The Painful Reality of Fostering

In June 2016 we received a foster placement of two brothers, a one-year-old and a one-month-old. In the seven months that followed I became deeply committed to the care of these boys. The state was seeking relative placement and made the decision to place the boys with aging great grandparents. I had my concerns, but it is general knowledge among foster parents that relatives take precedence over foster parents. We maintained relationship with the boys and helped the great grandparents as often as we could.

After about a year, because of the health issues of the great grandparents and its impact on the boys care, the state made the decision to remove them and placed them with a distant relative. This placement failed as well, which led the state back to us. In April of 2018, we welcomed the boys back into our home with open hearts and adoption as the goal.

In November 2018, we made one of the most difficult decisions I think I have ever had to make in my life. I could probably write a book on this one experience and everything Jesus has taught me through it. Perhaps one day. But today I feel led to share some of the really hard things that I have kept close and honestly it’s not my favorite part to share. It’s just the real, raw truth. I’m trusting that Christ has someone that needs to hear this. It’s the reason I write.

From the moment we welcomed these two boys back into our life, I was struggling in ways I never anticipated. They brought with them all the additional trauma they had endured expressed in a variety of undesirable and seemingly uncontrollable behaviors. Within the first two months I sought the council of my physician and was put on anti-depressant medication. At the time I didn’t realize the significance of it. I had taken them in years past and they had been helpful, now they weren’t quite enough and wine became my friend. There was hardly a night that I was not seeking a glass or two (or three on really rough days) for some sense of solace. I recall sitting on my porch with my mom, completely bewildered and discouraged wondering “Will I ever feel happy again? And why am I SO sad? I have everything I ever wanted.” I wanted to adopt so much. Maybe even too much. You may not think that’s possible, but it is possible to want even good, godly, ministry type things to the point where it becomes your idol. By way of unforeseen issues with the boys, the extended family, and ME, God was prying this idol out of my hands. And it was loving of Him to do so; love for me and love for those boys.

There isn’t hardly a day that goes by that I am not somehow reminded of those two boys. It’s not that I think we made a mistake; we absolutely made the right decision for them. But as is typical for most people, I wish I could go back and live through that time more graciously. Indeed, they have touched my life in a way that I will never forget.

Sadly, much of my memory of them is shrouded with feelings of desperation and inadequacy. I in no way look back and romanticize the situation. It was hard, ugly, depressing, volatile at points, traumatic for us all. That’s not to say the boys necessarily made it that way or that there were no endearing moments with them. There were times of laughter and affection, but they were overwhelmed by trauma. That is just the nature of fostering many times. I mostly look back and still grieve.

I grieve that learning and understanding the depths of trauma seemed to be at their expense. I still to this day ask, “Why did it have to work out like that?” I know they are with exactly who they need to be with. I truly can see God’s hands in the situation. Even in what looked like a complete mess, everything was in God’s timing and we were a necessary part of that timing. That doesn’t make the pill easier to swallow. No one wants to play the role of “disrupted foster placement”. We all want our placements to go smoothly and have that fairytale ending. I now know that’s highly unusual and unrealistic.

Additionally, I hate how letting them go, although the right choice, contributed to their trauma. There is no way around that. Children should not have to be removed from their biological parents and placed in multiple homes. I pray God heals them emotionally and spiritually. And I pray that one day they would understand there were many people that, though they couldn’t keep them, did love them and were endeavoring to act in their best interest.

I would say being a foster parent is the hardest calling a person/family could obey. The places it reaches, the ways it affects you, the things you can’t unsee, un-know, or undo… I wonder if we stepped into it too lightly, too naïvely, ill-equipped, or maybe we just had the wrong expectations. I’m still trying to figure those things out. I have so much admiration for the seasoned foster parents. The ones who have been doing it well for years. They are truly rare.

My heart goes out to every single foster child. So many people unintentionally fail you. I pray in the midst of loss and disappointment, you will come to know Jesus Christ, the One who will bring you into His perfect family, never fail you and never, ever leave you.

Why bother?

This morning I woke Griffin up from his nap, packed a bunch of junk food snacks, loaded up all the kids and headed to church. A modified version of Sunday School is in session, followed by service and there is no nursery for either. We sat at a back table in the fellowship hall where I placed my Bible, journal, and pen out, and baby on the table. I quickly start offering my one year old dried cranberries and hope my mind can multi-task enough to take in some portion of the lesson while keeping him, for the most part, content. I don’t love using food as a distraction, but it works, so here we are. I’m able to jot a few notes down but not before I end up sitting on the floor and emptying out the contents of my diaper bag to entertain my little one. I’m keenly aware that he’s a distraction; not because he is being loud but because he’s cute. He peeks around chairs and tables giving smiles to others while showing off his planking and downward dog skills. I feel self conscious even of that. Yet I’m grateful we’re not having a melt down and I continue to try and learn. Once we’ve made it through Sunday School it’s time to brave corporate worship; An even greater task, as the sanctuary is not quite as baby friendly. The balcony is the most convenient place for us to sit if we need to make a quick exit; which we usually do. Griffin enjoys the folk music and during the open prayer time he bangs cheesy hand prints on the glass that over looks the sanctuary. I should have packed Windex. We make it through the beginning of service, and as the sermon begins the quietness of the congregation becomes all too apparent. A sweet friend of mine quickly presents the “quietest” toys she could find from the nursery. This appeases him for a moment but before long he’s squalling and I’m gathering our stuff in a hurry; bolting to the empty children’s ministry wing.

Every single Sunday I wake up and debate going to church. I think it’s pretty clear why. This morning was no different and when my 14 year old daughter inquired, with hopefulness, “Are we going to Sunday School?” I exhaled a deep breath, the thought alone exhausting me mentally. I gave her a “maybe, I don’t know” kind of answer. I happened to be on the phone with my mom and started expressing my struggle.

“It’s so hard……”

To which she responded something to the effect of, “I know, but you want to encourage any desire your children have to be with the body of Christ….”

This isn’t the first time we’ve discussed this predicament. My mom has reminded me time and again all sorts of truth about the importance and benefit of corporate worship, as does the Word of God. One of the most quoted scriptures on this topic is in Hebrews:

“And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” Hebrews 10:24-25 NIV

If you are a weary mom with little ones, struggling like me to know why we torment our small children to make it to church on Sunday, let me encourage you with the tremendous purpose behind your feat.

Hebrews states it right out of the gate, it’s not just about us. It’s about others. “Let us consider how we may spur one another on…..” Our going is an encouragement to someone. It may be your older children; it may be the fellow momma struggling right along with you that needs to know she’s not alone; it may be the pastor or some other brother or sister in Christ noticing that corporate worship matters to you this much. We all have moments where we may want to throw our hands up about something and then we see “If they can do it, so can I!”

Another thing I was considering today is in this season with three big kids, a baby, one on the way, and our day to day activities, my times to commune with the Lord and others is scarce. I need Sunday with all it’s challenges, because the Spirit of God is present, moving and strengthening even as I shovel dried cranberries and goldfish in Griffin’s mouth and scrawl a few notes about the wisemen in my journal. If God is powerful enough to wash me of sin and save me from eternal separation from him, he is certainly powerful enough to do a work in me despite the current hurdles of Sunday morning. I also have to ask myself, why am I tempted to pull the “grace card” for Sunday’s but relentless in getting my children to piano, horseback riding, soccer, the library, and home school events. Mind you these also are all torturous activities for Griffin as well. This is what we do right? Pour ourselves out completely on the things with little to no eternal significance while excusing ourselves from gathering together and worshiping the God of the universe because “Jesus grace covers me. He doesn’t actually require me to go to church.” No, he doesn’t. But it concerns me greatly when I see myself willing to jettison something that honors the One who has saved me from my depraved hell-bound self.

And piano won’t save my kids! Only Jesus can. And no, church isn’t Jesus, but we collectively are His bride. And when we gather together physically in worship we magnify Him exponentially. He inhabits the praise of His people. The Psalmist puts it beautifully in Chapter 95:1-2-“Oh come, let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation! Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise! (Vs. 6 & 7) Oh come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the Lord, our Maker! For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand…”

The point isn’t legalistic church attendance. It’s desire. David the psalmist said, “I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD.”” I have to ask myself, “Have I so satiated myself with the world there’s no true hunger left for gathering with the people of God?” It’s also about trust and obedience. My Heavenly Father knows what is for my best and He says “Don’t give up gathering together..” and every time I forge ahead, overcoming obstacles, I trust and obey. Building my faith and bringing worship and delight to the one true, only God.

So every Sunday I must evaluate and ask: “Where is my heart? Will I bring my offering of worship, as meager it seems, my fish and loaves, and trust that if God chooses he can feed the thousands with it? Am I willing and will I be obedient? Is Jesus worthy?”

And the answer to those questions is why I bother. 😃