“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.

My mom was visiting for Easter, and she pointed out that there were some details I left out of my recent discussion of the number of children in foster care.  In particular, the fact that there are 8,400 kids in the Oklahoma foster system, but that nationally there are between 450,000 and 500,000 foster kids.  In Los Angeles county alone there are 25,000 children in custody. 

25,000

I grew up in a town that had an alleged population of 1300, although I always suspected that whoever counted was including everyone’s dog.  To a small town girl like me, 8400 is a lot.  25,000 is difficult to imagine.  And a half million completely blows my mind.  Thinking about it can paralyze me, if I let it. 

There is this old saying I have heard – “How do you eat an elephant?  One bite at a time.”  I hate that saying.  Bite size pieces may be appropriate for eating an elephant steak, but they are unacceptable for changing the lives of thousands of foster children.  Instead, we need to figure out how to eat the whole darn thing in a bite or two.

“The Tipping Point” is a great book on social change written by Malcolm Gladwell.  Malcolm describes in great detail why change is more often like an epidemic than the steady, slow process we sometimes imagine.  He argues that with the right people, the right environment, and the right message we can change the world.  

Quickly. 

I’m up for that.  Stay tuned – more to come…

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.

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?

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.

Do you think the world needs to be changed?  Not everyone does, or at least most people don’t live like it does.  Most of us seem to wander through life without much lasting impact on those around us.  Think about it – if you moved today, how long would it be before those left behind would replace you?  Before the presence you had in the community began to fade? 

If we can agree that the world of foster kids does, in fact, need to look different, then we can begin to have a conversation about just exactly how to do that.  Certainly a great deal of change comes as the result of influence.  So for the next few days, I want to pass along some lessons I have learned about how to have world-changing influence.

To have world-changing influence, we must be in proximity to whatever we want to change.

The Mississipi River is a powerful force of nature, but it has no influence whatsoever on the Pacific Ocean.**  If we are going to enact change, we must be right in the middle of the problem.  For me, that meant learning more about foster kids.  Spending time at the shelter.  Hanging out with case workers.  Sitting through court cases.  Listening to difficult stories. 

When we are in proximity to the thing we want to change, we can see clearly what the problems are.  But we can also see the dirt.  And the trash.  And the ugliness.  And if we stay in proximity long enough, we are guaranteed to get dirty too. 

Still, it is in quiet space close to the chaos of a broken world that we have the opportunity to modify the nature and condition of a human being. 

Are you willing to get dirty?

*Webster’s dictionary     **Erwin McManus

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.

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

ca-pac-i-ty – [kuh-pas-i-tee] – noun – the ability to receive or contain

I tend to think of capacity in physical terms.  The ability of my washing machine to hold one more towel.  The ability of my refrigerator door to hold one more “work of art”.  The ability of my bladder to survive one more meeting…well, you get the idea. 

But capacity can also be applied to other things – relationships, emotions, knowledge.  I learned something about myself recently.  I learned that I have more capacity than I ever thought.  More capacity to receive assistance and encouragement from others.  More capacity to ask tough questions and listen to the answers.  More capacity to focus on what is most important.  More capacity to be hurt, but also to heal.  More capacity to trust.

This awareness is changing the way I conduct myself.  I am more likely to spend extra time with a foster kid – hoping for an opportunity to connect, understand, and encourage, even if their story keeps me awake at night.  I am more likely to query foster parents on why they open their homes and their hearts to the children of a stranger.  I am more likely to allow others to see my own dreams and discouragement, in the hope that they too will find the story of foster kids irresistable.   

But in the world of electricity, capacity has a different meaning. 

Maximum possible output. 

I don’t know what my maximum possible output is.  What I do know is that there are still kids in foster care.  And until there aren’t, I will keep pushing, keep stretching, keep putting out more.  More vision, more hope, more stories, more opportunity, more resources.

What would the world look like if we were all willing to increase our capacity to receive – to relate and to understand each other, and at the same time increased our capacity to pour out – to reach out beyond ourselves and influence others?