This is the fifth and final post in a series, "Foster Care? I could never do that". Click here for the previous post.

​I grew up believing a lot of stereotypes. I believed silly stereotypes like all boys were left-handed and all girls were right-handed, because this theory held true in my own nuclear family. But I also believed extremely insensitive stereotypes like all homeless people were lazy and addicted, because my limited experience with the homeless community reinforced that belief.
 
I guess most kids probably hold on to some stereotypes because they help us to categorize information – especially before we are able to think abstractly. But over time, these ingrained beliefs about people begin to weed away at our ability to care for each other.
 
Stereotypes are hard to fight, and if I’m being honest, I’d rather not enter the ring. It’s so much easier to disengage, avoid, and not draw attention to the ugliness that dwells within these hurtful generalizations. As soon as I feel like I’ve fully confronted one stereotype in my core, I am made aware of another misconception that I hold.
 
For example, when we first considered foster care, I believed that two types of families chose to foster: low-income families who needed the money and saintly, precious, ultraconservative families who homeschooled. I’m not sure where this ridiculous generalization stemmed from, but it was well enough ingrained, that I had a hard time figuring out how we would break that imaginary mold.
 
I was frustrated with the news stories that would show low-income foster families providing inadequate care to the six foster children in the home, all the while receiving thousands of dollars in living stipends. I felt comfortable breaking this stereotype because I knew we wouldn’t be tempted by the money, but I also knew that we are not any where near saintly, and I struggle with my patience and my temper. In many ways, I was fearful that, while I could provide a home with everything a child would need, I wouldn’t be able to love them well. After all, why aren’t more families like us doing it?
 
I think stereotypes are most easily broken when you meet the people who break them. Our friends Mary and Troy had already taken a crack at my imaginary mold before our very eyes. We watched how they beautifully incorporated two little guys into their already-existent family, but still felt the same struggles and frustrations that come with parenting littles. They are neither poor nor saintly and ultra-conservative, but care for their kids incredibly well. They are amazing parents, but still get frustrated and upset when their kids misbehave. They discipline, reinforce, redirect, guide, and teach, while also ensuring their kids aren’t the center of the universe. They understand, like we do, how you can love your children with every ounce of your being without putting them on a pedestal. They have all-star days, and terrible days and will end either one with a glass of wine. They are quality parents with realistic expectations, and completely shattered my beliefs about foster families.
 
Once the mold began to crumble, I began to realize that we, as moderate middle-class families, should be the new stereotype. Not because we are perfect (even though Mary and Troy kind of are), but because we can provide basic needs and also help children navigate the world with an open-mind.
 
What’s even more compelling is that it’s not just about our stable middle-class family. It’s also the fact that we live in a community surrounded by stable middle class families. When I started telling neighbors that we were going to foster, they began throwing things at us – Darla gave us a crib, Katherine handed me a car seat, Haley and Natasha offered up clothes. It was honestly overwhelming. Not one of them asked for a dime in return, but instead rallied around our family as we prepared our home. Our little guy was loved on by so many people before we even saw his face. Unfortunately, low-income families don’t often have this luxury. After all, it’s difficult to give your neighbor a couple eggs when you yourself are waiting for next week’s food stamps. By giving foster children not only a safe home, but also a safe community, we allow them the opportunity to grow in that space.

The decision was finally clear to us. God had completely mended my heart by answering all of my prodding questions. There were no more excuses or "what ifs". Once our focus truly zoomed in on the foster child, all of the questions became irrelevant. All previous questions that I asked here, here, and here, were out of my own selfish desires.

​So we jumped off a cliff. (Or really, God pushed us). And in a lot of ways, we are still falling. We still have fears and anxieties. We sill struggle with the feelings that are associated with loving a child that doesn't share your blood. These are not easy things, but we are in with both feet. Not sure where we will land, but I know with all of my being, caring for foster children is the right thing for our family. And I pray with my whole heart, that it will be the right thing for more and more families just like us. 

This is the fifth and final post in a series called, "Foster Care? I could never do that". Click here for the previous post.

This is the 4th post in a series, "Foster Care? I could never do that". Click here for the previous post. 

​Since we started dating, Daniel and I have discussed the possibility of adopting a child. My adoption heart has been drawn to Ethiopia, then to Haiti, and then came full circle back home to the United States. But despite our desire to adopt a baby, we shied away from foster care because of the other reasons I talked about here, here and here. And even though we had discussed the idea of adoption, it was often an after thought – we will adopt AFTER we have our bio kids, or we will adopt AFTER we have the finances in place or we will adopt AFTER our other kids are grown.  I liked the idea of adoption, but it came with many conditions – conditions that I could control and quantify.
 
Growing up I pictured my family with four children – three biological little blondies and a wild card spot that could be filled by either an adopted child or another biological one. From the minute my second son arrived, I have referred to him as my middle child, not my youngest—he was just another stepping stone to building our family. If I talked to you last May, I would have told you we would start trying to get pregnant in August of 2015, because that was what MY life plan looked like.  I guess God had a different idea.
 
There is no doubt in my mind that I want more children permanently in my home – so why then, would we consider foster care if we must risk giving a child back? That’s a great question—one that I asked myself (and God) approximately one bazillion times. (I would have made a great Pharisee, always asking questions trying to stump Jesus.) Unfortunately for me, He keeps providing answers to every single one of my questions. It’s starting to get annoying.

Before I knew anything about foster care, I thought I knew everything. Between Hollywood and news stories I surmised that foster care could go one of two ways- either you take in a child like Michael Oher and receive all the accolades that accompany raising a future NFL football player, or you take your chances with another kid who ends up doing drugs and locked in prison.  There was definitely no middle ground in my mind. Being a realist, I concluded that if we chose to foster, we would undoubtedly welcome a troubled pre-teen into our home who would teach my kids cuss words and how to roll a joint. (This is obviously a RIDICULOUS conclusion, but you get the point).
 
Having two small children, I was understandably cautious about bringing a foster child into our home. That is, until I became fully informed. All of my misguided preconceptions began to crumble before my eyes as I received more information. (But ignorance was bliss while it lasted!)
 
First off, foster parents have complete and total control over the types of children they are willing to care for. You can specify a gender, an age range, what special needs you feel comfortable with, what past abuse you can handle – the questions are endless. No child will be placed in a foster family’s home without their consent. This understanding was a huge relief to me. Having been a high school teacher, I have such a love for kids that age. However, with littles under my roof, I knew that a teenager wouldn’t be the best fit for us right now, so we agreed to take children ages 0 to 8.  A child in this range seemed doable given our little ones, but still I wondered, “even a troubled 6 year old can be a bad influence on my children.”
 
And then I remembered – I am not raising little angels myself. I have a son who calls strangers “poopie” to their face and another one who throws hard toys at people when he doesn’t get his way. I adore them both with every ounce of my being, but I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge the fact that THEY can be a bad influence on other kids (*Gasp*). As a Christian, I was faced with the vivid reality that each foster child was created in God’s image for us to love—and while I can consider my own children in the equation, I must remember that children in foster care are no less deserving of a loving family than my own kids. I cannot place my own children's value above that of children in care.
 
Therefore, what if we did welcome a sassy eight-year-old into our home? And what if they DID teach my kids cuss words? Might they also teach my children empathy? Might they help my kiddos realize how ridiculously blessed they are to live in a loving (and often crazy) home where their daily needs are met? Might they learn how to bridge the gap between the different worlds to gain an understanding of the hurt some of these kids are facing? And God willing, might we as parents be able to model how to respond to the difficult situations that arise in welcoming a new child? It was a hard pill to swallow, but this pill was continuing to heal my broken heart.
 
And so, with two of my biggest questions answered, I began to see the beautiful potential before me of how fostering children could transform my family’s life, but I wasn’t sold yet. “Do we really need to foster, or can we just adopt?” I whispered to God.