Seeing the Unseen: Seventeen Weeks of Building My House: Week 16: Fearing, Yet Pursuing Foster Care

Drilling my well!

More work on my driveway

It’s been a good, full week. There were big trucks at my house, drilling my well and installing my septic system and finishing my driveway and overall making my yard a muddy mess. We had our church’s women’s retreat, and it was wonderful—I got to sit by a river and dance with friends and see God speak to the women in our group. Plus this week I also got my fingerprints done and turned in my paperwork for applying to become a licensed foster parent.

If you read my post “Week 3: Four Bedrooms,” then you might remember that my goal is to somehow use my house to help children in need. For the last 3 and a half years, my heart has been pulled toward helping children in foster care. In fact, I would say that I believe God has asked me to do this.

Last Sunday at church I was with some 3^rd grade boys during worship time in our children’s program, and one little guy—he didn’t look big enough to be a 3^rd grader—began talking loudly and causing a disruption. I knew this was his first time at our church. He seemed to be angry with the other boys in his group and looked like he would start causing problems. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Hi.” I glanced at his nametag. “Daniel[1], my name is Miss Mary, and I’m like the principal in here. Right now is not the time to talk, but a time to listen and sing.”

He pointed to the other boys. “They are trying to hurt my brother. I told them not to!”

I looked over to the other boys, both of whom I have known for a long time. I knew these boys would never intentionally hurt another child. “Daniel, I promise you they are not going to hurt your brother. Your brother is safe and happy in his own group.”

He kept talking angrily, so I placed my hand gently on his back to calm him down. I whispered to him, “Daniel, this is the last song, and then it is going to be time for us to listen to our Bible lesson. Do you know what the Bible is?” I asked this because I have met kids who do not know what the Bible is and thus do not know why we think it is important to listen during the lesson.

But he had a strong reaction. “Yes, I know what the Bible is! My name comes from the Bible!”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Then he sat down next to me and leaned into my lap. He said, “I have a respie mom. I’m with her just for the weekend.”

“Oh, you mean a respite mom?”

“Yeah, a respie mom.”

I know my friend Lisa at our church is a foster parent who cares for children on a short-term, emergency basis. So I asked him, “Is your respite mom Lisa?”

“How did you know?”

“She’s my friend.”

It was then my turn to go to the front of the room and teach the lesson to everyone, but for a moment, I wished that I could have stayed there with Daniel. But as I taught, I saw Daniel’s eyes wide, listening so intently. He even raised his hand at one point and mentioned taking care of his brother again. I figured that if he has been removed from his biological home, then there must be reasons why he feels the need to protect his little brother all the time.

His 3^rd grade small group leader had brought in donuts, and Daniel seemed to love that. When church was over, Daniel gave me a hug and said he wanted to come back next week. I’m not sure if he’ll ever be able to come back, but I am glad that we could help him have a good day. And more than that, I am so glad that he was able to hear that morning that God loves him. I don’t underestimate the impact that can have on the heart of a young child.

My floor!!

My friend Lisa also told me a story about a 6-year-old boy she had in her home for a week over Easter last year. After church, as they were getting in the car, he said to her, “Did you know that Jesus died for me?!”

I had taught the lesson that day, and it made me wonder at what even a short amount of time with a foster child could do.

One day after I heard Lisa’s story, I studied Matthew 25:31-46, and as I read it, all I could think about was foster care. In this passage, Jesus said, “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me…. Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”[2] I want to honor God, and I believe God cares for the children in foster care. Now I care about them too. Even the simple act of giving a child a sandwich and a cup of juice is showing my love for God.

Yet foster care is a challenge, and even this week, I have felt discouraged and naïve. But I still want to follow through with this goal. I have read that 31% of Christians have seriously considered foster parenting, but only 3% have actually become foster parents.[3] This statistic reflects the fear we feel.

When I think about the fear of starting foster care, I think back to something that happened this summer. This past June my sister Shari’s family came from Kansas for a 2-week visit. Shari’s family is able to come to Indiana only once a year, so we make the most of it. Two weeks of big meals and big clean up and big hugs and big fun. My 6 nieces and nephews played hard every minute, enjoying their precious, rare cousin time.

Ruston & Eli's favorite summer activity

One night we invited my grandparents over for dinner so they could catch up with Shari, Royce and their kids. After dessert, the adults sat in the living room chatting while the kids played outside. My nephew Ruston, 5 years old, came inside and told me, “Aunt Mary, Eli is crying. It’s an emergency.” Eli is at the age of 4 where he often cries when he gets tired, so I was not even slightly alarmed. But I could tell Ruston was worried about his cousin, so I followed him outside.

As soon as I opened the door to the porch, I could hear Eli crying, and I knew that this was a more intense cry than usual. He had climbed up the apple tree—which is what Ruston and Eli had been doing often during these summer days—but as I got closer to the apple tree, I could see that Eli was very high up, farther than any of the kids had been.

Eli cried, “The cater…pill…ar, the cater…pill…ar.”

Instead of safely hugging the center of the tree, he was literally out on a limb almost 20 feet above the ground.

I looked up to Eli, who was sobbing. “Okay, baby, just keep hanging on.” I began to shake, thinking about how I could very likely witness my nephew break a bone in the next few minutes.

Through his sobs about the caterpillar, I deduced that he had chased a caterpillar to this height on the limb, but now the caterpillar is gone, and Eli has realized that he is scared and can’t get down.

I yelled toward the house, “Help! Help!” But the windows were shut, and we were too far away for anyone to hear me. I knew we had only a few minutes—or perhaps just seconds—before Eli fell.

“Ruston, hurry and go get Uncle Royce or Uncle Dave.” Someone taller. Someone stronger to catch him. Ruston ran inside to get more help, but in the midst of their conversation, none of the adults were paying much attention to him.

I stood right underneath Eli. “Keep hanging on, buddy. I’m here. Keep hanging on.”

He was hysterical now and he cried, “I…cant…I…can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Hold on for a little longer.” He had been crouched down on the limb, but now he let his body fall under the limb and was holding to the limb with his hands above his head. I reached my arms up as far as I could, but there was still a gap between his feet and my fingertips. Eli is a skinny kid, but still he probably weighs about 40 pounds, and—especially since the ground I was standing on was sloped—I didn’t know if I’d be able to catch him at the speed he would fall. I looked back toward the house, but no one else was coming out to help.

His little fingers were slipping, and he cried, “I…gotta…let go!”

Even though I said, “No, buddy!” Eli let go and crashed on top of me. We both fell to the ground hard. I felt his knees on my stomach and hard apples under my back. I sat up and was instantly relieved to see that Eli—although still crying hysterically—was okay. No broken bones, just some bumps and bruises that would show up in a few hours.

At that time, Ruston finally came out with Dave.

I picked Eli up and carried him into the house. His cries finally had the other adults’ attention, and everyone began asking what happened. I first delivered Eli into his mom’s arms (because he wouldn’t settle down any other way) and then explained the scenario. I sat down because I was exhausted by that 5 minutes of near-accident stress.

Later that night, I walked with Ruston back to his house, and I said to him, “Russ, I’m proud of you for helping your cousin today. You did the right thing by coming for help.”

“Hey,” he said in a Si Robertson tone, “I know an emergency when I see one.”

I love that line. J

A few weeks ago, I was thinking back to this memory and thought about how in those moments, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to catch Eli to keep him from breaking a bone. That’s the same kind of doubt and fear that I have about becoming a licensed foster parent. I know I’m not strong enough to handle everything. But when I think about children in foster care, I have decided that I’m willing to hold my arms out and even if I can't successfully catch them, I can at least try to break their fall.