She was 13 when I met her.  Much of her last 3 years had been spent in and out of foster homes, with some occasional brief stints with her parents or other family members.  She was polite but a little distant and suspicious of me – I suspect that she saw me as  yet another adult with lots of questions to ask, but no compelling reason to care about or even consider her answers.  I rattled through my usual list.  Any major illnesses?  Medications?  Allergies?  Feeling OK today? 

Then, a question that struck a nerve.  “What grade are you in?”  Her head dropped, and the walls defending her soul lowered for a second, revealing shame.  “6th, but I am supposed to be in 7th.” 

A common answer – I’ve heard it a thousand times.  Educational delay is a ubiquitous struggle for kids in state custody.  The average foster kid is one full grade behind their peers by 6th grade.  The lack of life stability, both before and during placement in foster care, causes them to miss valuable chunks of school.  They change schools frequently, often several times a year.  And even if they are able to attend, exactly how are they supposed to pay attention? Can you imagine sitting through math class while wondering if anyone knows it is your birthday?  Or how your siblings are doing?  Could you learn about history and ignore the thought that your own life is likely sooner to be written about on the obituary page than in the history book? 

My heart broke for her.  “No worries – everyone here is a grade behind.”  Her head snapped up and her eyes met mine with a question. ”Everyone here is a grade behind,” I said again.  “It’s because you have moved a lot, right?  And every school has different curriculum, different schedules.  Plus, it’s not like you haven’t had other things to think about.  Don’t worry about it, just keep going.  They won’t throw you out.  Just keep going, keep learning, keep showing up.”  A faint smile, a brief hug, and she was gone.

She needed what we all need – acceptance, validation, encouragement.  She needed to know that it was OK to keep going.

Today I went outside to play with my kids in the snow.  Snow is somewhat of a novelty in Oklahoma – that was apparent by the motley collection of coats, hats and gloves that we gathered up to keep us warm.  A snowball fight, wrestling match, and a few snow angels later, I found myself lying flat on the ground in a pile of snow staring up through bare tree limbs.  The snow continued to fall, and I was hypnotized by the swirling flakes and the silence.

When I am quiet, my mind often drifts toward foster kids.  I wondered about those kids who wouldn’t get to play in the snow, who didn’t have a warm coat or a pair of boots.  I hurt for the kids who did not have a home to warm themselves – whose childhood memories would not include making snow ice cream or having hot chocolate and a picnic in the living room floor near the fireplace. 

What does it take to change the direction of a child’s life?  It is easy to convince ourselves that it takes a tremendous amount of time and effort – a commitment that most of us are not interested in making.  After all, none of us want to complicate our lives.

But what if the answer is much simpler?

Perhaps it is snowball fights and snow angels and hot chocolate – occasions when a child, if only for a moment, is able to simply be a child.  Innocent, safe, cared for, loved.

If you are a Christ-follower, what are you doing to care for orphans?

Foster Care Video from Cornerstone Church on Vimeo.

Firestorm-of-frustration moments* are those that occur when we experience something wrong with society that drives us crazy – that keeps us up at night.  For me, that moment occurred when, as a medical student, I first encountered child abuse.  I grew up in a small town and came from a fairly sheltered childhood.  I had never seen child abuse, and once I did, I never could get the kids and their stories out of my head.

Not that I didn’t try.

I tried hard.  Explored other areas of medicine.  Interviewed for residencies that had nothing to do with child abuse.  Imagined myself doing other noble things, like serving as a doctor in some third world country.  Nothing worked.  Late at night my mind wandered back to those kids. 

At some point, more than a year after that first exposure, I tried something different.  Instead of running away from the cries I heard in the night, I took a step toward them.  Then another, and another.  It turns out that the best thing we can do when we have a “firestorm of frustration” moment is to feed it – to fan the flame of that thing  we can’t stand, and turn it into a raging bonfire that will burn away impurities and leave behind only that which is most valuable.  A dozen year later, I spend almost all my physical and emotional energy working with high risk families and kids in foster care.  Lives are changed because I fan the flame.  People are impacted.  This year foster kids got school supplies and Christmas presents.  Foster families provided support and resources to high risk biologic families.  Friends of mine became foster parents.  Organizations encouraged their employees to mentor foster kids.  And I played a role in all of that.

I intentionally fan the flame of my own firestorm of frustration, my own holy discontent, and I have absolutely no regrets.  Nor any plans to stop.  The world needs us to not just experience frustration, but to burn with it. 

Are you brave enough to set yourself on fire?

*Holy Discontent, author Bill Hybels, 2007, Zondervan Press

When I was a kid, I loved watching Popeye cartoons. Even though I hated spinach, I loved that the scrawny little cartoon sailor turned into a superhero when he downed the stuff. More than that, I loved that he used his superhuman strength to protect someone who was weak.*

Somewhere in the middle of my medical school experiences with abused and neglected kids I found myself wishing that I liked spinach. I saw kids in foster care who seemed hopeless. I met biologic families who were struggling with poverty, mental illness, anger, and substance abuse. I interacted with foster parents, case workers, and district attorneys who really weren’t convinced that they could ever solve the problem of child maltreatment. All of those people were desperate for a hero to come along. Desperate to find a can of spinach that would give them superhuman strength.

Extraordinary strength may not be found in can of spinach, but perhaps it does emerge from the motivation that we get from moments where we see something wrong with society, something that we just can’t stand anymore. Bill Hybels* calls these moments “firestorm-of-frustration” moments. Moments that change us, that cause us to redirect the focus of our lives. For me, the 17-year dream to become an ER physician disappeared in a few short months and was replaced with a new priority – to do absolutely anything that would allow me to work with abused and neglected kids.

Have you ever experienced a “firestorm of frustration” moment?

*Holy Discontent, author Bill Hybels, 2007, Zondervan Press

Have you ever seen something that was unjust? Of course you have, if you have ever watched the evening news even a single time. But have you ever done more than just glance, have you ever really stared at it? Have you ever gotten this knot in your stomach that won’t let you eat? Or woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night thinking about the faces or the events you saw?

I have – it happened to me when I sat in a juvenile courtroom where a judge was reviewing the status of foster kids and their families. Were the parents repairing their lives to the point that their children could return home? Case after case, family after family. Then, the one – the one that made me sick. A whole group of adults assembled around the judge’s bench – lawyers for the state, the child, the parent. The parents themselves. The case worker. The judge asked a simple question – “where are the kids and how are they doing?”

Silence.

 He asked again. Shuffling of papers, then silence again. No one knew. Who was supposed to advocate for the child? That day I didn’t just watch, I noticed. I stared. I got physically sick. And I got heart sick.

What makes you heart sick?