I never planned for you to be ours. Sure we threw around the word adoption, like we “should" do that someday. It's never a for sure though, especially in foster care. I never planned an seven year gap between kids. I was done after 30, I didn't plan to be an "old" parent, but I never planned for YOU.
“Well, can you do it?” Tears fill my eyes even as I type this because the answer was no...we called back to say YES.
No matter who you voted for, whether you’re celebrating or mourning, the election is over. The advocating and voting are done, there’s nothing more to do there. But there is good to do. There is a way that we can affect the future of this nation.
I knew that I was going to have to let this little boy go, that I was only the middle mom between his biological mom and his adoptive mom. That was about all the sadness I could handle. I was expecting grief. I was expecting loss. Now I had fear.
So before you join the rabid crowds of Black Friday shoppers/wrestlers, before you aimlessly toss “maybe she’ll like this” items into your cart, before you spend up your money on things that don’t really matter, consider giving one of these gifts that give.
As a foster mom, you may not get the fruit of prayers answered and hopes realized. You may not get proms, graduations, weddings, and grandchildren. Let’s be real. You may not even get the fruit of bedtime routines achieved, table manners acquired, multiplication tables learned, or secrets whispered. But what you will get, what we foster parents are working for, is the joy of being faithful right now. Today, I have today. And I will faithfully train and parent and love this child today and for as many more “todays” as I get.
But helping these children meant dealing with the state agency, the one I had been afraid of and looked down upon, the one I had warned others about...I met the recruiter. She met me with an inviting smile and helpful answer. She had a heart for adoption, a burden to see the church rise up and champion foster care, and a genuine love for the children she advocated for. She was “the state.”
Some of them are writers and some are “just” moms, but they were all faithful to write and share their story with others and, eventually, with me. I want to give them the gift that others gave to me in sharing their words. But more importantly, I want to give you the gift of reading their words and entering their stories...I can’t say I’ve never been angry with you for it, but anger fades quickly when I look beyond the facts to see you. You – their birth mom. Their first mom.
Some of them are writers and some are “just” moms, but they were all faithful to write and share their story with others and, eventually, with me. I want to give them the gift that others gave to me in sharing their words. But more importantly, I want to give you the gift of reading their words and entering their stories...It wasn't my arms they were placed into, and their daddy wasn't there to cut the cord. He couldn't carry them swaddled to me for the first time like their sister.
Some of them are writers and some are “just” moms, but they were all faithful to write and share their story with others and, eventually, with me. I want to give them the gift that others gave to me in sharing their words. But more importantly, I want to give you the gift of reading their words and entering their stories... "Healing days are about trauma and rewiring her brain. They need to happen for her to be healthy. But when the healing days become healing weeks, the weight of her suffering feels all consuming."
Some of them are writers and some are “just” moms, but they were all faithful to write and share their story with others and, eventually, with me. I want to give them the gift that others gave to me in sharing their words. But more importantly, I want to give you the gift of reading their words and entering their stories... "Then, the text came. It was my mom. “I know you have decided not to foster, but there is a family who has foster children that will most likely need to be adopted. Are you interested?”
Some of them are writers and some are “just” moms, but they were all faithful to write and share their story with others and, eventually, with me. I want to give them the gift that others gave to me in sharing their words. But more importantly, I want to give you the gift of reading their words and entering their stories..."I'm reading about how sharing your story can change the world. I'm a terrible story teller. I do have a story, but not sure how to begin to tell it."
In an effort to kill two birds with one stone, as they say, I’ll be reviewing some of the books I read with my kids for you here on this blog, specifically books relating to adoption and foster care. I decided to start with my very favorite “made for foster kids” book: Murphy's Three Homes!
A couple of months ago a judge took away your biological mother’s rights and you had your last visit with her, said goodbye to her. I cried for you and cried for your mom and cried for the loss all around, but then dried my tears and assumed life would go on as usual. It hasn’t.
We talked about war and poverty and injustice in the way you do with a seven year old, shoving big ideas into small words, dancing with light steps around heavy ideas. Then I addressed what it all means to her.
You get a cute shirt and needy, deserving girls in Uganda get an education. Buying one of these beauties is a classic win-win.
As much as any future foster parent may wish this process away to just get on with the foster caring, maybe it’s the perfect intro course into foster care...maybe the sacrifice is meant to remind us of why we got into foster care in the first place.
Her father hadn’t shown up, but she had her daddy, going to great lengths, working to adopt her and become her forever father. And she had her God, who already “finished” the great work, making the way to adopt her and become her Forever Father.
Tears streamed down my face and filled her little eyes. I was aware of yet another “small” blessing we had that so many others didn’t. I was aware of the times I’d thought my girl “needed” a new pair of shoes...But Sole Hope did more than just change my view of children’s footwear. Let me begin with all the onion-y layers of why I love Sole Hope (as in, the tears increase the deeper you get)
