Uprooted Again

My friend grieves the loss of two precious children who were placed in her home just a few months ago. It was their first placement as foster parents. A traumatic first experience that quickly initiated them into the ugly world of protocol versus the needs of the child.

This beautiful family of three was excited to open their home to hurting kids. We helped them prepare by showering them with gifts prior to their first placement. It was a joyous occasion as family and friends eagerly anticipated the arrival of children in need. It reminded me of our preparation for kids.

Friends and family came to help us prepare our home for a sibling group. Our home study revealed that certain things had to be modified in our home in order to meet state regulations. Sometimes the number of items to complete can be overwhelming.

In addition, we wanted to provide our children with all they would need to enter our home and begin going to school. We registered for mattresses, bedding, books, toys, etc. I was showered by other women who were excited for me as I would become a mother for the first time.

After the kids arrived we had another shower. They needed more clothes, bicycles, school supplies, and of course toys! Our community group came together at a BBQ and blessed our new children with gift after gift. I watched their eyes sparkle with excitement and amazement as nothing like this had happened to them before.

My friend had a similar experience, but instead of getting to keep the children given to them, they were taken away abruptly. Can you imagine pouring your heart out and then having it ripped to shreds?

A little girl full of life and in need of desperate attention now has to adapt to a new home. She has to learn new rules and new way of life after she just got used to this one. Her younger brother meets a new set of parents and tries to follow his older sister's lead. She is trying to be strong, but inside she is confused and lost. Why did she have to leave the last place?

There are no clear answers in the world of foster care. Sometimes the placement just isn't a good fit. Sometimes other children in the home don't get along with the new ones. Sometimes caseworkers decide they don't like how the foster parents are handling the children. Once in a while, a child returns home.

In any case, the transition is usually unexpected and messy.

I remember picking up our kids from their old foster home. The CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) met us there. She was the only buffer for our kids between the old foster home and the new one. She had given our children one small suitcase each, but of course they had more than what would fit inside the cloth-sided boxes. White trash bags came filled with stuffed animals and blankets.

I will not forget that moment. I could feel the tension from the foster mom when we arrived at her home. She was visibly upset and it was coming out in snappy comments and quick actions to get things out of her house. She was obviously grieving the loss of these kids who had spent just about three months playing with her kids. She was tired of hearing how great this new foster family was. (Our children had been bragging about the week they spent with us on respite while the old foster family visited Disneyland.)

Although this woman was a seasoned foster parent at this point, and even adopted some of her children, she could not put on a happy face. She tried to be strong, but inside this move must have been tearing her up inside.

There are no words when you lose a child that you loved dearly and then had to let go to the unknown. Death brings finality and closure eventually, but removal just brings distress and wonder about the child's future. Will they be okay? Will they fit in and feel loved? Will they finally feel at home and comfortable to be in their own skin? What will their life look like a year from now? Five years from now? Will they repeat the cycle or will they persevere through the brokenness? Will I ever see this child again?

The statistics aren't hopeful. According to the National Foster Youth Institute, "After reaching the age of 18, 20% of the children who were in foster care will become instantly homeless. 75% of women and 33% of men receive government benefits to meet basic needs after they age out of the system. 1 out of every 2 kids who age out of the system will develop a substance dependence."

Needless to say, when foster parents say goodbye to the youth they host, the likelihood of those children growing up and thriving are minimal. Yet for the moments they are in our homes we have hope that something will be different. We believe that something can change and that their lives will be beautiful, if only we can keep pouring into them.

This just isn't the way it works. It's common for kids who spend many years in foster care to move anywhere from 5-15 times. Let that sink in. 15 different beds. 15 different meal plans. 30 different parents. How does a child figure out who they are supposed to become?

So, my friend grieves, and I grieve with her. We grieve because we know the six-year-old that left their home is struggling in her new home. We grieve because it is likely she and her brother will have to move again. We grieve because each moves tells the child that something is wrong with her. We grieve because she can't possibly understand a broken human services system that we can't understand ourselves.

And then we pray. God is in control. He sees deep inside that little girl's heart. Perhaps this mama had access to these precious children simply so she could be a prayer warrior for them all their lives. Foster kids need prayer warriors. Their bio-parents need prayer warriors. Caseworkers need prayer warriors.

What if the children that come in and out of our lives were placed their for a season simply so that we would pray for them for years to come? God knows who will answer the call to blanket His kids with blessings, interceding on their behalf day after day even after they are gone. He knows who will handle such a big responsibility.

My friend has been given this responsibility. Today she's acting on it and lifting these dear babies up to their Heavenly Father, knowing that He can meet their deepest need. Earthly parents will continue to fail. Systems will continue to crumble. But the love of a Savior will last forever.