Meet the Fosters

I never wanted to buy a minivan or become a foster parent.  As the old adage goes, never say never.  Also, minivans are for soccer moms.  (Did I tell you that E is in his third season of soccer?)

2016 hit us like a ton of bricks.  Adoptions in Ethiopia are operating at a snail’s pace….if the snail were in a coma.  David and I prayed for clarity in this situation.  Many families within our agency were choosing to transfer their adoption to a different country, but we didn’t feel peace about that change.  So, Ethiopia it was (and is), that much remained clear.  But my spirit continued to feel restless, like there was something we were missing.

Several weeks later, the idea of foster care came out of nowhere and slapped me aside the head.  Well, not out of nowhere.  David especially loved the whole concept of fostering.  But he’s a SOCIAL WORKER and admittedly biased towards kindness, justice, and assistance.  Whatever.  Seriously though, we were open to foster care….after our daughter’s adoption was complete.  In the meantime, at least when we’d discussed it previously, we felt too emotionally vulnerable to have needy kiddos as guests in our home.  I worried that I would grab onto them with both hands (and my heart) and refuse to let go.

All of a sudden though, this fostering thing grabbed onto US and wouldn’t let go.  We ran the idea past family members and a few close friends.  Everyone seemed cautiously optimistic, which encouraged us to explore the idea.  We rearranged schedules and attended a multi-day training that our local DSS requires for foster parents.  And it pretty much sealed the deal.  Now we’re wrecked for BOTH adoption and fostering.

I won’t bore you with our training’s minutiae.  Because after 3 days of ceaseless information gathering between the hours of 8:30-4:30, the amount of details is staggering.  (Lesser folks might say mind-numbing.)  However, I will tell you the one story that clinched it for us.  An amazingly open and honest birth mom spoke about when her children went into foster care.  She was struggling with addiction at the time and requested (begged, pleaded) for them to be separated from her.  But it was hard.  She’d see them at mandated visits, all dressed in clean clothes with pictures colored for her, and feel serious anger towards the foster family.  These emotions were borne from the fact that her kids were finally safe, healthy, and properly cared for, while she remained incapable of providing that stability herself.  It was a slap in the face.  Motivation towards recovery.  11 long months later, she was clean.  The day she received parental custody again, her children were ushered back to their home.  They walked in, dressed to the nines like they were attending a big party.  They carried cards and presents for their mother.  Recounting that moment, the birth mom held back tears and said, “There are no words for something like that….She (foster mom) gave my kids back to me like a gift and I won’t ever forget it.”  As you can imagine, by that point, I was done.  I told David later, “THAT is what the church should be.  Coming alongside those in need without judgement, but selfless love.  Patiently giving guidance and second chances even when these allowances aren't necessarily deserved.”  Building beauty from ashes.

Foster care definitely wasn’t a part of MY plan.  It’s too messy.  But the issue isn’t about this journey of fostering potentially being too emotionally difficult for me or our family.  I’m ashamed of the innate selfishness which justified that reasoning.  The issue is that there are children and families who have NO clue what provision, safety, and love even resemble.  They have no frame of reference for it in their daily lives.  Babies are being raised in this devastating reality.  Isn’t that motivation enough?  The very least we can do is shed a little light, share a little help, give a little hope.  And God knows, in these dark days, a little can go a long way.  As Jesus said in Matthew 17:20b, “..The simple truth is that if you had a mere kernel of faith, a poppy seed, say, you would tell this mountain, ‘Move!’ and it would move.  There is nothing you wouldn’t be able to tackle.”  Here’s to having just a little more faith....and we’ll see what we can do.  (But I'm seriously never getting a minivan.)