My
girlfriend’s kitchen. Over the years it
has been used to strengthen my body and, more substantially, to nourish my
soul. Its walls have eavesdropped on my
stories of drama, heart-break, frustration, and victories. The box of tissues on its countertops have
faithfully stood at attention, waiting to absorb my sudden, unexpected tears. In addition to the kitchen’s frequent role of
providing comforting food and steaming cups of coffee, it has also been the venue
of wise counsel humbly dispensed, earnest prayers sincerely offered, and warm
hugs eagerly supplied. It has gradually
become my haven, the place where my heart runs to find refuge. My girlfriend’s kitchen is like a protected
sanctuary in my little village, a place where I can relax, refuel, and be
reenergized for another day in the foster care jungle.
The ancient African proverb accurately and succinctly states: “It takes a village to raise a child.” While I don’t necessarily support the modern-day
principles that have been applied to that proverb (i.e., that parents need
government-funded programs and so-called early childhood development “experts”
to correctly raise well-rounded children), I whole-heartily agree that we as
parents need the support, encouragement, and wisdom from others in our community,
in our “village.”
