I Am A Mom

See, I’m guessing a lot of people clicked on this expecting a big announcement of the familial sort. There isn’t one. Well, not in the traditional sense, but maybe in an eye opening sense nonetheless. :)

I am a mom. I have been for years. At the moment, I have six kids. Six kids who I feed, bathe, pray over and put to bed every night. But unless you’ve been to COTP, you haven’t met any of them. They’re not my forever, but they are very, very much my kids. (Side note: I can’t adopt for 3 more years, but if you're between 30 and 50 and love Jesus, you're a perfect candidate, so please ask me for more info on my little loves with special needs. Don’t make them wait that long.)

Several of the other missionaries and I were recently talking about elements of our life that make it hard for other people to relate to us, and vice versa. And the “mom factor,” is one that has really stuck with me. Because, although no one calls me that, I am a mom. I can’t travel with my kids or show you their pictures on Facebook. So many decisions regarding their lives are out of my control. But, I couldn’t possibly love them more. I fight for them (and with them.) I hold them when they cry. I celebrate their success. I want more for them. I want better for them. I want Jesus for them. I want an end to injustice for them. I want all of the things a mom wants for her kids. 

I have a little boy. He’s five. I’ve made every. single. one. of his birthday cakes. Because right now, I’m his mom. And he deserves that. He’s stuck in a system that has failed to advocate for him. But he has me. So I will be his mom, his biggest fan and his go to person, for as long as it takes. One day, I’ll let him go. But he’ll take a huge part of me with him. Because that’s what kids do to their moms when they leave. 

He’ll have another mom, and I am already so thankful for her, because she will be what he needs, she will be his forever, she will be his family. She will love and lead him well. She will be his mom, his biggest fan and his go to person, for ever and always. 

I have a friend here. Her foster son died. She was his mom. She cared for him through months of pain and sickness. She loved him well. She held him. She celebrated each little success and cried over every setback. She was his mom, his biggest fan and his go to person, for as long as it took. His forever home is heaven, but here on earth, he had a mom. 

I have another friend here. She’s an adoptive mom, but before that, she was a foster mom. Before it was "official", she was already a mom. She fought for her kids, she cared for her kids, she spoke life over her kids. She was and is their mom, their biggest fan and their go to person, then and now. They have a forever mom, but before that, she was their foster mom.

We’re not their first and we’re not always their forever. But we trust that God is redeeming the lives of these little ones we love so dearly.

So you see, there are all kinds of moms. Some are forever and some are just for awhile. But every single one matters. Even though we may not always wear the title of mom for our kids, we will always be a part of each other’s stories. And, as is the case for every mom, we will always love them. 

Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site.  Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.

Christmas Ponderings

We just finished the Christmas season, and I’ve been thinking a lot about Joseph and Mary. 

I’ve been finding their story very relatable to my life and this intense thing called foster care. See, Joseph and Mary willingly stepped into a messy situation that they didn’t really understand.  Their willingness to do so must have made it so hard for them to relate to those around them. They were no longer a typical couple with a typical family. People must have had trouble understanding. Even those who meant well probably couldn’t relate. And probably Mary and Joseph didn’t even get it half the time. But they were willing to do it anyways.

Obviously Jesus didn’t come with the same behavioral baggage that many of the kids we care for do and he didn’t experience trauma that wired his brain differently. Instead, he was born to heal this brokenness, but the stakes of parenting him were still very high. And caring for Jesus came with some promises. Some of these were beautiful, like “He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High,” but there was also a very painful promise given to his young mom: “And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Here she was, doing this beautiful work that God had chosen her for, now knowing, without a doubt, that it would hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. And yet she did it willingly, because everything was at stake. 

I’ve now had eleven different kids move into the Peace House. The second “wave” was, in many ways, harder than the first. Because, oh, my soul had been pierced with the departure of the first precious five, and I know that the departure of each of these new little ones is the eventual goal. In order for them to fully know healing and redemption and family and Jesus, they must first come, and then they must go. Because they don’t belong here, they belong with their families. While the parallels are obviously not direct, and I am sure I am nowhere near as worthy as Mary, I am thankful for her example of parenting faithfully, even when it didn’t make sense. Her example of parenting even when she knew it would end in pain. Her example of parenting only to give away her precious baby. 

There is no doubt Mary was blessed by God. There is no doubt that being a foster parent is a blessing. May we continue faithfully, proclaiming that we are the Lord’s servants as Mary did, even though we know that this is soul piercing work.

School Christmas Program - Angel, Inn Keeper and Wise Man

We're still working on our group photo skills... 

...but at least we can dress up. :) 

Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site.  Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.

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I was in a meeting recently where we were going through a list of every child in our care and writing down their estimated departure dates from COTP. But the thing is, not every child had a date listed. Or a season. Or a year. Some had only a dash. And that dash spoke volumes. In that simple line, was a heartbreaking code. Because it meant that we don’t know when, or if, they will leave. It meant the child has special needs. It meant they were hard to match with an adoptive family. It meant that, if history is any indication, they would wait a long time before someone chose them. It meant that, if we were being honest, we maybe didn’t even have the will to continue believing that they would ever get a family. 

And one of these dashes landed on a child that I particularly love. A little boy who, for the last six months, has lived in my home. A boy whose meals I cook, whose baths I give, whose bedtime songs I sing. A boy I hold, and change, and pray for every day. A boy whose smile lights up the room, whose cry deafens the room, whose eyes speak volumes to everyone in the room. A boy who is trying his hardest to sit up on his own, who loves to hold his own spoon and bring it to his mouth, who lays on his tummy and lifts his head up while he watches the action around him. 

A boy who has cerebral palsy.

A boy who needs a family.

But a boy who got a dash. 

Even though he'd only been here a short time, we already couldn’t confidently say we believed that he’d find a family. And that sucks. It breaks our hearts every day. Because this boy is so much more than his diagnosis. He has personality, he has joy, he has worth. He desperately needs someone to come forward and believe in his life. Someone who will triumph over the stereotypes, over the unknown, over their fears. Someone who will be brave, be bold and just believe. Believe that he needs them, believe that they need him, believe that when God calls us to care for the vulnerable, he means it. Believe that he will equip and empower them to care for this boy. Believe that he is created in the image of a God who loves him. 

He needs someone to delete the dash and replace it with hope.  

For more information on adoption, visit http://childrenofthepromise.org/adopt/