We are trying to become foster parents for our girls’ half-brother

One email, 48 hours, and a whole lot of uncertainty.

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Two days ago, Lindsey and I received an email from our county’s social services office asking if we’d be open to accepting placement of a 2-yr-old boy who was being removed from his home. The kiddo is the half brother of our adopted daughters.

You know, just a normal Tuesday.

I texted Lindsey right after I read the email from the case worker, only to see that she had already texted me. We both knew we needed to seriously consider this request, however unlooked for it was and however wild and sudden it felt.

(We did know that our girls’ bio mom had had another child. And even though we have never met their bio mom, we had inklings that things were maybe not great at home.)

Later that day, we spoke with the case worker. She explained what she could about the situation—what their involvement with the mom had been like, and that they would be attempting to find and remove the boy that night. She made it clear that she didn’t need an answer from us right away, that such out-of-the-blue circumstances needed thorough consideration. And she also expressed her preference for us to be the long-term, forever placement for our girls’ brother. According to her, things have not been looking good for the bio mom and, in her estimation, a return home seems slim.

This changed the whole scenario for us. Going into that phone call, Lindsey and I were hesitant to say yes to our girls’ brother if a return to his mom seemed likely. The next morning, we told the case worker that we were in. Green light. We’ve done this instant-family thing before, let’s do it again. Let’s unify these siblings.

The case worker told us she’d call in the afternoon after she got paperwork processed and submitted to the court.

“It’s going to be hard but it’s going to be beautiful,” Lindsey said.

We told the kids that a 2-year-old boy was coming to be with us. We did not tell them that he was the girls’ half-brother. Regardless, they were ecstatic. He was all they could talk about that day.

Lindsey and the kids worked hard around the house. Our new house, the one big enough for a new addition to our household. They brought out toddler toys that we had kept, and James’s clothes that he wore as a 2-year-old. I worked on procuring a crib while at work. Lindsey bought diapers and wipes.

And we waited. No call. No news is bad news when working with the system. Finally, after 6 p.m., the case worker called. The boy had had a terrible day. He cried the whole day. Didn’t eat. Refused to let the foster mom console him. When he wasn’t at daycare, he continually begged for his mom. This little guy loves his mom. He feels safe with his mom. And he is going through a life-altering rupture of care and safety right now.

Given his emotionally traumatized state, the case worker did not want to attempt a move to our home. And now the county is considering getting the maternal grandparents involved as a temporary (if not longer) placement solution. The county is not thrilled about the grandparent option, but the case worker is hoping that it might calm the boy down enough to attempt a transition to us. If at all. We don’t agree with this rationale. We think the sooner he gets to his permanent placement, the better off he’ll be in the longterm.

There is a court hearing scheduled for 2:30 p.m. MST today where the grandparent option will be weighed. Please pray for this hearing. Pray that the parties involved and the judge will make prudent and informed decisions. We don’t know what will happen. It is all fluid and unstable and uncertain.

Kind of like my emotions. As yesterday wore on and we didn’t hear from the case worker, I sensed a heaviness growing in my heart. The realities of fostering a 2-year-old—something we haven’t done in five years, when our girls were placed with us—sank in deeper. I started to doubt our decision to get involved. I started to question whether I had it in me to do this again. Everything moved so fast, and we had said yes, and now who knows.

When James was placed with us, we had to wait an extra day because a snowstorm closed down the county offices. But no one told us. We waited at the living room window. We were constantly checking our phones. We thought something had changed and that he wasn’t going to be placed with us.

The current situation is stirring up these same emotions. It’s easier to feel as if we’re in the hands of the system rather than in the hands of the Lord and in his steadfast love. Yesterday evening, the kids kept asking when. When is he coming? Is he coming today? Tomorrow? Can we have a playdate with him soon? They are getting a taste of the vulnerability inherent in this work.

And yet I am so proud of them. I am so proud of and humbled by how much they love a little boy they’ve never seen or met before. Our family of five ate a late dinner yesterday. And as I looked around the table at my kids, I felt a deep gratitude for them and for what we’ve been through. They are a miracle. Our household, our family, was built one miracle at a time.

“Do you think the baby is going to be in good shape today?” Lily, our 7-year-old, asked this morning.

I told her I didn’t know. I told all of them that we’d need to keep praying. And I need to keep reminding myself that however uncomfortable and scary and risky all of this is, that it is a blessing.

Hanging on the wall in our hallway is a woodcut block print made by a friend at church. It’s titled Psalm 84. Our family has sung and clung to this Psalm over the course of our fostering and adoptive journeys. This part in particular has resonated with us. And I’m sitting with it today. And tomorrow. And probably the day after that.

Indeed, the sparrow has found her a house, and the swallow
a nest where she may lay her young,
even your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.
Blessed are they who dwell in your house;
they will be always praising you.
Blessed is the one whose strength is in you,
in whose heart are your ways,
Who going through the valley of misery uses it for a well;
indeed, the early rains fill the pools with water.
They will go from strength to strength,
and the God of gods shall be seen by them in Zion.
O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer;
hearken, O God of Jacob.

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UPDATE: JUNE 9, 2023

First of all, I want to thank all of you who took the time to pray, text, call, email, and comment yesterday. Your support was tangible and courage-giving. Oswald Chambers wrote that prayer is not preparation for the greater work—it is the greater work. And y’all did work.

I attended yesterday’s hearing. The boy will not be placed with us. The judge accepted the county’s recommendation to give temporary custody to the mom’s aunt. According to the senior case worker I spoke with, the boy has effectively “grown up” with his aunt and her family. He was placed with her yesterday evening, and the county hopes this brings some emotional stability for the little guy.

What does this mean for him and for us? It all depends on two things. First, it is still very much to be seen if the aunt and her family can provide the kind of care and stability needed in the long-run. Their situation has its own complications, and I was told by the case worker that even the aunt isn’t sure how things will go. Nothing is permanent yet.

Secondly, it depends somewhat on what we want to do. I told the senior case worker that Lindsey and I were confused by the process. We were asked to consider being a long-term, permanent placement option for the boy the day of removal, and now it seems that only family is being considered for placement? And that’s the weird little rub: we could also be considered family—kinship—because his siblings are our kids. I got the sense that the county isn’t 100 percent sure how to “rank” these kinds of scenarios. They said they went with the aunt in order to abide by federal guidelines. Essentially, who is the next immediate family / kin, and does the Indian Child Welfare Act come into play in this case? (Short answer: yes. Longer answer: umm, eh, maybe… not?) But we are family. His siblings are family. What weight that carries, though, is still not clear.

All that to say: the situation remains fluid. Lindsey and I are essentially considering ourselves “on deck.” And the county was thankful and impressed that I was at yesterday’s hearing. Our presence mattered to them.

So the question is one of when. As the county sorts things out, and as the boy adjusts to full-time living with his aunt, all we can do is wait. Things could change. But it could be a week. It could be two weeks. It could be months. It could be a year. It could be never. Tom Petty said it best: the waiting is the hardest part. And if we think the waiting is hard on us, imagine how it must feel to a 2-year-old who has had his life upended.

The next hearing will be in a week or so. I plan to continue attending them when I can. Hearing the news from the source is always better than second-hand email.

Again, thank you for your prayers and support. It is no small thing. For now, I’d ask for you to direct the bulk of such prayers to the boy, his aunt, and to the decision-makers at the county and in the courts for clear-thinking about what’s best long-term. And yet, it was a whirlwind of a week. To keep with the baseball metaphors, our fam has fielded a lot of emotions and task-switching this week. We’re tired. If we’re not careful, we might start pulling a Buckner or two. So prayers for wisdom and rest would also be appreciated.