Warrior Mama

"I do solemnly swear to support and defend [you] against all enemies; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to [you]; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter; so help me God."

This is the oath of enlisted military officers, but the same words could be equally true when a foster child enters my care.  From the moment I meet my next temporary son or short-term daughter, I feel like my new mission has just begun.

I take this role seriously.  I vow to love you to the best of my ability with all of the tenderness and gentleness within me.  That’s the part of me that you will see and feel and experience. But the side that you may not ever know about, the part of me that is making a simultaneous commitment is this:  I promise to become your “Warrior Mama.”  I will fight for you.  

"The Good Girl" and "The Other Mother"

There is a powerful scene in the movie Blindside, where a young man, who has been away from home for a few years, is searching for his birthmother.  The contrast between his wealthy white foster parents’ neighborhood and his former neighborhood with its loitering minorities, broken-down cars, and crowded apartment buildings is striking.  As my own family sat watching the movie in the comfort of our living room, I could sense that the scene was going to get ugly; it involved gang members, weapons, violence, and drugs.   I paused the movie and asked my children to leave the room until the scene was over.  When the story resumed, there was indeed an altercation.   During the chaos that ensued, a crib tipped over and the baby inside started crying.  I was stunned by the disparity:  here I was protecting my children from seeing that situation on a television screen, while there are children in the world who are actually living it!

What is a Papa?

 

(Author's Warning: some content may not be suitable for young children.)

Father.  Daddy.  Dad.  Papa.   What’s in a name?   The term alone may flash a movie in a person’s mind, but the images vary depending on a person’s background and experiences.  Some people may have fond memories of their dad wrapping them in big ol’ bear hugs, offering words of wisdom, teaching them how to ride a bike.   To them, a father is someone to be respected and trusted.   Hopefully, those who have grown up with such fathers know how blessed they are!  Unfortunately, for many foster children, the role of the men in their lives has either been non-existent, minimal or negative, and the experience has left them scarred, skeptical, and confused.

Maybe Dad is the guy whom I’ve never met and whom Mommy never talks about.  It could be that guy who went to prison when I was just a baby or the man who disappeared before I was even born.  I know enough of the facts of life to know that I must have had a father at some point, but I don’t know anything about him. 

Perhaps Father is the one who sits on the couch watching tv, and only pays attention to me by yelling furiously at me if I’m too noisy.  Or who does awful things to me at night that I can’t talk about.  

I know that none of my brothers and sisters share the same father, so “Daddy” must mean whichever man comes around, stays for a little while, and then makes Mommy cry when he leaves.

Unexpected Visitors

"Hello?"

"Hi.  I'm calling from the Department of Children and Family Services.  We have a child who has been taken into protective custody and is in need of a foster home.  Would you be interested?"

Whenever I receive a phone call from a social worker, asking me if I can take a child into my home, I usually have a general idea of what I am getting myself into.  I am given the child’s age, gender, brief background and family information, and any known problems or challenges.  I know that I will host these little visitors who will have needs that I will try to meet, who will stay temporarily, and then will leave to continue their journey with someone else.  I anticipate welcoming them into my home for as long as necessary.

However, there have been a few visitors along the way who have entered my home by surprise.  During the monotonous routines of daily life while battling the weariness of attending to the many needs of my fluctuating family, these visitors have suddenly come knocking at my door asking me to let them in.  The names of my unexpected visitors?  Resentment and Doubt.

The Wild Ride

I am a twin.  My twin sister gave birth to twins, as did my cousin, my grandmother, and great-aunt.  It’s pretty evident that twins are an inherited trait in my family.  It is providential, therefore, that even though I am biologically unable to pass along the family genetics, I have been able to experience the joys of being a mother to twins.  It didn’t just happen by accident, though, nor even by my own calculated efforts.  As only God can do, He had been preparing my husband and me to be parents, placing us in just the right place at exactly the right time, and interconnecting plenty of isolated incidents in order to miraculously deliver twins into our family.

Five Mothers

Once upon a time, in a country far, far away, a beautiful newborn boy entered the world into the waiting arms of his young mother.  Now, normally a child will have just one mother who will love and care for him during his entire life, but occasionally God has a different plan.  He blesses some children with more than one mother.  This particular baby will have had five different mothers who will have loved him before his first birthday.  This is the story of an innocent child making an incredible journey, touching the hearts and lives of those five mothers along the way.

The Story

Since the beginning of time, people have been intrigued by a great story.   An attention-grabbing opening scene, an interesting cast of characters, a lively plot full of action with a little bit of suspense mixed in, and of course a happy ending.  And since the creation of the first man and woman, everyone has been given his own story.  Some people’s stories may be shorter or longer than others, some are more adventurous, and some are filled with more joy or tragedy, but everyone’s story is uniquely his.  Unfortunately, for many foster children, their story seems somewhat incomplete, with pages or even whole chapters missing. 

The Boy Within

“I want to kill you!”  The irate teenage boy is screaming into his younger sister’s face, his heart full of rage and his mouth full of threats.   I observe with horror the volatile scenario in my own living room, hoping against hope that the words don’t escalate into a physical altercation!

I have mere moments to draw upon all of my parenting experience, to frantically pray for God’s wisdom in this situation, and to decide on the best way to respond.  Should I do nothing and just hope that everything dies down on its own?  Should I calmly remind him of the proper way to express his anger?  Should I thank him for verbalizing how he feels, instead of actually acting on his emotions?  Should I demand that he go to his room until he calms down enough to apologize for his outburst?  Who is this stranger standing in my living room, and why, oh why, did God think that I could possibly be qualified to be his mother?

And how did this young man become so troubled and full of hate, anyway?  What painful experiences has he faced during his short time of earth that would cause him to lash out at those around him?  Sometimes I feel like a detective, piecing together the few clues that are available in an effort to understand the whole picture. 

Saying Goodbye

Although I’ve heard the question hundreds of times, I’m never quite sure how to respond when someone asks me, “Isn’t it hard when one of your foster children leaves?”  Well, I could offer the emotional reply:  “Every child that leaves my home takes a piece of my heart, and I spend weeks crying my eyes out.”  It sounds pretty sappy, but it is entirely true.  Or I could give the spiritual/philosophical answer:  “I know that no matter what happens, God is in control and loves the children more than I do, and He will watch over them wherever they go.”  Thankfully, this statement is also true.  Actually, that question itself is so ridiculous, that I’m often tempted to give a sarcastic retort:  “Oh, I’m basically a hard-hearted person, so it doesn’t bother me at all when a foster child leaves.”  Of course, there is no truth to that at all!

Feeding a Baby

An alarm clock?  Who needs an alarm clock when there’s a baby in the room down the hall.  I pull the pillow over my head and hope that it’s just a dream.  But no, she seems to really mean it, as if she is screaming, “Feed me NOW!”

I drag my weary body out of bed, prepare a bottle of formula, and then hurry in to pick her up and soothe her before she wakes up the rest of the family.

They Call Me Mama

The early morning sun has not yet risen.  I stand uncertainly in the dimly lit living room looking out over the backyard, when suddenly a small dark hand reaches up to mine and I hear a little voice calling me “Mama.”  I had just met the little girl for the first time last night, and I can’t quite recall her name.  

Could this moment possibly be any more strange?

Holding a Princess

We sit patiently in the hospital’s surgical waiting room, anticipating your turn in the operating room.   While an early morning talk-show host drones on the television overhead, I quietly look around at the other pediatric patients whose experiences briefly intercept yours.  The littlest ones are blissfully unaware of what awaits them in the next few hours, while the older ones bravely clutch a stuffed animal or toy, some of them whimpering and squirming in their parents’ laps.  The adults in the room all look bleary-eyed, worried, and even slightly impatient.  There are hundreds of places we would rather be at 6:00 on a holiday morning.