No Longer an Orphan

“I waited patiently for the Lord;

He turned to me and heard 

my cry.” 

– Psalm 40:1

We see their sweet faces when we open our e-mail, or when we visit the website of waiting children, or when someone posts their pictures on social media.  They are the children who, after spending much of their childhood in the unpredictable, unstable foster care system, are looking for permanency, a family of their own.¹  They are the children in orphanages on the other side of the world who have never known what it means to have parents, who pray every night for a family who will love them.²  Or perhaps most tragic of all, they are the children who were adopted, who thought that they were going to live happily ever after, but who are now in need of a new adoptive home.³

We see their pictures, their eyes filled, understandably, with deep sadness, or, inexplicably, with steadfast hope.  Those eyes fill our tender hearts with deep compassion, and we can’t help but respond. . .

“Aww!  She is so cute!”

“Look at those beautiful curls!”

“I just love that face!”

“I would bring them all home if I could.”

We cry at the injustice of it all, the unfairness that some children want for nothing, while others have nothing they want.  It’s almost as if we can hear their cries, their pleas to be rescued from their plight – their lonely, precarious, frightening circumstances.

Let the Little Children Come

But Jesus called the children to Him and said,

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.

-       Luke 18:16

I almost didn’t come to church today.  If you had even an inkling of how difficult it is to get children with special needs out the door in the morning, you would understand my hesitancy to come.  However, my soul’s hunger for spiritual food, along with my thirst for fellowship and encouragement, or at least a little adult conversation, compels me to pull it together.  Timing the g-tube feeding so that it finishes before we need to leave.  Drawing up all the right doses of medication.  Getting spaghetti-like arms and legs into a dress shirt and pants, praying the whole time that he doesn’t choose this moment to vomit (pretty much a daily occurrence).  Making sure all of the emergency supplies and medical equipment are packed.  (Never again will I complain about packing “just” a diaper bag!)  Folding up the wheelchair and loading it into the car, making sure there are enough seats for the rest of the family.   Getting the other kids and myself dressed and fed.  By the time we are ready to leave, I have already worked up a sweat and feel like I have put in a full days’ work.

He Knew You

From the very second you were created, in that moment when they came together in the darkness in the place where they thought no one would see them, when they were madly in love with one another – from that very first moment of your life when you were just the size of a poppy seed, He knew you.

He knew you when they found out that you were growing inside that most secret place, when you were just the size of an apple seed.  He knew how they would react when they found out.  It may have been an unplanned surprising shock to them, but it was never a surprise to Him.  Even then He was the One who was writing your story.  His timing, His Hand forming your heart and stomach and intricate digestive system, crafted every detail with perfect precision.

When you were about the size of a green olive, He was sculpting your facial features, shaping those tiny ears and that little nose that are uniquely yours.  Your heartbeat was strong enough to be heard on the doctor’s machines. 

It's OK to Grieve

. . . And you live happily ever after.  The end.

The last piece of paper has been given the last stamp of approval, and at last the painful wait is over.  The child you have been dreaming of and praying for all these months is finally home!  Friends are celebrating this glorious and unforgettable event with you.  You are surrounded with shouts of “Congratulations!” and well wishes.  There are welcome-home parties and showers of gifts and friends bringing meals and your extended family coming to visit.  It is a joyous time indeed!

This is the one thing you have longed for more than anything.  This is what you have been preparing for and planning for.  Your dream has finally come true!  Your family finally feels complete.

Where, then, is the happily ever after?  How is it possible for you to feel so sad and overwhelmed?  Where do these tears keep coming from?  These inexplicable emotions add guilt and shame to the confusing mix. 

Of course you cannot possibly say a word to anyone about this.  Who would understand why you are so downcast about a child that should make you so happy?  Who would understand why you would cry when your prayers have finally been answered?  Who would understand your overwhelming emotions when you barely understand them yourself?

One Friend

Sometimes, all it takes is one friend to make a difference.  One friend to shape your life in a significant way.  One friend who stands beside you when you venture with uncertainty into unfamiliar waters.  One friend who reminds you every day that “with God all things are possible.”

The Lord knows that sometimes you need one friend who is altogether different from you.  One friend who, because she is a little bit eccentric and unconventional, and even a little wild and kind of scary, when you meet her in a room full of strangers, you never would have predicted would be the one friend with whom your heart would bond so closely.  

Are We Insane? - Part 2

Honestly?  Are you insane?  Why would you do such a thing? 

The questions were prompted by the recent addition of a new foster child into our home.  A decision that my husband and I did not make lightly.  A decision that headed us in the direction that we felt the Lord was leading us.  It was an act of obedience and surrender to what we believe to be His will for our family.  And now the questions from well-intentioned friends and family members are hurtful and unsupportive.  They remind me, once again, that being a foster parent can be a lonely, isolating, misunderstood path.

Honestly, I don’t know why it is so difficult to understand why we would “do such a thing.”   When God’s Word says to “care for the orphan,” we believe that it is a command, not a suggestion for a select few who have nothing better to do with their time and energy.  There are many, many ways to care for orphaned and vulnerable children – as many different ways as there are talents and personalities and resources – and welcoming foster children into our family is the way that we are able to obey God’s command.  It is our way of using our talents and personalities and resources to make a difference in the lives of fatherless children.  It is our calling.

Honestly?

Do you question our sanity because Foster Care has such a negative connotation?  Because the government-run system has such a notorious reputation for being broken and ineffective?  Is it because of your misconception that it is the fault of the children themselves that they are placed in foster care?  That they are “bad?”  Is it because the children only stay temporarily, instead of becoming a permanent part of their foster families?

Perhaps it’s time to question your perspective, and to challenge you to look at Foster Care through a different lens . . .

Are We Insane? - Part 1

Honestly?!  Are you insane?  Why would you do such a thing?

The questions sting and they momentarily dampen my enthusiasm, but they are not altogether unexpected.  Not everyone is a huge fan of me and my family and our long-term ministry as foster parents.  It does seem insane.  For those who do not have the passion to provide a safe and loving home for a vulnerable child, it does defy comprehension.  What can I say?

My husband and I have been thinking and praying about taking another “placement” for a few months, and in our human perspective of things, we thought that an elementary-aged child would fit perfectly into our family.  However, when we received “the call” and heard the story of the precious newborn in need of a temporary family, we knew almost immediately that we would say yes.  That she was the one whom the Lord was asking us to love.

We are a Family

As each child’s face flashes across the large screen in the front of the auditorium, each picture more adorable than the one before, everyone in the congregation oohs and ahhs.   The picture of little girl with the pink bow, the bow that attempts to contain her blond curls.  The photo of the sleeping baby boy wrapped in a hand-knitted blanket.   The image of the twins lying end to end like two peas in a pod.  Someone from the tech team had added a beautiful soundtrack to the slideshow – a sweet song about children being treasured gifts from the Lord.  It is so stirring and tender, that a few people here this Sunday have to brush away a tear or two.  There are few creatures more precious than an innocent child.  Few people more proud than a new parent.  Few moments more solemn than when a parent stands in front of the Church and dedicates that child to the Lord.   

When the slideshow ends, the new parents bring their children forward for the dedication ceremony.  These sweet children in real life are even more adorable than their pictures!  Families make their way towards the front of the auditorium.  Grandparents sneak into the aisles to snap pictures.  Others in the audience crane their heads to get a better look.  The children themselves are oblivious to the significance of the occasion.  They are just content to be held in their parents’ arms.

He is the One

“Hellooooooo?”  I raced through the door and called out to my roommate, so anxious to share my news that I could barely contain my excitement.  I had just experienced the most magical night of my entire life, and I could not wait to tell her about it.  Sure, it had only been six weeks since this wonderful man had come into my life, but time and logic are irrelevant when you are in love.  When he had asked me to marry him earlier that night, I did not hesitate before answering.  I knew, I just knew that he was the man of my dreams.  He was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.  I threw myself across my roommate’s bed and declared dramatically, “He is the one!”

At our wedding reception a few months later, when the best man gave his speech, he looked me straight in the eye and half-jokingly warned, “I hope you are ready for an adventure.”  He had no way of knowing, of course, could never have predicted what an adventure it would turn out to be!  And through it all, through the times when my heart felt like it would explode with joy, and through the times when my whole world was rocked to its core and I did not know how life could possibly continue, he is the one who has been with me every step of the way.

The Love Boat

We board the cruise ship, my daughter and I, full of excitement and anticipation for the journey ahead.¹  When I saw the advertisement just a few weeks ago for an island getaway, and when my husband offered us the use of his frequent-flyer miles to get to the port, how could I pass up the opportunity?  This is the first time being away from my special-needs foster child in over a year, and I am greatly looking forward to the respite.  To a chance to recharge and rejuvenate, returning home at the end of the trip with renewed joy and resolve.  Caribbean, here we come!

Fighting the Fear

“No, Mommy!  Please!  No!”  His desperate screams fill my ears and I have to turn my head away so that he won’t see the tears that threaten to leak out of the corners of my eyes.  So that he won’t know how much his helplessness and vulnerability break my heart.   Oh, how I long to rescue him from this pain!  To protect him from this terrifying situation that causes him this out-of-control panic.  Instead, I hold him even tighter, pinning his arms so that he can’t move.  He may believe at this moment that I am the worst parent in the world by subjecting him to this agony, but I know that this is what he needs in order to be healthy.

“Sh, it’s okay,” I keep whispering into his ear.  “I’m here, Sweetheart.  I’m right here.  Just squeeze my hand.  Sh.”  I continue to hold him securely while he continues his frantic cries.  He is unable to hear my words of comfort.  The roar of fear has caused his ears to be deaf to my voice.  He is so blinded by terror that my face, the room we’re in, everything becomes fuzzy and out of focus.

I pray silently, Please, God, let this be over soon!  The phlebotomist patiently attempts a third and then a fourth time to locate a good vein, to draw enough blood to fill 10 – yes 10! – vials to be sent to the lab for testing.  With each passing minute, with each painful stab of the needle, with each piercing scream, it gets increasingly difficult to watch.

I knew when our little foster baby had his organ transplant four years ago that it would mean life-long concerns about his health.¹  I knew when we adopted him two years ago that it would mean a life-long commitment to his care.  That it would mean sacrificing countless hours, summoning boundless energy, and experiencing immense inconvenience. 

What I didn’t know, what I never could have planned, was the indescribable love in my heart for this resilient child.  The unimaginable heartbreak of watching him endure repeated medical tests.  The fierce protectiveness that I feel for him every time we step foot into this place.

And I didn’t know how significantly the medical trauma of his early years would affect him.²   That it would cause him to have such ongoing fear.   That every time he has a medical procedure, even a minor one, he is re-traumatized, and the healing has to start all over again.

Normally, getting your blood drawn should not be such a traumatic event.  It shouldn’t be such a major ordeal every single time!  One would think that after being subjected to various medical procedures hundreds of times over the past six years, that he would get used to it.  What is he so afraid of? Why doesn’t he just remain calm and hold still?  He knows it’s going to be over in a few minutes.  Why isn’t he brave enough to fight this fear?

Finally, mercifully, the needle comes out, the band-aid goes on, and I reassure him once again that I am here, and that he is safe.  And he is safe . . . until next time.

The Path Home

THE PATH OF DEATH

Never in her life had she been so terrified.  So paralyzed by fear that even the simple task of breathing in and out seemed suddenly so difficult that it required her undivided attention.  Her ears barely registered the bird singing in the branch overhead or the cars speeding by on the busy street nearby.  The weeds in the cracks of the sidewalk went unnoticed.   All she could see was the little white building with a faded pink sign that included the words “woman” and “choice.”  She asked herself, How on earth did a good girl like me end up at a place like this?

The story wasn’t supposed to happen this way.  She had thought for sure that it was a romantic love story that would end in happily ever after.  Her beloved had given her true love’s kiss, and had assured her of his commitment.  He was going to carry her off into the sunset.  Into a future bright and full of promise.

But the promises had been shattered, right along with her heart.  Her true love was gone, leaving her with a houseful of small children to raise alone.  Adding another one to the mess simply was not an option. 

So here she was, walking towards the little white building with the faded pink sign, scarcely able to believe that it was really happening.  That her story was going to end in death – not only the death of the heartbeat growing inside her, but also the death of her innocence and naiveté.  The death of a dream.

The Relay Team

Through blurry eyes I pour coffee into my extra-large mug, watching the brown liquid fill to the top, hoping wearily that the caffeine it contains will do its job quickly this morning.  I did not sleep well last night – again.  My precious child sleeping in the room down the hall kept coughing at irregular intervals; his weakened lungs have been fighting germs for several weeks now, germs that refuse to give up and go away.  As much as I would love to cuddle with him on the couch today, nursing him back to health, I simply do not have the time for such luxuries. 

My other little guy, my foster child, has once again managed to fill my calendar today with appointments - appointments which will require the majority of my energy and attention.  I should tell myself to continue pressing on and not give up, knowing that I am being obedient to what the Lord has asked me to do.  But still, it is difficult not to get discouraged.  It is impossible not to be exhausted.

As I quickly check my e-mail inbox before the busy day begins, one particular notification suddenly catches my attention.  It practically jumps off the computer screen and into my lap:  75% off an island getaway.  On this cold January day, under the cloud of sleep-deprivation, with the kitchen clock ticking rapidly towards the incessant demands on my time today, a vacation in the sun sounds absolutely heavenly!

I do feel a momentary twinge of guilt that if I take this trip, it will mean that my husband will need to stay with the children, holding down the fort here at home.  However – true confessions here – we have been taking separate vacations for years.  He takes a few weeks every fall to go hunting with a buddy in the Northwest.  I take a child or two with me on various trips to visit extended family on the West Coast, or to see the sights in some faraway city.  We love to travel . . . just not together.

It is not because we do not love each other passionately.  We do!   It is not because we need to take a break from each other.  How I long to spend more time with him!  The one reason we cannot enjoy vacationing together, the one obstacle that keeps us apart is, sadly, a simple one:  we do not know one person who is able to care for our foster children while we are gone.

It's All About the Grace

Like a child having a tantrum, I slammed the front door on my way out of my house, the house that suddenly seemed two sizes too small.  I could not stand to be in there one more second.  The noise, the arguing, the clutter, the incessant demands that never allow me a moment of peace.  I knew when I became a foster mother that it would not be easy, but sometimes it just gets so overwhelming that I have to step outside and get away, even if only for a minute.

I stormed down the driveway towards the sidewalk of my little suburban neighborhood, tears streaming down my face, my thoughts raging, my silent prayers practically incoherent.  God, please do something!  I can’t do this any more!  You brought these children into my home, and I have trusted you to help me love them.  You have got to help me!

I hadn’t gone even ten steps, when I ran into my neighbor, who happened to be walking down the sidewalk at the same time.  Oh, great!  Is there nowhere that I can even cry in private?!  Of course on any other day, I would have been happy to see her.  I would have enjoyed a brief chat with her.  But not today.  I looked around in a panic, trying to find an escape route, but it was too late.  She had already spotted me.  She had already noticed my tears.

Good News!

To the 150 million orphaned children in the world who will face this holiday season without a family . . . this is for you.

Do not be afraid, the angel said.   If there is one thing that you need to hear first, it is this: Do not be afraid.  Although there are many circumstances in your life that are uncertain, and the unknown future is terrifying, you will not be able to understand the rest of the message until you let go of fear.  God knows that fear, that terrible enemy that sneaks in and tries to steal your soul, needs to be banished.  He knows that fear keeps your fists tightly clinched, unable to open your hands to receive His gift.  The most amazing gift that has ever been offered.

Not Me!

Do you ever feel like Moses sometimes?  There you are, minding your own business, living in the middle of Nowhere Desert, quietly herding sheep and raising a family.¹  Nothing spectacular ever really happens, and that’s just the way you like it.  There was a time when you thought you might enjoy living in bustling Egypt, with its grandiose building projects, bountiful crops, and a vigorously healthy population.² 

However, as you got older, you realized that the government is corrupt, the average person is way over-worked and under-paid, and the laws, instead of protecting children, actually decree that they should be murdered.³  No, thank you, you think.  That’s not me.  I prefer living an average, peaceful life in seclusion and anonymity.  I like routine.  Predictability.

And then, in one moment, on one ordinary day when you least expect it, everything changes.  You don’t exactly see a burning bush or hear an audible voice, but the message is just as clear.⁴  God is calling you, not to go and deliver his people from slavery, but to go and deliver a child from a hopeless, fatherless future.  He is asking you to be the one to rescue an orphan. 

Your first reaction, the automatic response is, Not me!  You are asking the wrong person, Lord!  I’m not brave enough!  I don’t have any special skills or experience or training.  I don’t have the right personality for it, and I know nothing about children who have been abused or neglected.  And You know I don’t handle stress very well.  I really and truly can’t do this.  Please, oh please, ask someone else to do it!⁵

Love Your Neighbor

Story based on “The Good Samaritan” found in Luke 10:25-37. 

Ponderings based on a journal entry by Marc Ulrich,

a man who is learning what it means to “love your neighbor.”

Once upon a time there was a child.  An innocent child who experienced from a terribly young age what it means to live in a harsh world full of sin and evil and broken people who hurt one another.  Her parents, the very ones who were supposed to love her and protect her, were unable to do so.  Instead of being fed and clothed and cleaned, she was naked and cold.  Hungry and soiled.  She wept tears of pain and loneliness, longing for someone to love her.  But instead of receiving soothing caresses when she cried, she was beaten.  “Shut up!,” they screamed into her terrified face.  And then they abandoned her, leaving her half dead.

A man passed by.  A nicely-dressed, well-educated man who loved the Lord and had dedicated his life to studying God’s Word and teaching others the truths of the gospel.  What perfect timing!  When the child saw him approaching, a small glimmer of hope sparked in her heart.  Hope that someone, finally, had come to rescue her. 

Chosen

How did I get here?  What happened to me?  My tiny body is slouched in a miniature wheelchair, and I have various tubes running in and out of my abdomen.  I am trying to hold my head upright and trying to make sense of my surroundings.  I am trapped in my own little world of severe disabilities.  And to make matters worse, I am trapped in the foster care system.  This is not the life I would have chosen.

The Heart of a Father

His life this past week has been a crazy whirlwind, and this evening he finds himself, once again, in a strange city on the other side of the country, far away from the family he loves.  It is a constant effort to find the right balance between taking care of his responsibilities at work, and taking care of his wife and children.  And since it is impossible to be in two places at once, the struggle remains.

He has an unexpected few hours of unscheduled time, so he decides to take a walk along the beach.  To take a few minutes to try to unwind after his long day of meetings, from the relentless pressure to produce more, more and always more.

As his feet sink into the warm sand, and he listens to the comforting sound of the waves whooshing in and out, back and forth, he takes a deep breath and feels his tight shoulders begin to relax.  His thoughts travel towards home, towards the one place his heart longs to be.  And in his rare moment of solitude he begins to reflect on the past week.  What a week it has been!

Invisible Orphans

Most likely it  is not any of the children at the birthday party.  She wasn’t invited.  How can a child learn how to make friends when she doesn’t stay in one place long enough?¹

It’s probably not the kid on the soccer team.  How can a child learn how to play a sport when he doesn’t have a dad who will kick a ball with him?  A mom who will drive him to practice every week?

But maybe it’s the young girl who sits next to your daughter at school.  The girl with the slumped shoulders who never makes eye contact.  The one who shuffles her feet a little bit when she walks, a result of growing up with shoes that never fit quite right.  Or the one who, when the teacher asks her to read out loud and she stumbles over the words, gets teased and laughed at by the other students.²

Perhaps it’s the little boy you see when you go to the store.  The boy who keeps touching everything within his reach, and who has a tantrum when he hears the word “no.”  Or the one who bats his eyelashes at everyone he meets, knowing that they will inevitably say, “Ah, he is so cute!”

It could be the kid on the swings at the park.  Or the one in the Sunday School class that you teach every week.  Or the one who visited Vacation Bible School last summer.   

They are all around you, and yet they remain invisible.  They are foster children in our own community – in our schools and neighborhoods and playgrounds - who are waiting to be adopted.  They are our country’s invisible orphans.

I Didn't Know

I didn’t know, until I first felt his little hand tucked securely into mine, how much love my heart could contain.  A passionate, fierce, intense love.  A love so acute that it was almost painful.  A love that nearly took my breath away.

I didn’t know, when the Lord saw my empty arms, when I begged him for a child, for an opportunity to be a mother, to imprint my life upon the life of another, that this was the child He had chosen for me.  This charming, magnetic child who attracted people’s notice wherever he went.  Who would walk into a room and instantly meet his next best friend.  Who would go outside early in the morning so that he could knock on the new neighbors’ door and ask, “Do you have any kids my age?”  This bright, curious boy who taught himself to read when he was four years old.  Who carefully drew up architectural plans for his LEGO blocks, and made sure that the plans were followed accurately.  Who chose as his topic for his essay: “The Difference Between Alchemy and Nuclear Fusion.”  (Sorry, buddy.  If you want my help with your homework, you’re going to have to pick a different topic.  Or go ask your father.)

In Search of Ordinary

When we see the look of sheer panic on the teacher’s face this Sunday morning, we almost laugh.  We stand in the doorway, bringing in our assortment of children, trying to wrangle their energy and herd them inside.  She reacts as if we are bringing wild animals into her tidy classroom instead of spruced-up, shiny-faced, Sunday-best little boys and girls.

We have a rainbow of children between us, my friend and I, all of them close in age, all of them different colors, some of them differently-abled, not one of them quiet.  We do make quite a spectacle when we are out, two white mamas with red and yellow, black and white little ones following close behind.  We wish people didn’t feel the need to stare.  Or look at us like we are from another planet.  We just want to be ordinary mamas with our ordinary families enjoying an ordinary Sunday at church.

Praying for a Miracle

Once again we find ourselves sitting in a waiting room, waiting for the results of yet another test.  The same television on the wall is showing the same talk-show host that we’ve seen a hundred times, and the same outdated magazines on the table in front of us do nothing to help the time pass more quickly.

I look tenderly at the little boy here with me – the one with the gorgeous eyelashes, the perfect complexion, and the angelic curls that always tempt me to run my fingers through them.  And I ache with compassion.  Poor little guy!  When will enough be enough?  How many more tests and probes and scopes and scans will he be required to endure?

Breaking Chains

It is appropriate, she supposes, that the metal table under her back is shockingly cold.  It mirrors the coldness running through her veins at the thought of what the doctor is about to do.   Everyone says that this is her choice, but really, what choice does she have?  Her one true love, the one she thought would be by her side forever, is long gone.  She has little education, few job skills, and no means of supporting herself, much less another person.  She can’t ask the members of her church for help; they would surely ostracize her if they knew, looking at her with raised eyebrows, scorn and judgment.

The straps around her feet feel as heavy as chains, shackling her to this table, enslaving her to this terrible moment.  The child inside her will never be an orphan; he will never even take a breath.

This desperate girl

and her unborn child

need to be rescued.

What if . . .?

We sit on the floor of the sunny, colorful little room, each of us holding a specially-formed child in our laps, introducing them, some for the very first time, to the beautiful sound of music.   Because these precious children are blind, they are especially enjoying the rhythms of the songs, the tactile sensations of the drums and shakers, and the physical movements of the motions.  Some spontaneously try dancing to the tempo – awkwardly and yet completely uninhibited.  Some, like my foster child sitting on my own lap, are hesitant and fearful, reluctant to participate in this unfamiliar environment.  And one little girl across the circle from us just smiles and rocks back and forth the entire time, her ears savoring every delicious beat.

I can’t help but notice the little girl sitting next to me, the one with the disfigured face, whose deformed hands can barely grasp the musical instruments, and whose head is wrapped in unsightly bandages – either from a recent surgery or from a misshapen head.  It’s hard not to stare.

Suddenly, my 15-year old daughter, who is attending the musical event with me, interrupts my thoughts.  Leaning over, she whispers into my ear, “Do you see that girl over there?”  She discreetly glances over to the same one I had just been noticing.  Uh oh, I hope she doesn’t say anything too loud or embarrassing, I think to myself.  To my utter astonishment, she continues with pure sincerity, “She is so adorable!”

Impossible

It was never supposed to happen.  From start to finish, every trail of your parents’ journey to reach you was stamped with a signpost marked “Impossible.”  The terrain was rocky and steep, filled with roadblocks, the view around each corner completely obstructed.

They did not qualify to adopt from the country where you were born.  Their finances were woefully inadequate, and they could never afford the adoption expenses.  Their spiritual leaders, the ones they respected and from whom they sought counsel, advised them against it.  She had serious health issues that prevented her from traveling.  And perhaps the most obvious Impossible sign:  another family had already begun the process to adopt you.

Common sense said no.  The list of reasons to quit just kept growing.  The obstacles seemed insurmountable.  Their efforts and prayer seemed futile.  And yet . . . they dared to hope. 

This One Child

“Hey, guys, it’s time to get in the car.  We need to run some errands, and I really need to stop by the market to pick up some ingredients for dinner tonight.  Sweetie, can you grab the diaper bag while I get my purse, my list, and this little guy?”

“Has anyone seen my keys?  I thought they were on the kitchen counter.”

“No, Honey, I don’t know where your shoes are.  Where did you last see them?”

“Hurry up and use the bathroom before we leave; we don’t want any accidents on the way.  I know you don’t need to go, but please try anyway.”

“No, we don’t have time to ‘just stop by’ the mall to go shopping.  Let’s just get our errands done, so that we can get back home in time for the little ones’ naps.  Please, just get in the car!”

The chaos that accompanies leaving the house always makes me wonder if it’s worth it.  How badly do we really need milk?  Or diapers?  I mentally review the check-list.  We need gas for the car.  And then I need to return the books to the library and cash a check at the bank.  The last stop will be the market, where hopefully I can find some inspiration for meals for the next few days.  I’m so thankful to be out of the house, albeit ever so briefly, on this beautiful summer day.  My reverie is interrupted, when less than two miles from home, on a beautiful winding tree-lined road, I hear it.  That unmistakable choking sound coming from the car seat behind me.  And then I smell it.  That unmistakable stench of formula gone sour from sitting in a little tummy too long. 

And all the other kids in the car smell it too.  “Ew!  Gross!  Quick, roll down the windows!  Mo-o-om, he’s car sick again!”  Gee, thank you so much for that helpful information.  As if I didn’t already know.

“Can you reach the wipes?  In the diaper bag?  Right there, on the floor?  What do you mean we don’t have the diaper bag?  Really?  I thought I asked you to grab the diaper bag!”   Obviously our errands will need to wait for another time.

When we get back home, I’m not even sure where to start.  I need to give him a bath and take out all the cornrows that I had just spent two hours putting in his hair that very morning.  I need to rinse out his clothes and put them on the “sanitary” cycle in the washing machine.  I need to disassemble the car seat and hose it down.  But first I need to get the preschooler occupied with something else so that he doesn’t “help.”

And then the phone rings and I hear my husband’s voice, his innocent voice on the other end of the line:  “Hi, Honey, I’m on my way home.  What are we having for dinner tonight?” Ha!  Does he seriously want me to answer that question?

I Could Never Do That!

“Wow, you’re a foster parent?!  I could never do that!”  How many times have I heard that comment?  As if what I do is something extraordinary.  As if I’m something other than who I am:  an average person, just trying to be faithful to what God has called me to do.  

If time would allow, here is how I would love to respond to that comment . . .

While it’s true that you may not be able open your home to a child in need, it is true those of us who are foster parents certainly can’t do it by ourselves.  You can support foster children and those who care for them by opening your heart, using your skills, and sharing your life.  Here are 25 ideas of things that you can do . . .

Making a Difference

Do you remember when you were young, that exciting season of life when you were just starting out, and the whole world was full of endless possibilities?  It was like holding a brand new travel book in your hands and being given carte blanche.  You could go anywhere you wanted to go.  Do anything.  Become anything.  You could devote your life to academia, a career, a family, full-time ministry . . . or all of the above.  And no matter which direction you decided to go, your goal was the same as almost everyone else on the planet: to leave your mark.  To impact people’s lives.  To make a difference.

So of all the options in the world, all of the good, noble roads you could have chosen, you decide to become a foster parent.  You’ve heard the stories of the underprivileged children in your very own town, children who are being abused and neglected and abandoned.  Children who need care and encouragement.  And so you think, Why not me?  You know that you have a lot of love to give, and you want to offer a child the hope of safety and the promise of protection.  Your foster care journey begins.