I’ve thought a lot about what I should write. I still don’t know. We’ve been foster care parents for two weeks today. It feels like a million years.
I need a place to land my chaotic mess of weary thoughts swirling around in my mind. But I don’t have the time or energy to explain any of them. All I know is this:
The world is broken. People are broken.
I expected this to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done-but it’s more than that. I find it chipping away at my soul. Eating me, tearing me apart, breaking me down. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad-maybe it’s both?
Sometimes I love being a foster care parent, and sometimes I hate it. I don’t always feel human-maybe I’m a robot.
What did I get myself into? I’ve wanted to quit multiple times.
I didn’t know that my foster kids would express their need with explosive rage. Their rage makes me wonder if I’m really meant to do this.
There smiles melt my insides. When they choose right or learn a new thing, I dance and jump and party like it’s 1999.
The tears. I cry a lot. Is that normal? Will I eventually get tougher? I’m not sure.
Life is a blur. There are moments when I think I’m doing this right-then a millisecond later-I think I’m screwing it all up.
Kids can heal. But trauma changes them. There is hope; but there are consequences.
I’ve seen my biological kids (all teenagers now) step up in a way that humbles me. They are amazing humans. Loving these foster kids as hard as they do has matured them faster than anything else ever; it’s good and beautiful.
I’m weary. Actually, weary doesn’t cut it. My brain and heart ache with something I have never experienced. Maybe this is what war feels like?
I don’t want to lose myself. I’m a foster parent, but that’s not all I am.
It’s for Jesus.
People don’t get it.
A good night’s sleep can change your life.
My husband. He has to be the best foster dad in the world.
If you want a still and quiet life; if you want a comfortable easy routine; if you want a good night’s sleep every night; if you want to know what will happen; then don’t do foster care. But if you are ready to fight for the children; to listen to them when their screaming in rage at you; if you are ready to cheer for their mom and dad, and pray they get the help they need in order to love their children the way they were meant to, then do it. You’ll cry. A lot.
But God puts our tears in bottles; he holds the suffering that overflows from our hearts. We aren’t enough for our foster kids. But he is.
