Foster parents know the unique kind of crazy that comes with caring for kids from hard places. It’s easy to feel lost in an unending wood of uncertainty and stress. But there is a way out.
The scariest moment of my life was the first night James was in our home. It was February 3, 2016. After dinner, James played quietly in his room. I went back to our bedroom and sobbed uncontrollably for a good five minutes. Welcome to foster care.
A week prior to this, Lindsey and I spoke to James’s case manager and guardian ad litem (court-appointment attorney) about taking in James as non-traditional kinship providers. That’s a technical-sounding term that for the county meant, “We’re desperate: can you take this child?” Lindsey andI had not been through any foster-certification training and had only recently opened our hearts to the idea of adoption. And now the county was knocking down the door trying to find an emergency placement for a little boy who needed safety and stability while the court kicked off the termination of parental rights (TPR) case.
We said yes.
His guardian ad litem was supposed to have brought James to our house on February 2. But the county offices were closed because a snowstorm dumped 12 inches of snow the night before.
But no one told us that the offices had closed. No one told us that because the county was closed, we wouldn’t be getting James until the following day.
So we sat around on February 2, waiting. Watching the driveway from the dining room table with increasing anxiety and dread. Fearing that this opportunity had fallen through. Beginning to think that in vain had we readied our home for this child with less than a week’s notice. We were traumatized before he ever set foot in our home.
But on the morning of February 3, this 2-and-a-half boy did arrive at what would eventually become his forever home. Lindsey and I were unprepared, reeling from the trauma of February 2 (and years of infertility), and realizing the Interstellar-like gravity of the situation in real-time. Parents, at last. But of a 2-year-old—and we had no idea what we were doing with our hands.
Stopping by foster care woods on a snowy evening
I’ll admit that our foster-to-adoption origin story is not typical. We felt uniquely dizzy with the craziness of the situation, with the swooping instantness of so much change.
Foster parents know this kind of crazy all too well, regardless of the specifics of a given placement. You’re learning how to care for a child (or children) from hard places. You’re trying to establish connection with the biological parents. You’re grappling with the legal procedures and uncertainties. And your normal rhythms of life have suddenly decided to start dancing like Elaine Benes.
Lindsey and I felt lost in this craziness the first several months with James (and with our other placements). It was like we were deep in a wood that at once resembled Mirkwood and whatever grouping of trees Robert Frost stopped by on that snowing evening. These woods are lovely in their scope, but they are dark and deep, and it is not easy to find your way out. Cue Taylor Swift.
All of these memories of craziness and woods were vivid and fresh the other day as Lindsey and I spoke with friends from church who find themselves in the woods of foster care. They’ve accepted a placement of siblings—an infant and an 18-month-old toddler. They have four biological children and are now a family of eight. Home life is upended. The legal situation is unclear. They are trying to discern if God is calling them to adopt the kids if it comes to that. The upcoming stretch of calendar has them wondering how they’re going to make it through.
But God has yet again settled the solitary in a home. These kids are safe and well-loved and receiving such good things for their little hearts. The toddler is blossoming and becoming under their nurturing care. It is a joy to see. It is what makes the crazy tramp through the woods worth it.
Still. It’s impossible to know how long the woods will last. They could go on for miles. They could come to an end around the next bend in the path.
On the eve of the termination hearing in James’s case, I wrote this in my journal:
Tomorrow is
in your hands
and that’s the best
place it could possibly be.Amen.
We thought that resolve and clarity were right there. We could see sunlight breaking through the thinning trees. But we were wrong. The TPR case dragged on for five months over multiple hearings and days of testimony. It was an unending thicket of agony and uncertainty as we waited to learn if James would be ours forever. There was no way over or around it. We had to go through it.
But that didn’t make my prayer invalid. However long tomorrow lasts, it is still in God’s hands the entire time. Living out your role in whatever story he’s called you to is the best place you can be. No matter how crazy you feel. No matter how many miles you have to go before you feel the, ah, bright wind on your face.
If you’re a foster / foster-adoptive parent who’s feeling especially lost in the crazy woods, I hope these thoughts give you courage. The woods do end. Keep walking.
If you know someone who is fostering / foster-to-adopting and they’re in the thick of a dark-timber stand of craziness, find ways to be present with them. Pray for and with them. Make them dinner. Remind that one day, they will be out of the woods.
