“There are no concerns.”
I stared at the paper, but the words didn’t change. “There are no concerns.” There it was, my handwriting in black ink on the medical chart. In medical language, it means that the patient isn’t sick. They don’t feel bad. There is nothing wrong. Normally that is a good thing. But this time, as I sat filling out yet another medical form for yet another child entering the emergency foster shelter, I found myself overtaken with emotion.
Anger. Disgust. Frustration. Sadness. Worry.
I wrote that there were no concerns. But that isn’t true. I have concerns. I have lots of concerns. Concerns about these children. About what they will think about and what they will feel when the lights go out at night and the shelter is quiet. About where they will live next, and whether the family who takes them in will treat them as their own or merely as transients. About whether their social worker will get to know them as human beings or just by a case number. About when they will see their family again, and whether that reunion will be filled with joy or anger or fear.
We should be concerned. And may that concern fuel our actions. May it compel us to get out of our comfortable lives where most of our concern is for ourselves, and to be concerned for someone else for a change.
It was a balmy 95 degrees on the San Antonio river walk. As the boat drifted along its half-hour sightseeing voyage, I took in the sights, smells, and sounds of a city that was founded a century before the American Revolution. The captain was commenting on points of interest, and then he said something that caught my ear. He said, “Here in San Antonio we don’t like to get rid of things that are old. We prefer to rehabilitate them and make them into something that is new.”
The rest of the tour was lost on me, as my mind’s focus shifted to foster kids. I thought of a girl I met once. At 16, she was used to taking care of herself. From the few stories she shared, I knew that life had been chaos, and I suspected that what she spoke barely scratched the surface of what childhood was actually like for her. Her family tree included generations of substance abuse and domestic violence. I asked how she coped, and she laughed a little. “I used to smoke 2 packs of cigarettes a day – started when I was 7. By 10 I was drinking alcohol every day, and by 12 I was on meth. But all that is in the past now – been clean for a year.”
My usual poker face must have failed me, because she laughed again. “How?” is all I could muster. She went on to tell me how most people just saw her as yet another chapter in the old story of a broken family – a kid with no hope and no future. But then she met a teacher who was different. Who paid extra attention to her. Offered to help her after school so she could catch up with her peers. Believed in her. Told her how she could be different from her family history, how she could be somebody new.
I leaned back in my chair, unsure what to even say. The truth is that sometimes I see teens in foster care who I don’t believe are fixable. Who I don’t spend much time with because the yield seems so low, so unlikely to be worth anything of value. Who I don’t love as much as I should because I don’t think it will matter. And yet the truth is, we are not in this field to throw out kids, to deem them as old and useless, but rather to REdeem them, to give them opportunities to be made new and useful.
I need new eyes today – ones that can see what is possible.
So I have this friend. Actually we have only been friends for a few months. But it turns out that we have something unusual in common. We both love foster kids, but that isn’t the uncommon part. What sets my friend apart is that she loves the birth parent of her foster kids. In case you blew past that, let me say it again.
She loves the birth parent of her foster kids.
She believes that she is called to do that – to create opportunities for a mom that has never had anything. To offer relationship that doesn’t have strings attached. Her husband believes it too. And her friends are starting to. In fact, she is rounding up a whole army of people who are willing to go deep with her.
To get dirty. To work hard. To hurt. To get frustrated. To pray. To encourage. To support. To hope. And most of all? To love.
It’s really what we should be about.
For in Christ, neither our most conscientious religion nor disregard of religion amounts to anything. What matters is something far more interior: faith expressed in love. Galatians 5:6 (MSG)
The nurse’s note on the chart told me that the boy was here for wheezing. He had recently been hospitalized because he had been in a house fire, and this was a checkup to make sure he was doing better. I did the normal “doctor” stuff. Asked a few questions about his breathing. Listened to his lungs. Reviewed his medications. He seemed tense, as if he was waiting for me to do something more. Something worse. I fumbled to find some reassuring words, but my ineffectiveness was obvious. Finally I mumbled something to his grandmother about checking out with my attending physician and backed out of the room.
I told her the medical story, but was surprised when my attending asked what had caused the fire. I had been curious myself but was uncomfortable asking – afraid to overstep my self-imposed professional limits. She smiled slightly, and I realized that I was about to get a lesson in human relationships. Within a few moments the whole story was out. The boy had been playing with a lighter and had accidentally set the fire. He had escaped with some minor injuries, but his mom and sister were not so lucky – both had died. He was now in foster care, placed with the maternal grandmother. It was a terrible story, and yet somehow there was grace in the telling of it.
Grace can be defined in several different ways.
Elegance. Beauty. Favor. Mercy.
I saw all of those demonstrated in the conversations I witnessed that day, as my attending engaged a hurting family and created a space for them to share. As a grandmother extended mercy and forgiveness to a grandson. As physical healing ended and emotional healing began.
When people understand that you care about them, that you are truly interested in who they are and where they come from and what they are going through, then the interaction flows in a rhythm that is easy and beautiful. Difficult questions become easier to ask, and difficult stories become safer to tell. In that kind of relationship, there is unbelievable grace. And life is better for it. But we must be willing to care. Are you ready and willing?
“Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” Matt. 11:29, MSG
Numbers are an important part of our everyday lives. We use them to help us connect to others on our cell phones, to tell us which seat to sit in on a plane, and to help us find the correct highway. In the world of foster kids, one important number is the number of kids in custody. Thankfully, that number has been declining, from 12,000 a couple of years ago to just over 8,400 today. There are lots of ideas about why the number is declining, and certainly lots of excitement. And there should be.
That said, do not think for one moment that the work with these kids and their families is done, that DHS no longer needs the community to step up. I would argue the exact opposite.
There aren’t any fewer families who struggle.
Life is difficult. Parenting is hard if there are two of you and you aren’t worried about putting gas in the car or your next meal on the table. What if you are a single parent? What if it costs you more for a week of daycare than you earn in a week of work? What if a good day is one where the electricity and the water are both on at your house?
Look around you. On your block. At your kids’ school. Or the grocery store, or at church. There are hurting people everywhere. People who need to eat, need a ride, need a babysitter.
Or perhaps they need the most important thing of all – a friend.
Want to end child abuse? That’s how. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist. Just a servant.
He was a cute, freckle-faced little kid, not yet 4 feet tall. The foosball champ of the foster shelter, or so he told me. Hmm, we’ll see about that, or so I told him. He gave up video game time for a chance to play against me – even recruited a friend for his team. I scored first, but then they caught up. Back and forth, neck and neck. Until the final goal rolled in. Then a shout of joy!!
By two freckle-faced little kids. Who beat me 4-3.
Time matters – spend yours well today.
Trust is a small word with large, even gigantic, implications.
I remember those moments like they happened yesterday. She was 14, and was in my office for a check-up. We talked through some of the normal stuff that I like to know – how she is doing in this foster home, her school grades, whether she has good friends. Oh, and what about boys? Any of them hanging around? On that day the conversation was easy, though it had not always been. After a few moments of catching up, she handed me a notebook. The cover was faded blue and torn a little bit. It was also a little discolored, as if water had spilled on it. Or perhaps tears. I didn’t say anything, but my eyes must have asked the question. “It’s my story,” she answered. “My counselor made me write it, then told me I had to find someone I trust to give it to. I have carried it around for a while, but I decided I want to give it to you.”
I opened the pages slowly, carefully. Contained there were stories, poems, and drawings, each representing a piece of her history. Stories about her family, about loss and grief, but also joy and excitement. Pictures of her siblings, who she rarely saw but thought of often. I sat next to her on the exam table as we thumbed through the pages, and she filled me in on even more details than the pages contained.
It was a holy moment, a sacred time – one that changed me. Like many people, somewhere between childhood and adulthood I quit trusting people. Got burned a few times. Once bitten, twice shy – that sort of thing. But the truth is that trusting people is part of our DNA. Without it, we aren’t able to fully engage the humanity around us. Aren’t fully able to enjoy all that a relationship offers. It is not something to enter carelessly, to be sure. But if we are able to trust and be trusted, we will experience an unusual depth to our relational interactions.
That kid needed someone to trust, and I needed the reminder that I do too.
Yesterday afternoon I spoke at a conference hosted by the Nation Council of Juvenile and Family Court Judges (www.ncjfcj.org) a great organization that spends it’s time, energy, and resources improving the court outcomes of kids in foster care.
I was invited to talk about health care for foster kids and kids who enter the juvenile justice system. As an expert. Someone who should know something about foster kids and health issues. There were lots of other experts there too. Experts on law and mental health and families.
And yet, all the expertise, all the knowledge in that conference room doesn’t necessarily translate into one single changed life. We get that, don’t we? For instance we KNOW that we should eat lots of vegetables and exercise regularly. But knowledge doesn’t always translate into behavior. We KNOW there is such a thing as a speed limit. But we don’t always drive under it.
The truth is, only one thing changes lives. 
Love.
That’s it. Nothing else. Just love. The problem is, that loving someone is risky. It costs us. And sometimes it is painful. But if we are willing to go there, to love people anyway, then maybe, just maybe, we can change the world.
Are you willing to get your heart broken? I am.
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?
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 willing to give something up in order to get something better.
We tend to think that we have the greatest influence on those who are the closest to us. And yet, the truth is that most of the people who I allow in my inner circle of friends are very much LIKE ME. They think like me, they talk like me, they agree with me (well, mostly). If influence has to do with MODIFYING an outcome, then what exactly is it that I think I can accomplish?
Instead, I think that influence is most effective when we are able to reach across the space between our comfortable circles and into spaces where people are NOT like us, where we do not have automatic credibility, where we have to earn respect and aren’t given it because of our credentials or title.
To have world-changing influence, I must be willing to put down my prestige. My power. My desire to always be the boss. The part if me that wants to get credit for every win but deflect the losses – to be recognized as the hero. Please don’t misunderstand -I leverage every resource I have on behalf of foster kids. If my degree or title gets me invited to the table, you can bet I’m taking advantage. If I can use my experiences to start a conversation, I am going for it.
Somewhere in the process, though, there comes a critical moment when I have to remember that life is not all about me. That changing the outcomes of foster kids matters more than being right. Matters more than winning the argument. Or making the news. Or getting the award.
To have world-changing influence, we must be willing to give something up in order to get something better. What do you need to give up?
