From kids in foster care…

No one could really understand what my life is like.  No one pays attention to what I do, or cares about how I feel.  No one looks me in the eye and say “I love you and care about you,” and even if they did, I wouldn’t believe them.  No one that I love has stayed around for very long.  I don’t feel safe because there are too many dangerous things in the world.  I hurt in ways that no one else understands.  When I needed you most, you left me and now I am broken in a million pieces.  Please help me put the pieces together, because I don’t know what to do.

Enough said.  What will you do to help?

“Pure, unstained religion…is to take care of orphans and widows when they suffer…”          James 1:27 (GWT)

Recently my daughter and I had a date night.  I had a couple of ideas for the evening, but when we drove by a local bowling alley, the sign caught her attention, and our plans quickly changed.  We grabbed shoes and got her the lightest ball they had, and soon we were ready to play the game.  I am competitive by nature, and while I understand that it is inappropriate, I really wanted to a) get lots of strikes and spares, and b) not be beaten by a kid.  So, I picked out just the right ball, bowled a warm-up frame or two, and figured out just exactly where I needed to aim to knock down the most pins. 

Let the games begin!

Somewhere around the 5th frame, I remembered that this was supposed to be an opportunity to build relationship with my kiddo, and that I should not focus quite so much on getting the pins down and a little more on enjoying time with my daughter (embarrassing to say, but unfortunately true…).  So I began to watch her a little more closely.  She was a terribly inconsistent bowler.  One ball would be right down the middle of the lane and knock down several pins, the next would be in the gutter.  But the more I watched, the more fascinated I became with her reaction, no matter what the result.

Celebration.  Exuberance.  Excitement.  Joy.

Gutter ball or strike.  Didn’t matter if she knocked down one pin or all the pins.  She was excited about every small achievement, every tiny improvement on her score.  It was being in the game together that made her happy.

I spend a lot of time with parents whose children are in foster care.  And I have lots of ideas about what they should be achieving and how they should be behaving.  You need to get a certain kind of job.  You need to have a better home.  You need to get yourself mentally healthy.  You need to be a better parent.  You need to be more responsible.  You need to visit your kids more reliably.  You need to pass your drug screen all the time.  And while those things may very well all be true, what is also true is that I don’t celebrate with them nearly enough.  I complain about the visit missed and don’t celebrate the one made.  I gripe if they don’t parent as well as I want them to.  I write them off if they struggle with relapsing into their addictions.  I judge them on every aspect of life, and I do not stop to celebrate what is accomplished.  In the face of terrible odds – poverty, poor social supports, addiction, depression, hopelessness – we should be amazed that some moms and dads can manage to get out of bed in the morning.  Perhaps I should learn to celebrate the fact that we are even in the game together. 

And for those who are interested?  105-103 – mom wins:)

Have you ever been somewhere that you shouldn’t have been?  Most of the time the outcome isn’t so hot, but this time was different.  On this day, I wasn’t supposed to be at work, wasn’t supposed to be seeing patients.  Didn’t even have my “doctor” clothes on.  But there I was. 

Her mom was concerned she might have a ringworm.  I took a quick glance at the petite 4 year old’s forearm and confirmed that, quickly explaining to the mom how to treat it effectively.  It should have been time to leave the room.  But for whatever reason, I stayed.  The mom looked older than me (at least in my mind ), but it turned out she was a couple of years younger.  She had 6 kids – the first was born when she was only a kid herself.  They had been in foster care for several years, but were now back with her, and soon DHS would sign off on her as a mom. 

At that point in the conversation, perhaps a normal person with manners and social grace would have just stopped – congratulated her and bowed out of the conversation.  But I couldn’t help myself.  I was compelled to know the whole story - to know HER.  She had been on drugs – painkillers, then marijuana, and finally methamphetamine.  The guys she hung out with were mean, but they supplied her drug habit.  Eventually it caught up with her and the kids were picked up.  She was devastated, but she was also addicted.  For two more years she was unsuccessful in her struggle against it.  Then she began to break free.  Went through rehab – ALL the way through.  Then a half-way house.  Then outpatient counseling.  Then she found a job.  Then she got an apartment.  Then she got her kids back.

What?  How did that happen?  The story doesn’t usually have a happy ending? What is your secret?

My parents believed in me.  My friend believed in me.  My counselor believed in me.  My new boss believed in me. 

When we begin to see people for who they were created to be, instead of who they are on the surface, it is easier to believe in them.  And when WE believe in them, it is easier for them to begin to believe in themselves.  I want to believe in people.  In their potential.  In the possibilities of their lives.  In the awareness that a bad decision is not the same thing as a bad person.  In the knowledge that we all make mistakes and none of us is perfect.  In the hope that the future can be different than the past.

“You are an overcomer!” I said.  Her eyes met mine, and she smiled.  And on the day when I wasn’t supposed to be there, I was blessed enough to witness something miraculous – a family together again.  Hope rising from ashes.  Sure glad I went by the office.

My best work gets done late at night or early in the morning when the kids, dogs, and husband are all in bed and the house is quiet.  I count on that time.  I need that time.  This morning, my 4 year old was up before the dawn, and I heard the words she has said so many times before, “I wan’ you, mommy.”  I was too busy – needed to work.

Watch cartoons.  Play with your doll.  Draw a picture.

She could be distracted for brief periods, but not for long.  Frustration was evident in my voice.  “Leave me alone for 5 more minutes, and then I will hold you.”  Five was probably more like 10, but once the project was successfully saved on my computer, I looked up, expecting a warm hug and a little cuddle time.  But she was gone – not interested in me anymore.  She had given up on trying to get my attention.

I met a little girl who reminded me of my daughter.  She was new to foster care – it had only been a couple of days.  She tried to be stoic, but that didn’t last long, and she melted into tears and cries for her mom.  I pulled her into my lap, and she rested her head on my shoulder, sobbing quietly while I held her.  After a few minutes she climbed down, leaving behind some tears on my shirt sleeve.  I cried too – not publicly – but in my soul.  Cried for the little girl who was separated from her mom by physical space.  And I cried for my own little girl, who at least for today was separated from her mom by emotional space.

Tomorrow I have to do better.

Over my years of interacting with kids in foster care, I have had a few rare occasions where in the course of conversation, kids were willing to expose their hearts and share their deepest emotions.  Sometimes that was in a verbal form, more often in sharing a written page or a picture.  When that happens I feel like I am on holy ground, in a place where few if any others have been allowed to enter.  I am deeply respectful of what they have allowed me to share with them, and I want to give you a glimpse into the soul of children who have been abused, neglected, abandoned. 

There is anger, but also joy.  Turmoil, but also peace.  Despair, but also hope. 

Journal Entry #1

The world sees my smile.  No one sees what is hidden inside me.  Something is missing in my heart.  Even though I know you love me and that love is always there, I miss being close to you.  I miss your hugs and your voice.  I look like I am doing OK, but inside I am falling apart because you aren’t here.  The only thing keeping me together is knowing that tomorrow everything could change and we could be together.

I love to fly.  I always choose a window seat right over the wing, near the jets so I can best hear the roar of the engines and watch the wing shape change as we take off and land.  Yesterday I was flying, and even though I have flown many times, when the plane was sitting on the end of the runway waiting to take off, I found myself doubting this would actually work.  I doubted that it could truly launch itself into the air. There is too much weight.  People.  Baggage.  And it starts too slowly – those first few feet of movement were painfully slow.  But the thing about a plane is, it was made to fly.  It was shaped a specific way, and it was outfitted with engines that are capable of producing tremendous thrust, if they are fueled properly.  And when the engines were powered, the plan moved faster and faster, and eventually, in a few hundred feet, those jets were able to move the monstrous piece of metal fast enough that aerodynamics took over and it lifted off the ground.  In a few seconds, the ride was so smooth and easy that it seemed like we could stay in the air forever.

I sat back in my seat, and my mind wandered where it usually does, to foster kids.  They too are often heavy, weighed down with a lot of baggage.

I was molested, so now I don’t trust men.  Or I use my body to get what I want.  I was physically abused, so now I believe that I deserve what I get, and move from abusive relationship to abusive relationship.  My emotional needs weren’t met, so I suck the life out of others, desperately trying to fill up my own soul.  I wasn’t provided for, so I steal whatever I want.

It is easy to believe that a kid carrying that kind of weight won’t be able to get off the ground.  But the truth is, they, like all humans, they were made to fly.  Born for it.  Born to be something greater than just highly organized collection of carbon and water walking around surviving. 

They need fuel.  They need us to provide the thing that powers them.  Encouragement.  Expectation.  Opportunity.  Love.  Hope. 

Without it, they are grounded.  With it, if they can get off the ground, they might just fly forever. 

Are you willing to fuel someone’s hopes and dreams?  Willing to mentor?  To tutor?  To set expectations and encourage/assist a kid in reaching them?  Are you willing to help someone fly?

Spending the next couple of days putting someone else’s project ahead of my own. If you haven’t ever done that, you should try it

We are not morning people.  No one enjoys getting out of bed – not even the dogs.  Because of that, getting everyone dressed and in the car is filled with emotion.

Stress.  Anger.  Anxiety.  Frustration. 

In the middle of  that mess, my kids have adopted a morning tradition.  Once the car is rolling, they want to hear music.  Not just any music.  They want to hear “Mighty to Save” by Hillsong.  They want it turned up loud.  And they want to sing at the top of their lungs, even though neither of them can carry a tune in a bucket.  And they want to pretend to be part of the band.  One plays the keyboard, the other an air guitar, and me?  Drums, of course!  I have to keep my hands on the wheel, after all.   Plus by that time I am usually ready to beat on something.  As we sing and “play”, something amazing happens. 

Stress disappears.  Fighting resolves.  Anger dissipates. 

She was 14, and she really couldn’t have cared less who I was.  She was simply here because her case worker had dragged her in to get a physical.  She gave cursory answers to most of my questions.  She had been in 10 placements over the past year – she was difficult to care for, she guessed.  She could make straight A’s when she managed to stay in school long enough to get a report card.  Yes she smoked – 2 packs a day.  Even though she had asthma.  Yes she drank alcohol, any time she could get her hands on it.  Yes she slept with boys, mostly when she was lonely.  But then I asked something that struck a nerve. ”What do you enjoy?”  Her face fell.  “I don’t enjoy anything.”  I didn’t believe her.  “Come on”, I said, “there must be one thing that you enjoy doing.  Even if you don’t get to do it very often.  What is it?  Reading?  Writing stories?  Playing ball?  Watching movies?”.  “Music”, she said.  “Music calms me down, helps me to not get into fights, and not be depressed.  I have had CD’s and even had a boom box before, but I have moved around a lot, and have lost it all.”

The medical treatment she needed was fairly straightforward.  Take your asthma medicine.  Stop smoking, drinking, and sleeping around.  Go to school.  But the question wasn’t WHAT did she need to do to be healthy.  The question was HOW to be motivated to do it.  In the face of overwhelming stress.  When you have been abandoned and are hopeless.  When you have very little control.  The answer?  Music.

We made a deal – come back in a month in better shape.  You can define it.  If you are better, I will get you your music.  Two months went by, and I wondered if she had moved again.  Then, she came.  Stopped smoking.  Taking her asthma meds.  Hadn’t slept with anyone new this month (I counted that as an improvement).  Only 1 new placement in 2 months.  In school, making A’s and B’s.  Her case worker smiled and agreed.  And I went to the store to get her some music.

When you turn on your radio, or plug in to your iPod, pause and be thankful that you are alive, that you are safe, that you have food in the fridge and relationships that are meaningful.  Let music be a gentle reminder that not everyone does.

When I was a kid, one of our family Christmas break traditions was working on a jigsaw puzzle.  We would always get a new one with some beautiful landscape or cool collage, and we would start putting it together on the kitchen table.  Anyone who wanted could take a turn at finding just the right location for each piece, until the puzzle was completed. 

That all sounds like a nice family project, but the truth is that I stink at jigsaw puzzles.  I can get the border together, and maybe figure out some small patches with bright colors or unique objects, but by and large, the middle of the puzzle escapes me.  I get frustrated.  And I start jamming together pieces that don’t always fit.  Thank goodness for my mom, her geometry skills, and her patience.  She could see the shapes better that I did, and could figure out how to connect them.  And when she was done we all got to share in the glory of a finished piece, one that we had done together.

A dozen years ago I saw a picture in my mind of what a world without child abuse would look like.  Since that time, I have been working my tail off to put the puzzle together and see that again.  I found gaps in the system – needs that weren’t being met, and I met them in the best way I knew how.  Health care.  School supplies.  Training. Hope.  But the truth is, the border is barely together, and there is no way anyone can tell what the puzzle looks like yet. 

And yet the pieces are coming together.  Many people who hear my stories about foster kids want to know where to plug in, how to help.  I have some basic answers, but the truth is that I am not very good at the details of connecting people.  It is the middle of the puzzle for me.  I have desperately needed to find those with different eyes, with different skills, who could complement my story-telling and connect people to needs. 

The Spero Project may just be one of those.  Spero’s prime objective is to connect – to bring together groups and individuals with a heart to change the world in some specific way, and to put them together so that the puzzle is complete.  One of those projects is Spero:Legacy - connecting  those who are interested foster kids as well as adoption.  Tuesday evening Spero is hosting a meeting to discuss foster/adoption and to help individuals and groups who can see the struggle of foster kids, but don’t know what to do about it.  Spero can help – you will leave the meeting with specific “next steps” for how YOU can impact the world of foster kids and change lives.  You are a piece of the puzzle – it can’t be completed without you.

Avenue Class for Foster Care/Adoption – Tuesday, February 23, at 7:00.  Location – 4646 N. Santa Fe, OKC, at the Spero:Resource center.

If you can’t attend, check out the website and contact them:  www.thesperoproject.com

It has been a bumpy morning.  Literally.  I bumped my leg on the end of the bed, tripped over a shoe, and stepped on a lego – it’s a wonder I didn’t fall and break my neck!  My middle name has never been “grace”, but that wasn’t so much the issue today.  Then what was my problem?

I couldn’t see.

Sometime in the night I knocked my glasses off my bedside table and couldn’t find them, so when I got up this morning, no glasses.  No glasses, no vision.  No vision, and suddenly the thing I was trying to accomplish, getting dressed, became dangerous, with lots of collateral damage.  Broken things.  Bruises.

The foster system is sometimes like a blind person lurching around in the dark.  We know what is supposed to be accomplished. 

Safety.  Permanency.  Family.  Opportunity.  Life.

But in the crisis of each day, sometimes we can’t see where we are going.  There is always another form to be completed, another report that is due, another legislator to meet, another complaint to calm, another news reporter to answer.  There is always another urgent referral, another court docket, another foster kid needing a new place to live.

Sometimes it is hard to see.  And there is collateral damage.  Broken families.  Bruised kids.  Damaged community relations.  Hurting case workers. 

We must find our glasses.  Or we will fall and break our necks.

Where there is no vision, the people perish.  Proverbs 29:18 (KJV)