialists.
His development was significantly delayed, which was frustrating for us
and for him, and which required countless therapy sessions. He had very few social skills and he (literally!)
pushed me away when I tried to get close to him or pick him up. He was aggressive towards the other children
in our home.
And to top it off, his mother disliked me. Almost daily she would find fault with the
care her son was receiving, constantly complaining to the social worker about
me. It was disheartening, to say the
least.
It was hard, and I wanted to quit. In fact, I had asked to quit! Several times
I had requested that his social worker and case manager please, please find
another home for him. Surely there was
someone else who could love him. Someone
who had more time, energy, patience, and resources to give that child the care
and nurturing and attention that he so desperately needed.
And yet, he was still here. Apparently there was no one else. Apparently
I needed a lesson in perseverance. And
faith.
