This is the 2nd post in a series, "Foster Care? I could never do that". Click here for the first post. The phrases rattled off my tongue like clockwork as we tossed around the idea of fostering children. “I could easily welcome a child into my home, but I would have such a difficult time giving them back.” Or “It would be so hard on our family to only have a child for a few months. It just seems so unfair.” Or “I don’t think we can do it, I would be too heartbroken when the child has to leave.” This specific excuse was my golden ticket, I thought. I would use it in conversations about fostering, and specifically towards God in prayer. I mean, wasn’t it clear that I would totally be willing to care for a child if it wasn’t for the grief I would suffer? After all, isn’t it the thought that counts? Then with the force of a thousand bricks, I was smacked in the face with a vivid reality. Every bit of this excuse began to reek of selfishness – every difficult part was something that affected me or my family and gave no credit to the child we would be serving. My eyes began to widen as I discovered the truth behind this excuse – I like neat and tidy packages with clear expectations and foster care is NOT THAT. It’s more like navigating your way through a junkyard searching for a specific car part with no guidance. It’s terribly hard work and requires a significant time investment, but the treasure is under all the rubble, if we simply keep searching. I realized early on that as the stable, well-adjusted foster family we are actually the most capable people in the scenario to grieve a child’s transition from our home. We have community, we have support systems, and we have counselors and therapists at our fingertips. The grief and loss we experience is nothing compared to the grief and loss the foster child will wrestle with as he or she transitions back home. Furthermore, while the birth family may be elated to welcome the child back, oftentimes they are still facing challenges associated with living in poverty and battling addiction. Don’t get me wrong, they will have obviously made huge strides in establishing a new, healthy life, but the roots of poverty and addiction run deep and often take longer to completely uproot than the 18 months the state allows. Quite possibly the most convicting answer came as I thought about the potential grief we would experience - it is an expected grief. This is not the same sorrow someone feels with the unexpected or tragic loss of a child. This is a grief that can be anticipated and planned for accordingly. Appointments with therapists can be obtained long before the child leaves my home so that we, as the foster family, can prepare appropriately. Lastly, I must consider what it means if a child is able to be reunited with his family. It means that parents have fought their way out of addiction, they have obtained a job, they have received counseling to become better versions of themselves, and have created a safe environment for their kiddos – Is that not WAY BETTER than having a child in foster care forever? Instead of helping one little life, foster families have an opportunity to change an entire family's legacy by allowing parents time to focus on their own needs. When my gaze focuses on this possible outcome, I am overwhelmed by the potential in each situation. What greater story exists than watching a family break the vicious cycles of addiction and poverty? And if all that's required on my part is to be a long-term babysitter, I think I can handle it. So there I stood in the face of this new discovery. "Fine," I whispered to God, "I am willing to risk grieving to serve a child in need, but what about my own kids?" This is the second post in a series, "Foster Care? I could never do that". Click here for the first post.
Next Post: Foster Care? I worry about the influence on my own kids.
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A couple weeks after moving to Hawaii, we began the search for friends in our neighborhood. That’s when we met Mary and Troy. We were immediately captivated by Troy’s magnetic storytelling abilities. He is dynamic and hilarious, and is a former-military man turned stay-at-home dad. Mary and I instantly hit it off when we realized we are both highly sarcastic, have similar laidback parenting attitudes, and share an affinity towards wine. To make a great situation spectacular, they have children the same ages as ours. In so many ways, they are like us – a middle-class military family, financially stable, authentic and compassionate, with two biological children. But something is different. Mary and Troy are foster parents. In addition to their biological children, they also care for two foster boys. Later that evening Daniel and I came home to recap our first friend-venture. “Do you think you could ever foster a child?” I asked Daniel. “No way!” He responded. “I don’t know how people do it.” “I know, right?” I affirmed. “How do you give them back?” “Or what about our own kids? How would they respond?” Daniel wondered. “I would be open to adopting, but fostering sounds like a rollercoaster I don’t want to ride,” I responded. “Plus, Mary and Troy seem so normal, they definitely don’t fit the stereotype. I mean that’s great they do it, but I never could.” Daniel nodded. It was settled. Kaput. No foster children for the Riches – we could never do it. If you’ve been following our journey, however, you’ll know that the story didn’t end that night. It would’ve been easier if it did, though. And, if I’m being completely honest, I might have been ok with that. After all, I’ve spent my whole life doing the “easy things” to care for those in need – handing out homeless goody bags, buying lunches for strangers, and writing checks to good causes. I like those activities, the easy ones. They demand a level of generosity that requires little risk on my part, and for the greater part of my life, I have been content with that level of investment. Unfortunately for me, we met Mary and Troy during a time my heart was aching for intimacy with Jesus and I had begun praying a silly little prayer – “Break my heart for what breaks Yours.” It was a rookie mistake, you know, to pray such a bold prayer when I like doing easy things. I should have known better. I wrote all about the shattering of my heart in this previous post. But what I didn’t fully explain is how God began to mend my heart after He broke it – how He surgically repaired it by challenging me to step beyond the simple tasks and take on something with greater risk. This heart surgery took about two months to complete, and every healing stitch came in the form of an answered question – namely the questions Daniel and I asked one another the night we met Mary and Troy. Maybe you’ve asked these same questions at some point in your life. Maybe you’ve written off serving a foster child because of past assumptions or misconceptions. Or maybe you are simply curious to learn more. Well stick around, friend. In a series of upcoming blog posts, I will be sharing the answers that healed my heart. Together we will tackle one question each day as we consider how we can serve bigger and better – even when (or especially when) it isn’t easy. I hope you will join me! This is the first post in a series, "Foster Care? I could never do that."
Next Post: Foster Care? I could never give them back. It’s been A MONTH, y’all. A month that has shaken up our world with the force of an epic earthquake—the good kind of earthquake, if there was such a thing. My heart and mind are overflowing with things I want my reader-friends to know, but I’m trying to give myself grace for the season because I know that when you’re living a story worth telling, you’ll hardly have time to write it. So forgive me if it takes awhile, but I’ll be writing our story in the fringe hours as we walk this unpaved journey through foster care. If you read my last blog post, you’ll be happy to know that the Baby came! Baby Jesus, that is. My hubby and two little boys rallied together on Christmas morning for what will undoubtedly be one of my favorite memories. There is so much beauty in the stillness and modesty of a small family Christmas. The pomp and circumstance that comes with hosting family is replaced with precious simplicity (Translation: we never get out of pajamas). The stress and anxiety that occurs when traveling with littles is traded in for endearing moments and heightened engagement with the magical little eyes that are soaking in every ounce of the beloved holiday. It is pristine and dazzling and treasured, and I am eternally grateful for that experience. But then, just three short days after we celebrated the most important Baby of all time, we got “the call” at 11:00 a.m. Wavering between enthusiasm and fear of disappointment (due to the previous fake-out calls), I answered the phone. “Is this McKinley?” I heard on the other end of the line. “Yes, this is her,” my voice trembled. “Hi, this is Mary calling from the Department of Human Services. Do you remember that little boy I told you about a couple weeks back?” The blood rushed to my heart and I could feel it beating beyond the confines of my chest. “Yes, of course I remember him” I muttered, half defiantly and half elated. Mary replied, “We have decided to remove him from his current placement after all and are wondering if you would still be interested in taking him?” There was a brief pause for me to take a breath, and then I began my uncontrollable word vomit into the phone. “Of course!! We’ve been thinking about him and praying for him! My boys will be so excited! Thank you so much for calling!” I continued on, blabbering my enthusiasm in a muddied puddle of words, until Mary graciously interrupted (Thank you, Mary). “So, will you be around in about three hours for us to drop him off?” “Three hours?” I questioned— partly shocked by the sense of urgency and partly humored by the fact that I can’t even make a fancy dinner reservation three hours ahead of time, but that is apparently enough warning to drop a child off at someone’s house for an extended stay. “Yes, three hours,” Mary repeated. Before I let my practical brain get the best of me, I interrupted, “Yep. Sounds great! We have no other plans!” That last part was a lie, but the hike we had planned seemed trivial in comparison to this momentous occasion. So how does one prepare to welcome a foster child into their home? Well, I for one thought it was necessary to clean my house as though Princess Kate was coming for a play date with Prince George. And so, in a fit of panic (because I do nothing calmly) we dropped our boys off with some friends and began to speed clean LIKE A BOSS. As I scrubbed toilets (that a one-year-old doesn’t use), and dusted bookshelves (that are out of a babies reach), and vacuumed floors that a baby could be crawling all over (see, it wasn’t all futile), I became overwhelmed with God’s faithfulness. This same baby that broke my heart just a few weeks before was coming to us after all. His name was spoken repeatedly in our home and we prayed for him over dinner. I longed so badly to see him and know him and was overjoyed at the prospect before us. Side Note: Long before this little guy arrived, we had many conversations with our boys about bringing foster children into our home. A few days after each conversation, I would ask Britton to explain to me what he understood about foster care, to which he would always respond, “A baby friend is going to come live with us, but we don’t know their name yet.” And so, for the purposes of this blog, I will call this little guy our Baby Friend or BF for short. After the house was in tip-top shape, we put the boys down for their naps and waited (im)patiently. I felt like a child, peering out the window with great anticipation waiting for a long lost family member to arrive. I was anxious and elated and hopeful and PETRIFIED. As the official state vehicle pulled into the driveway, I froze. Do I run out into the driveway with a prize-winning grin and arms wide open as if my grandparents pulled up? Do I walk out somberly as if someone is delivering bad news? How can I be excited when BF’s family is mourning his loss? “Don’t be crazy”, I thought, “just open the door.” And so I did. I met the social worker at the car and let her take the lead – after all, it’s not her first rodeo. She unbuckled BF from his seat and handed him to me. His large brown eyes focused on me, his designated stranger. He was clothed in a tiny white, ribbed tank top and a diaper. His beautiful Hawaiian tan and chubby leg rolls were the yummiest I had ever seen (but since taking a bite out of a foster child is frowned upon, I restrained myself). I carried him into his new home and the social worker brought in a couple bags of clothes and placed them on the floor. Still feeling awkward, but wanting to appear inquisitive, I asked, “Is there anything I need to know?” “Well, he has a minor diaper rash so if you can put some diaper cream on it, that would be great!” She said nonchalantly. "Not quite the answer I was anticipating," I thought to myself., But diaper cream, got it. “Do I need to sign a paper or anything?” I asked. “Oh yes, hold on.” She fumbled through her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper, “If you can just sign right here, you’ll be good to go!” And with one simple signature, as though I was receiving a UPS package, there we stood with the cutest little stranger. As I closed the door behind her, I took a deep breath and suddenly realized how ignorant I was. I knew a total of four things about this little fella: His name, his birthday, the reason he was removed from his home, and that he has a minor diaper rash. I can tell you more details about random children I’ve met at the playground! There I stood, soaking up every inch of his little body hoping that maybe there were secret clues written somewhere on his skin, or hidden notes tucked away in one of his bags. I wondered what he likes to eat? When does he go down for a nap? Does he have siblings? Did he sleep in a crib? Does he take a bottle? Does he have a favorite toy? How has he been put to sleep for the last year of his life? And then I remembered, it’s just our first date. Time will be the greatest teacher for us—imparting wisdom with every interaction, every parenting attempt, every minute spent in each other’s presence. It’s not the crash course I would have wanted, but such is the road on the journey through foster care. Today I learned to simply open the door. Open the door to uncertainty. Open the door to infinite questions. Open the door to God's calling on our lives. Open the door to loving someone else's child. Open the door to that precious little stranger. We know very little about what's on the other side, but I know that when God calls us to a door of uncertainty or discomfort, He will carry us through the threshold if we can simply open the door.
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McKinleyI am a lover of people, a child of God, and a laugher at jokes. I write words, cry tears and smile at strangers.
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