I love to tell the stories of foster kids. I especially love to tell stories of hope. That, after all, is what this site is all about. There is another set of words that are particularly hopeful. And healing. And life-giving.
When the two are brought together, the result is something beautiful. Something powerful. Something alive. I hope you read it. I hope it encourages you. I hope it touches you. I hope it trashes you. And more than anything? I hope God speaks to you, and that you are forever changed by that encounter.
Fostering Hope – Experiencing God’s Heart for Foster Kids. A 30-Day Devotional Guide (download)
Open it. Download it. Print it. Read it. Share it. Fall in love with those who are closest to God’s heart.
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He was a three-and-a-half feet tall bundle of emotion. In a few short years, he had unfortunately witnessed much more bad than good, a fact that became painfully clear to his foster parents as he ran screaming through the house. As they struggled to settle his fears, their silent prayers were filled with doubt. What could they do? They weren’t equipped to handle a kid like this. Finally the screaming stopped and there was silence, except for the sound of the sobs of a little broken heart. The man fell to his knees.
“We will never hurt you.”
At the simple words, the sobs stopped. Time seemed to stand still as child and adult locked eyes. Then the most unexpected thing – a sloppy, wet, little boy kiss planted firmly on his foster dad’s cheek. He ran off to play, leaving his caregivers stunned, realizing that heaven met earth for just a moment that day.
“Heaven meets earth like a sloppy, wet kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way that He loves us.”
How He Loves – lyrics by John Mark McMillan
It doesn’t rain much in western Oklahoma. The wind blows all the time, and the soil gets dry and crusty and cracked. Rows of winter wheat seedlings struggle to survive.
Farmers aren’t the only ones who experience drought. Pediatricians do too. So do case workers. And foster parents. And judges. Not enough help. Not enough time. Not enough resources. Not enough good judgment. Not enough compassion. Not enough hope. Not enough. And when the foster system experiences a drought, the children and families who are touched by it suffer. Mightily.
That’s where I have been living for a few months. Operating out of a mentality of scarcity. Consumed with the flood of children shifting from their own homes to a stranger’s house, or worse, to nowhere. A temporary place. A shelter. An office. Depressed by the collective sadness of their stories, and at the same time worried that many people they meet aren’t even interested in listening to them. Fatigued from sleepless nights and exhausting days. Dry. Cracked. Struggling.
A long time passed. Then God’s word came to Elijah. The message: “I’m about to make it rain…” (1 Kings 18:1, MSG)
Really? I’ve been doing this a long time, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I can’t tell if there is any progress. Kids who I saw 10 or 12 years ago as preschoolers come back under my care as teenagers. Struggling. With no healthy, meaningful relationships. No mentors. No one speaking into their lives. No hope. No opportunity.
(The servant) looked, and reported back, “I don’t see a thing.” “Keep looking,” said Elijah, “seven times if necessary.” (1 Kings 18:43, MSG)
Occasionally, some encouragement. A mom reunited with her kids who is doing awesome. A foster family who is tickled pink to be adopting. A case worker who is busting her tail to get a kid to football practice.
And sure enough, the seventh time he said, “Oh yes, a cloud! But very small, no bigger than someone’s hand, rising out of the sea.” (1 Kings 18:44, MSG)
A small non-profit supporting foster families. A pastor teaching about the importance of mentoring. A news reporter telling the behind-the-scenes story of foster kids. A business owner hiring a dad who needs a job to get his kids back. A mechanic repairing a car for a mom who needs to complete some parenting classes. A neighbor providing respite for a grandma who is raising her grandkids. A Bible study group praying every week for wisdom and courage for the case workers and police officers and district attorneys and judges who are faced with gut-wrenching decisions every single day they get out of bed.
Elijah said… “Up on your feet! Eat and drink – celebrate! Rain is on the way: I hear it coming!” (1 Kings 18:41, MSG)
It’s coming. The rain is coming. Right now there is a drought. There is scarcity. Only a tiny little cloud of hope in the sky. But that tiny little cloud is growing, in the hearts of people who are just beginning to hear about foster kids as well as those who’ve done this for years. There is a sound, the sound of a few voices beginning to mention foster care from stages and pulpits and podiums. It’s coming.
A long time passed. Then God’s word came to Elijah. The message: “I’m about to make it rain…” (1 Kings 18:1, MSG)
“Can I ask you a question, doc?” Something about the tone of her voice made me stop writing and look up. “We have a granddaughter on the way, and the ultrasound shows some kind of heart defect. Can you tell me more about it? Is she going to be OK?” The answer I had for her wasn’t good. One of the worst kinds of heart defects. Could go very badly, very quickly.
Time passed, and the baby came. She was blue, and sick. Months in the intensive care unit. Multiple surgeries. Nights that she shouldn’t have survived, at least according to medical wisdom.
Yet she did. For first steps and birthday parties and the terrible two’s (and three’s).
She is an amazing kid, coming from an amazing family of people who have dedicated their lives to serving abused and neglected kids. But there are still challenges ahead. More surgery. More time in the ICU. She needs your help. Because today, hope has a name. And her name is Haven.
“He’s having trouble with his schoolwork”. She waved in the general direction of the boy in the room. At 12, he didn’t look particularly worried about her comment. “He doesn’t do his homework – doesn’t even get home with it sometimes. By the time I get there it is late, and he can’t seem to find it. And he got kicked out of school today.” He still looked calm. I hesitated, wanting to escape the room before this got too messy. “And my daughter is struggling too – she is seeing a counselor.” Too late. I sat down. “What is really going on in your life? Tell me the story of your family.”
For the first time in the entire encounter, she looked at me. Eye to eye. As if she wanted me to prove my level of interest. Then she closed her eyes and began to share. Molested as a child. Kicked out of the house at 13. A drug addict at 16. Twice a mom by 19. In and out of jail and rehab and terrible relationships throughout her 20′s.
Clean for 3 years. A stable job and a stable place to live. Night classes to get her associates degree.
“You have been through a lot, but you are achieving some amazing things.” I said. “How did you survive?” She sat up straight and lifted her chin. “You just have to keep walking in the fire – keep moving,” she replied. “You can’t stop or you will die.” Her face looked a little softer now, and there was a touch of pride in her eyes, as if telling the story helped her realize just how much she had already overcome. We talked a little more, and I offered what encouragement and suggestions I had. And she agreed to try them, and to come back in a few weeks so we could talk more. As I watched them leave, I found myself really hoping that she would.
There is still fire, but she is still walking. And now, maybe I will get the opportunity to walk with her.
Are you willing to walk in the fire with someone today?
I love hope. Love people who are hopeful. Love stories that have a happy ending. I want the guy to get the girl. The dog to find its owner. The foster kid to return home. The orphan to get a family. And for all of them to live happily ever after.
When I really think about how hope operates – how it changes lives – one thing becomes apparent. 
Hope requires action.
Action causes a perfectly comfortable family to open their door to foster kids. Action moves a couple from hoping for a child to adopting a child. Action moves a person to tutor or mentor or write the check or organize the party or the event, so that foster kids can have a shot at a better future than past. Hope requires action.
If you are in the mood for some action and live in the Oklahoma City area, take a look at www.fluxokc.wordpress.com or follow @fluxokc on twitter. You can be part of celebrating the graduation of a foster kid. If you are outside of OKC, call your local DHS/DCFS office and see if they need help throwing a party for their graduates. Only 3 out of 5 foster kids make it through high school – we should make a big deal out of it!
“Would you recognize him?”, she asked. I stared intently at the boy. There was something something about him that seemed vaguely familiar, but certainly didn’t stand out to me. It had been a half dozen years since I’d seen him, and he was a baby then. My mind wandered back to a hospital room, where I had discussed his likely future outcome with his new foster mom. The brain injury he had suffered at the hands of his mom’s boyfriend was one of the worse I’d seen. I was certain he would die, and when he didn’t, I secretly wondered if it wouldn’t have been a better outcome than the life he was now beginning.
She had listened to my medical opinion, and then announced that I didn’t know what I was talking about and that he would not only walk, he would do much more. I didn’t press the issue. We could work that out over time.
“Would you?”, she asked again. “No, I don’t think so”. The school-age boy was sitting on a bench in my office playing his handheld video game. “You told me he wouldn’t walk, but he does a lot more than that. He is in school, and he draws pictures and is learning how to read.” For a half hour she went on to share details of their life together since she had become his foster mom. She was so proud of him. She believed in him. And it had made all the difference.
The truth is, I don’t know why some kids with a brain injury lie silent, fed by tubes their entire lives, while others walk and talk and run. But I do know this – hope is a powerful thing. It can change the outcome of a disease or of a life. And another thing I know? It is contagious. I left that room feeling more of it than my heart could even begin to hold.
Sometimes it is nice to be wrong.
In-flu-ence* – [IN-floo-uhns] – verb – To quietly affect the nature, development, or condition of a person or course of events in a way that operates without any direct or apparent effort, to MODIFY.
To have world-changing influence, we must be intentional.
She was not quite 2 when they took her in from the foster agency. Her mom had a lot of struggles and could barely take care of herself, much less a toddler. Her new foster family fell in love with her immediately, enjoying her laughter and the silly tricks that she would do, but especially the brief moments at bedtime when she would sit on one of their laps and snuggle. Over time, both she and her biologic mom achieved milestones – hers included memorizing the alphabet and writing her name and learning her phone number; her mom’s had more to do with parenting classes and a steady job. And after some time it became apparent that they would reunite.
They moved a lot - never could quite achieve the stability that most people crave. She lived with her mom some, as well as a variety of extended relatives. She called her old foster family every once in a while – she had never forgotten the phone number – and every single time they inquired about her new address and made a trip to the post office, sending off a box filled with goodies.
Art supplies. Candy. Books. But most of all, love.
They were intentional in their influence. They didn’t just answer the phone and have a conversation – they acted. Even though it was painful. Even though they worried about the fact that every call was from a new phone number in a new state. Even though it took thought to adjust the contents of each box to match her age and interests. Even though there was a physical and an emotional cost associated.
To have world-changing influence, we must be intentional. We must be fully aware of the potential of our decisions, even when they seem insignificant, and we must choose to be intentional rather than careless.
So how did it turn out? One day the phone rang at the old foster family’s home. “Mom, can I come home?” It was her 18th birthday. You can guess what the answer was.
Will you choose to be intentional with the decisions you make?
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.
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?