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/

Change

Since the moment we became “The Peace House,” I knew it would end in goodbye. I would call them mine, treat them as mine and love them as mine. But I also knew I would spend every day preparing them for a time when they would no longer be mine. And now, for many of them, that time is almost here. After years of waiting, we can now count on one hand the number of papers remaining before one, two, three, and then four and five, will leave with their forever families. (Six and seven will still be here for awhile.) We have been waiting, praying, begging God for progress such as this, but now that we are so close, I’m finding that the words needed to describe my feelings are somehow just out of reach. 

In a single moment, I can feel the absolute impatience over how the final days of waiting for one more paper are stretching out, and yet dread the moment when we will find out it’s finally done, because somehow, that will make it real. And they will leave. 

A day can seem endlessly long and amid the tantrums, tears and struggles, I tell myself to treasure every moment, because soon I know they won’t be here anymore. 

And I am so thankful for that. These babes who I love with my whole heart will finally get to go home, to their forever families, who have been waiting and praying and begging God for this moment to arrive. It is beautiful and it is redemptive. It is purposeful and incredible. It is a holy miracle. 

But it is also so painful. Because I know that oh so soon they will no longer yell my name when I get home from the office, or join me on walks outside the gate. They won’t rest their heads on my shoulder or come to me for comfort. I will no longer be the one to pray over them each night, tell them I love them and kiss their little cheeks. 

That undeniable privilege will go to their mommies and their daddies, the beautiful people who said yes to these little ones that I love so much. And while it hurts knowing they will leave so soon, I have so much peace knowing these families and seeing the undeniable ways that God has prepared each child for each family. 

Foster care is hard. I knew that, but I didn’t know that. I’ve learned it over and over, and I’m still learning it. But it is also the best thing I’ve ever done. The ways in which these kiddos have helped me learn, grow, love and be better are innumerable. I have learned on a deeper level how a parent and child relationship mirrors God’s relationship with us. I have been beyond overwhelmed with the hard stories these children bear, but I have been privileged to play a small part in the redemptive work God is doing in their lives. I have failed more times than I care to admit, but I have learned to lean into God’s grace and forgiveness in a whole new way. 

I am so proud of these kiddos. They are braver than they know. They are more beautiful than they know. They are more treasured than they know. And I will always and forever be grateful for the role each of them have played in my life. It might be the hardest thing I have ever done, but I wouldn’t change a thing. 

Pray for us. For the five precious kiddos leaving (relatively) soon. For their amazing forever families. For our team of nannies. For the two kiddos who will still be here with me when the dust settles and their five best friends have gone home.


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.